An Alien Place

I crossed a border today. There were no immigration officers, no visa checks. Not even a barrier where I could have the satisfaction of swiping or tapping my ticket. Nothing. I simply stepped off the train and into a different world. The place I had left was one of green fields and sunshine. The one where I arrived was grey and grimy; cold despite the warmth of the summer's day.

As I stepped onto the platform I carried with me the rubbish from my journey. A white paper napkin - unused, a triangular plastic sandwich box - empty. The bin on the train was tiny and full. At the station there were none. A throwback to the days when the IRA planted bombs in them so in the interests of safety they were all removed. So where does that leave a law-abiding and environmentally conscious citizen when they want to dispose of litter? Quite lost, that's where. The wheelie bins were all locked and there was not a cleaner in sight. Clutching what had now become a symbol of what was wrong with this city I approached a stall holder,

"Excuse me, are there any litter bins anywhere please?"

"Huh?" Accompanied by a blank stare.

"Bins?" Litter brandished, accompanied by a smile.

"Ain't none. Bloody London, innit."

"None? Not anywhere?"

"Nah. Nuffink. Just chuck it on the floor."

"On the floor?" Uttered with horrified upward intonation.

"Yeah. You ain't from 'ere, is ya?"

But, you see. That's the thing. I am.

Well, not from here exactly. Not from London. But I am English. This city is in the land of my nature, the place of my birth. It is in the same country as the place I left scant hours ago and yet it is an alien place.

(Written in 2011, shortly after my return to England from Singapore to br close to my Pa as he neared the end of his life.)