Orpington to London Victoria #5 – George Berger Column
It’s surely a failure of town planning to leave a sprawl of suburb with no redeeming features whatsoever. It’s not even bad, just featureless. A face without eyes, nose or a mouth. A book with no text or pictures. Or cover. A road of semi-detacheds on a permanent loop, like a merry go round you can never get off. With the music playing louder and louder until your ears start bleeding, and the attendant grinning maniacally like he’s about to stab you to death with a rolled up copy of the Daily Mail.
Shortlands. Being the fifth in a series of psychogeographical memories of the trainline that took George Berger from nowhere and nothing to somewhere and …something. Or other.