The 47 to Shoreditch

Four hours of waiting in A&E is enough to make anyone’s bum go numb.

That begs the question why after four hours on those unpadded, unforgiving chairs, anyone would elect to spend their first hour of freedom post-discharge on a bus seat? Don’t get me wrong, some people have no choice. For many of us the journey back from hospital can be a problematic affair. Board any bus from outside the main entrance of a hospital and it soon becomes evident that there are scores of people who are heading back from appointments, admissions and even their operations via public transport. With only so many seats available and such a variety of ailments there is often an ever so polite game of musical chairs to see who is the most in need and thus, worthy of that precious place right next to the driver and the doors.

Medical staff are not exempt from this interplay. Yes, their journey is more likely to be the return leg following a shift but sometimes they too are heading home after a hospital appointment plus or minus a stint in purgatory aka A&E. Sometimes they choose to celebrate release from this sentence by getting on the nearest bus out of Dodge and riding it to the end of the line.

Which is how I found myself on the 47 bus from Lewisham to Shoreditch one fine Saturday afternoon in September.

The weather was the stuff of childhood cliché. Heightened by the contrast from the interior gloom of an A&E waiting room, I stepped out in to an autumn air so refreshing it can only be described in apple-name adjectives: crisp, delicious, sweet. After the relative pestilence of the hospital, the free air of London was delectable. I gulped it down.

Health was mine and that knowledge was itself a form of deliverance - do pass go, do collect £200. In actual fact when I received my medical reprieve I understood that neither the total sum of money in the bank nor all the properties on the Monopoly board could compare in worth. Such a gift demands recognition, nay, celebration.

Getting a bus into town may seem a paltry way to do this but hear me out. What better way is there to celebrate a new lease of life than to take a tour of one of one of the world’s most exciting cities, discovering a new route and a new destination just because you can? And what better viewpoint is there than from the front seat of the top deck of a New Routemaster bus? On that afternoon I was lucky enough to snag this spot on the 47 bus heading for Shoreditch and was in the best position to watch the spectacle of London unfold.

Welcome to the demigod’s eye view with a breath more elevation than street level but not so high to distance from the world below. This is the Goldilocks perspective - it is just right. From the top deck of a bus different features become noticeable. Exquisite stonework from the second storey of a building is at eye-level, something easily missed from the gravitational confines of a pavement and a phone screen. Who these days actually bothers to look up? And it is not just man-made marvels that are more accessible at this height. As the bus trundles along boisterous trees jostle against the top deck, thwacking the Perspex windows with branches and conkers. Who needs exotic canopy walks when an uncut beech tree wants to get that close on a bus ride?

It quickly became clear that I would not be getting to my destination fast. A Saturday afternoon bus heading centrally from the outskirts of inner London inevitably halts at every stop. Boarding are not only thrifty daytrippers like me, who cross three travel zones for £1.50, but the bus cohort undergoes a rolling transformation as passengers hop on and hop off, all of them trying to get a little further along in their effort to get to shops, parks and homes. I settled in for the long haul.

The journey spooled out like a film reel. Starting at Lewisham Centre, the bus wound past the open market offering a comprehensive view of all the goods on sale. In a display that could rival the bazaars of Morocco, countless sunglasses lay in fastidious lines, their polarised lenses reflecting back the sun in metallic, insect-like shades. Diverse crowds in saris, muumuus and the standard tracksuit, picked through the spoils, capitalising on the fallout from global warming with an extended summer shopping season.

Ignoring the traffic lights chancers raced across the road, taking risks in an attempt to save an extra minute. As the bus tracked past the Elmer Elephant facade of the Glass Mill Leisure Centre the efforts of urban renewal became clear. For all the ill-matched architecture I had to admire the spirit of regeneration. Not content to settle in old ways London was changing, gussying up areas which had previously been synonymous with deprivation to become the new “it” place.

This vein of development was clear as the bus headed to the centre. As it crawled past Deptford, through Bermondsey and Southwark, gentrification was easy to see. The buildings became swankier with well-maintained fronts, which faced out onto broad, tree-lined roads. Occasional glimpses of the Shard or the Thames appeared between these complexes but the best views were for those in the luxury apartments alone. Gradually the pedestrian cohort also changed from multicultural masses to predominantly younger crowds spilling from Scandi-chic cafes and American-style bars. As ever, a big city remains a magnet for youth.

Nearing its destination the 47 saved the best until last. The bus puttered across Southwark Bridge, which straddled a churning, wind-whipped Thames before entering the City proper. People may talk of the obscene architecture as not in keeping with the established look of old London town, but I suggest these people take a trip on the top deck of the 47 before revisiting this opinion. I myself had never been a fan of the outlandish buildings warranting names like the “Walky Talky” or the “Cheesegrater” but a mere 10 minutes bus ride through the City changed my mind.

It was like falling into a kaleidoscope. Walls of glass cut the view in geometric lines from ground level to sky high. Such astounding towers seemed more in keeping with the “Super Size Me” CBDs of the US, however, there was something to be said for so much bright blue glass under an English sky. Here, as in Lewisham earlier in the journey, the city was innovating. Why not bemuse and beguile with a borrowed aesthetic? London was trying out a new look, keeping the best pieces from the old wardrobe and mixing them with the latest fashions from across the globe.

Although it may not work every time at least the constant change speaks to a quality that is vital for any place - aspiration. What is this unceasing cycle of regeneration but a hope for better? Why is anything built but to improve on the previous situation? Each blueprint is a wish for something more fitting, more beautiful, more in line with the utopia we hope the future will bring.

When gifted a fresh chance it speaks to positivity in us all that we look to the constructive. It is in that precious moment of potential, when we have been given the all clear by the doctor or when we view the empty plot of land ready for our vision, that is when we celebrate. And after that moment of thanksgiving passes, we take the first step forward, lay the foundation stone and the journey towards better begins.