Thursday, 20 February, 2020
We decided to go to Hackney Wick to see how things were progressing there. Hackney Wick is an artist’s community, with an overground station, near the Olympic Park at Stratford. It’s always been a mass of old buildings, factories, industrial parks, and warehouses and over time the artists and visitors have littered every wall, every door with art.
At one time, the art was glorious. Those days seem to be gone. A new entrance to the overground station has changed the orientation of the area and it confuses me. In the process of the change – where homes and factories have been torn down, the art has been sacrificed. As well, the old station entrance, which was always a bit of a dump, hasn’t been torn down yet. The day we arrived, we saw that several of the new buildings had been completed, the fancy office buildings, the luxury flats with names that were supposed to recall the area’s heritage – The Bagel Factory, Stonemasons Yard, Ceramic Works – they’re highly priced in this obviously deprived area. I wondered how many would just be owned rather than lived in. It made me that familiar mixture of curious, excited and sad to think about it and we cut our walk short since Krish was now motivated by the nearby Well Street Fish and Chips.
A visit to the little Tesco and another to Lidl, then on to Vietnamese Supermarket.
We’d passed Lennox House on Cresset Road, approaching Well Street. The architectural notes read ‘These flats were built in 1936-7 to the designs of J E M MacGregor for Bethnal Green and East London Housing Association. There are 35 flats. The three bedroom flats were on the first floor, one bedroom flats on the top floor and two bedroom flats on the other levels. The original idea was that the central portion of the building beneath the stepped flats should be used as a covered market. The income from this would be used to subsidise the rents of the flats above. However, during the building period, land in the area was designated for residential use only. The Housing Association was also committed to providing a garden for each flat (apart from those on the ground floor).’ We noticed local brewery barrels on the main floor – did they brew in here, or just store the barrels? I think just store.
And then, on the bus home, I discovered I didn’t have my bus pass. I looked through my entire bag and checked all my pockets. It was gone. The pass office told me that it would cost £12 to replace it but that my renewal was due to be sent out. I decided to wait and pay full price until it arrived.
I was going alone to see A Passage to India at the Tower Theatre that night so I left early and visited Lidl and the Vietnamese supermarket first – no pass had been found. I phoned the Tesco and the fish and chip shop – no pass. I was scuttled.
The play was very good. I’d seen the Masterpiece Theatre series years ago. My memory of it was nothing like the play I saw. I enjoyed the fact actual Indian actors were playing those roles. I felt that British imperialism was probably fairly represented too. The xenophobia, the bigotry, the superior attitude, the refusal to accept something different by considering it unclean, barbaric. un-Christian so heathen…and the fear. Each side underestimated the other really. And at the end the anger was real.
Next, how my plans continue to be foiled! On the day I visited Gloria, I had allowed half an hour to get to my physio appointment. Google told me that it would take me 6 minutes to walk there. Half an hour, then, seemed a good margin. Leaving Gloria, it all went wrong.
Google insisted that I make a right turn onto a street that I couldn’t see. Did it even know where I was? I wasn’t sure. I also thought if I did make a right turn, I’d end up at a dead end at Liverpool Street Station. It seemed safer to go down to the main road and travel on roads I was more familiar with. Walking down Great Eastern Street, along Shoreditch High Street into Bishopsgate, I was in front of the station in about 20 minutes (6 minutes? Ha!)
My goal was London Wall, but somehow I couldn’t recall where it was except that it was close to the station, perhaps a continuation of Bishopsgate…? No, that was wrong, I discovered. Google nudged me to turn onto Wormwood (love that name!) Street and so I did. But where was London Wall? I asked three different office workers that I saw walking along with their brown paper bags of lunch. Blank stares and one ‘never heard of it.’ Hmm. Did these people not work here?
I spotted two police officers – yay! A minute or two to spare. Yes, they told me, Wormwood Street becomes London Wall right at ‘this’ corner. Phew. But I was relieved a little too soon. I asked again, which side are the even numbers – I was headed for 82. They shook their heads, ‘This is The City, you just never know.’ Foiled.
The first number I came to, though was 65 – that was promising – so I crossed over to find the even numbers, only to immediately see 85. No! I walked back and forth searching for the elusive 82. I asked a doorman – No clue. So I made a hurried phone call – first, a wrong number. Then the clinic number itself.
The woman proceeded to insist I answer several security questions first. I asked, why? I was merely trying to read the map, understand where the building might be. ‘I’m not in London, she said. We have several offices, and I’m in Portsmouth.’ By this point I was panicking. I was 10 minutes late, not at the door yet, and my appointment was going to cost me £45 no matter what. Then Portsmouth told me, being satisfied I’d cleared security, that it was a red brick building with a statue over the door and opposite ‘Doyshy Bank.’ I took this to be the Deutsche Bank where I was standing, noticed the ‘statue’ and finally crossed to my destination.
Not the end of my story!
Once there, I saw no notice of the Physio clinic, just a bank of enter code buttons. My email mentioned nothing about an enter code. Luckily, someone came along and let me in. In the small entrance hall, a legend also said nothing about a clinic, just a dentist. The someone told me, it’s ‘down here.’ ‘Here’ turned out to be a posh dentist office waiting room, heavily fragranced with a young, vacuous receptionist. She asked me to wait while she summoned the physiotherapist.
Len was a slight black guy. He was polite and unrattled by my late arrival – there was fifteen minutes left to milk my £45 appointment. We then spent these minutes taking a medical history and, by the time the appointment ended, we hadn’t completed it. I’d just spent my money answering questions and getting nowhere. I felt dejected, no matter how hard I tried to tell myself that I had in fact got somewhere. So I left.
No, not the end of my story yet!
A few minutes later on the street, I went to check my phone for the time. I didn’t have it. More panic – I had been halfway there already so my cup overfilled pretty easily. Back to the clinic, where the receptionist let me know she’d tell Len when he’d finished his appointment. But that’s thirty minutes away, I protested. Yes, she said, that’s right. So I waited.
The fragrance mister thing was beside me, slightly suffocating. Opposite were two smart women waiting for who knows who. No magazines, no phone, just waiting. I tried to breathe. And I worked on my famous ‘What Ifs.’ What if my phone wasn’t there? What if I had to buy a new one? What if I couldn’t set it up properly? What if I was going to end up having to travel in the rush hour?
And then, the client came out of Len’s room, and the receptionist went in. She came back clutching my phone, Is this it? Yes, it is. Phew. Len was welcoming his next client and, as I left, I heard him asking the other person, When is your appointment? 3:30 she said. He had just said goodbye to his 3:30 client, was welcoming his 4pm client and somehow a double booking had happened. I made my getaway.
At Liverpool Street station, I realised there was no longer a bus from in front to Hackney Central. That’s weird. I could, however, get to Dalston and change so that was my choice. I think London Transport missed a trick there.
Spring is coming. I don’t see any buds on the trees, but I do see spring flowers here and there – daffodils, crocus, and snow drops (my favourite).
