I didn't think that catching a bus from opposite my office to Victoria Station to do a bit of shopping would end up feeling quite so surreal. Some of the strangeness was predictable - shoppers, day-trippers and those with suitcases outnumbered those who were ending a day's work. Many of the workers, like me, were dressed down for the day. But to compensate for the lack of a normal rush hour (three hours...), the escalators between the Victoria and District/Circle lines are currently closed for refurbishing, forcing everyone changing lines to surface and go down again.
The bus was nearly empty, only 6 of us in the seating area at the back. Suddenly, one of the 6 asked the other 5 of us whether this was the right stop for the shops - in French. Two people stared at her as if she had come from outer space.
'Aw shit,' I thought. 'It depends whether she wants Army & Navy, or Cardinal Place, or Victoria Place. Three different stops are right for the shops.' But I can't say that in French! The man on the back seat explained in French that he is only a visitor to London so didn't know. Woman on the back seat went into a long explanation about there being various shops but best stay on until the next stop (Westminster Cathedral/Cardinal Place). She wasn't even French, but had lived there for a few months which is why her French is so good. I know that London is multi-cultural, but what were the odds of that?
I did my various bits of shopping. In Boots, the man behind the counter suddenly started talking to me in Italian, just for the sheer heck of it, so - in English of course - I told him about the French woman. He agreed that it was unlikely she would have got a response, although if he had been there he would have explained to her, but she ought to have asked in English. I said I thought it was worth a go.
Coming down the escalator the woman behind was chatting on her phone. She was saying how she had been sat in Trumpington Park & Ride for half an hour because the driver had to have a half hour break by law (she seemed calmly accepting of this). She then moaned about how long it (coach, I assume) took to get to Stratford, but she later found out the M11 was closed because a whole load of pigs had escaped onto it.
Before braving the sheer madness that is Marks and Spencer Simply Food I thought I would step outside for a fag and a quick check of my Twitter Stream.
A woman stopped in front of me. She was laden down with bags and packages attached to an old-fashioned thing with wheels you used to attach to a suitcase before someone had the ingenious idea of making suitcases with wheels. The bags and parcels made her look like a bag-lady but she and her clothes were neat, clean and respectable.
She asked me for a donation to (didn't catch it, never heard of it) which buys food for the Homeless. I noted the absence of visible ID etc and declined, carried on smoking my fag and checking my Blackberry. She then announced that that would make a great picture. Somewhat huffily I did the 'I'm sorry, what are you saying?' and she explained that from a photographer's point of view, the way I was standing, and what I was doing would make a great picture. I'm still not sure whether that's a compliment or an insult!
Other than all this, actually, the journey wasn't so weird, except that people were behaving like they didn't make this same journey day after day, week after week, year after year. Who'd have thought!
