Orpington to London Victoria #3 – George Berger Column
My, how we clung onto Bowie. He knew. He was always on our side. Back at the age where it was all about sides. Every alienated kid who felt weird and isolated — ‘these children that you spit on, as they try to change their world’ — could listen to Bowie in their bedroom and know that it was going to be alright. We became ‘immune to your consultations’, or at least a little bit nearer an imagined herd immunity.
Bickley. Being the third in a series of psychogeographical memories of the trainline that took George Berger from nowhere and nothing to somewhere and …something. Or other.