Who drives in London?

Londoners talk about the transport like other British people talk about weather. Except that sometimes we’re positive about the weather.

But for all the diversity in London the public transport is our unifying interest. Everyone hates the Central line, no one understand the Northern and we all sit at the front on the DLR.

Oh and everyone who isn’t from London hates the transport just on principle.

The Tube

The tube is a notorious lie because the tube map has precisely nothing to do with any sort of known geography. Which is perhaps why tourists pay £4 for the delightful 45 seconds of being crammed in a tiny metal shuttle between Covent Garden and Leicester square (which is a horrible place anyway).

Now, no true Londoner would make this mistake, because all true Londoners know exactly where they’re going at all times. Uncertainty is for Tourists and we would rather dance on the ashes of our £200 travel cards than ever be seen by a passing stranger looking uncertain. We’re Londoners dammit, and we Know Our Way.

No one knows their way on the tube, if I thought TfL had the imagination and indeed magic, I’d assume they random assign exits on a daily basis Hogwarts style.

So here’s your trick: Look up as you exit the train to the face-saving directions on the wall, and march decisively through the maze of tunnels and stairs in a generally disapproving manor. Like a Real Londoner. And always make sure your travel card is ready so you can mentally tut those less prepared at the ticket barriers.

The Bus

The bus is the way to get to the tube, or in rare cases like my own, an actual mode of transport (I often claim to be the only person in London without a tube, no one has disputed this yet). Real Londoners have a vaguely disapproving attitude to buses despite the fact they cost just £1.50 a journey. This may be something to do with the smell. And the horror that all Londoners feel when they realise they’ve missed the last tube and are going to have to traverse the city by Night Bus.

The Night Bus

My friend physically shudders at the mention of the night bus. But she’s spoilt, she has a tube. Bitch.

The night bus is an experiment each night. Occasionally it’s a Rasta with a boom box, sometimes it’s the obvious use of a crack pipe whilst their pit bull terrier roams around. Usually it’s drunk idiots shouting, or weirdos demanding to know if you’re Irish and holding a fake cactus plant. Faced with the night bus, you have two options- turn your music up loud enough and hope that your ear drums hold out, or have a little nap. The upside of the nap is that you’re unconscious, and hopefully can prevent permanent mental scaring. The downside is you’re unconscious.

A friend of mine once fell asleep on his bus home from work and woke up just in time to catch the bus back to work. Which I still believe is preferable to the time he fell asleep on the bus and woke up at the right stop- covered in some one else’s vomit.

I personally go to Penge a lot. I’ve never intentionally been to Penge you understand, but I wake up there a lot which is interesting as there is no night bus back. Who doesn’t like a 2 mile walk in a skirt at 2 am in December? I’ve done it enough that when a good Samaritan woke me up after falling asleep at a bus stop I instinctively yelled “Is this Penge?!” and took off down the street. If you do get to the end of the line, there’s a positive theory that bus drivers check the bus and thus wake you up and send you on your way. Which is a nice theory to put your faith in until you’ve woken up alone locked in a bus depo. After some slightly panicked meandering you finally find someone who doesn’t speak your language but does direct you down a grimy dark corridor. Which is not unnerving. At all.

The Car

Who drives in London? Well I do actually, but mostly I drive out of London, which has the downside of inevitably driving in London. My housemate has a car. It’s been gently moulding for the last couple of years and now supports at least three distinct eco-systems.

Driving in London terrifies everyone who hasn’t driven in London. It’s actually remarkably easy, mostly because what we do in London can’t properly be described as driving.

What other people describe as Rush Hour or Heavy Traffic, I term as driving. Same goes for “dangerous” and “highly illegal maneuvers”.

Remember how I mentioned everyone must know where they’re going? Yeah. driving we have no idea. No one knows what lane they’re in, or actually how any of this works. Most people solve this by driving in the middle lane, regardless of whether there is actually a middle lane. Indicating is a thing of the past, pulling out in front of people is fine and pedestrians have no apparent fear of death and damage.

In stark contrast to out aggressive efficiency in navigating London normally, driving through London requires a degree of fatalism. By which I mean accepting that 16 miles will take you two hours and mostly involve being stationary with the odd jerk of the brakes for variety. I had a friend who once counted the amount of traffic lights he went through to get to work. His result? He moved to Devon.

If you ever wanted any proof that whoever decided to put speed cameras in London was of a delusional or highly sarcastic state of mind, driving is it.