It is a short walk from my door to one of London’s busiest arteries. The first two minutes of the walk are usually pleasant, especially in summer, when a luscious thatch of untrimmed leaves bow down from the road’s many trees. There is the occasional roar of an accelerating driver drunk on testosterone and the odd shouting voice, but mostly it’s people padding along with their dogs and neighbours chatting.
But then the idyll ends. The road that leads up to the Tube station and the artery has a major bus stop, a rubbish collection point, a taxi rank, and a Deliveroo rider rank. This culminates in one of London’s most persistent homeless encampments, with tents, begging, traipsing, drug-taking, drinking and Tube loitering. The permanent residence for two cackling women is a stinking underpass. There are more stragglers and smells in the unavoidable (above ground) cement passage required to rejoin the pavement going north.
