The Underground Timelog

THE 6AM BOOTCAMP WORKOUT

Industrial looking escalator you carry us deeper into your cave. We jog up onto you and burn some calories, craning our necks, oyster in hand, I must get on that platform. We run. We breathlessly try to catch you. You rumble, you roar, we push, we squeeze, earnestly trying not to be engulfed by your violent doors.We pant, we scramble, trying to grab a yellow handle. 

Its a war-zone out there, too early our bones cry but we don't voice out our pain.

You warn us and we seldom listen. 'Mind the gap, Mind the doors, Please keep all your belongings with you.' You race like an eagle to its prey. We jolt, we awkwardly bump into the person right beside us. 

If lucky we sit, gracing our bodies to a three minute breather. We smile at the lady next to us 'cute baby, boy or girl?' The train halts at the next station but the lady and her baby don't get off. Tightly cramped together, we British don't like the small talk. We close our eyes, If I can't see you, you're not there. 

Time slows, only for a moment, our muscles begin to loosen and our eyelids drag our minds to the thoughts of lunch and hopes for the afternoon weather. 

This is: Westminster Station, alight here for...

We jump, not minding the sore in our feet, time to run a swim type of run through the crowd. Nobody ever had to teach us. Who knew our legs could move that quick? Time to focus, not so long now until it would be time to clock in at work. We switch platforms, we change lines. 

We escape alive  just in time.You treat us to snacks and free newspapers, the odd buskers music that reminds us of holidays in Greece.

                                                                                                     THE 5PM ZOMBIE DANCE

We get through the day, forgetting all our travel woes. We drag our feet, sluggishly. It's not your fault, we're unlike you. You keep on chugging, running, back and forth, around and around. We hail you, for without your hard work we could never get back home to our beds.






We alight, we advance up on the escalator, oyster card in hand we awaken a little to the whoosh of fresh air. Fresh air is much better than the underground fan air. Relief at last.

The Underground- take our salute for being so intricately designed, yet so ugly. You showcase the character of the past whilst transporting the Characters of the present. We thank you, despite your most times unpredictable service. You serve us well. 

DISCLAIMER

Excuse my raw photography, no edits, no perfect alignment. I felt it only befitting to capture the underground in such a way that represents it for what it truly is. Of course this short excerpt does not include absolutely everything eg. the commentators/staff that provide a helping hand from platform to platform, the drivers that inform us whenever we're being held for a moment or two, the amateur photographers, the music makers, the charity workers... there's a lot of great adventure to discover beneath the ground! I decided to just focus on my typical commute to and fro work. 

Thank you for reading, please feel free to comment down below some of your personal experiences from the underground.