by George Pringle
Excerpt from my London Volume. “Steel & Industry” 2016
The climax of this London walk, is York Road. And what is York Road made of? Well, there are many kinds of shops. There are the ones will the tourist tat, then there is a dry cleaners. There is a locksmiths and a cobblers. A lopsided “open” sign has slid behind the glass outside, it hangs loose, valiantly flashing away. In this dystopian arcade, there are City Tour offices and two private healthcare clinics. Then there is a betting shop, a charity shop and two branches of competitive car hire.
The feet of a receptionist wear patent court shoes. They hover over an extension lead and a Thatcher blue carpet. Her identity remains concealed behind the frosty glass. At night, three palms wistfully stand to attention, in a dark office facade.
Passengers for Easyjet collect with their cases before a small bus stand. The London Eye shines her lights, only they confuse with the cranes of the Shell site. The buildings lever themselves from the ground, growing every week. Vigorous and fresh as wisdom teeth.
What is York Road made of? It is made of all of the glory of London.