POETRY AND LETTERS DATED 2008

My god I used to write some really precocious, smug shit when I was fifteen. Some of it so terrible I thought I'd share it so you can laugh/ cringe too. I like the bit about the Harry Potter DVD the best. 

Dear Mr Hendy,

I am writing to you concerning the London Underground system, if one can even call it a system, as this term would require it to actually function effectively.

Today, for example, I intended to travel from Oakwood to Finsbury Park using the Piccadilly line, and then continue my journey to Oxford Circus on the Victoria line- a simple enough journey. Unfortunately, soon after I had purchased my overpriced ticket, I discovered that the Victoria line was conveniently not in operation. May I remind you Sir that most people plan to use public transport between 7am and 11pm. I suggest that in future, construction work and other reasons for line closure could be completed during the other hours of the day, rather than during peak times on a Saturday.

I decided to ignore this mild hiccup in my journey, and instead continue on the Piccadilly line to Holborn. How, then, does a journey that is supposed to take 31 minutes exactly, take 1 hour fifteen minutes? And why, exactly, was I not told of these problems until I had purchased my ticket (which for your information cost me more than my dinner in Pizza Express the night before)? To be honest, I can accept that sometimes systems do fail, but I find that the Underground fails me more often than not, and Sir you to would be a little upset if you had experienced the depressing world ‘Replacement Bus Services’ as much as I have.

In the country’s capital, I find it quite embarrassing to have to explain to a tourist that no, it is not unusual for their train to be delayed without explanation, and yes, vital sections of a line are often closed during busy hours. After seeing their confused expressions, trying to work out an alternative route to their chosen destination by skilfully dodging the ‘suspended’ segments of this weak system, I often take pity and suggest a taxi may be more effective.

           

Thank you, London Transport, for taking fifteen pounds from me so that I could use your so called ‘service’. I felt less cheated and ripped off when I bought a ‘Harry Potter’ DVD from a street stall in Spain that turned out to be blank. 

Read: angry prick. 

This is two thousand and eight years since Jesus.

What are we counting to? Pages in a book, bytes of software, minutes on the clock, seconds of reaction time, pencils in a pot, images on a reel. Death? A date with fate, a dance with the endless night. Working life long, till the moment life decides you’re done with wreaking havoc on the world, making a mark, and that you’re better off in the crushing earth, with a neat little stone- nothing more to symbolise your entire existence.

Love, however, that’s the real tragedy. Unlike death, you may never experience it. 

CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS. IT WENT ON FOR 3 PAGES. I MUST HAVE THOUGHT I WAS BEING CLEVER. I ACTUALLY MENTIONED JESUS AND FATE AND SYMBOLISM AND LOVE IN THE SAME 7 LINES. 

- luckily I documented this bullshit.