A Borough in the Balance
Now, to answer that age-old riddle over the glass being half-empty or half-full, I’d pose a different question: does it depend on what’s in the glass? But what if, instead of a glass, the vessel in question was a London borough? This puzzle preoccupies my mind as I stand killing time on the platform of one of the borough’s many decrepit railway stations. Like me, it’s seen better days, and again like me, Norwood Junction’s makeover has been promised for years.
Waiting for Godot (or Just a Train)
Norwood Junction! What a name. One that slips off the tongue with all the polish of a quip from the script of The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, a place where, just as in the classic sitcom, trains never seem to run on time. I do a lot of waiting and thinking here, mostly enforced. Often, it feels like a conspiracy by Thameslink and Southern instigated to irritate and infuriate me.
The Smell of Salvation
But I’m snapped out of this dangerous daydreaming by an olfactory overload — the mind-bendingly delicious scent of pimento wood bludgeoning my brain. With that and the screech of the squabbling parrots, I could be anywhere but the platform of a suburban railway station. I’ll chalk that up as win number one for Croydon.
A Walk on the Wild Side
Almost unbelievably, the aroma that so conveniently averted combustion originates from The Original Tasty Jerk LTD. If you think the name’s a mouthful, try the pork — it’s amazing. It’s a long waft and a good ten-minute walk away at my stately sexagenarian pace, nestled next to Selhurst Park stadium. Walk, you say, are you mad? Isn’t that a dangerous pursuit in these here parts?
Fear and Loathing in South London
I’ve been told that more than once. Advised that I’m taking my life into my own hands with such frivolity. Until we first came under attack during one assignment to Iraq, I used to joke that I’d heard more gunfire around here. But the area is on the way up. And so is Croydon.
The Streets Have Stories
A joke, of course, for indeed I adore the area and love ambling around, since this, in many ways, is to experience a visual stream of consciousness. As to danger? Yes, it’s had its moments, but I imagine no more than any other carton of spicy London. I’ve seen circling air ambulances and hovering copper choppers. I recall the tributes and flowers, testaments to luck and timing, and walk on by.
A Photographer’s Paradox
Now, as my coworkers and partner will attest, I’m not the most positive of individuals. In all honesty, optimism is not my superpower. And that, my friend, is at the core of the eternal dichotomy posed by photography. How can a pessimist ever keep on pressing the shutter?
Croydon: A Cultural Cocktail
So, to those who say the best thing to come out of Croydon is the X68, my retort is: get off that bus and take a hike. If you do, you’ll be walking in some big footsteps — Kate Moss, Stormzy, Raymond Chandler, Captain Sensible, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and in the case of W. G. Grace, very big feet.
Concrete Dreams and Brutalist Beauty
On top of that, it’s an architectural gumbo too; a clash of contradicting styles juxtaposed with some of the best brutalist architecture in the land. If, like me, you love such “carbuncles,” this is Eden.
A Dystopian Wonderland
I accept that the area has a funky dystopian vibe, another contradiction I know. Perhaps this all had some subliminal impact on Terry Gilliam since the terrifying torture chamber scene in Brazil was filmed in the interior of one of the giant cooling towers of Croydon Power Station.
A Home Like No Other
But perhaps trying to find logic in this exotic universe is just an exercise in Absurdism. Yet there is nothing absurd about its joy and energy. Blissfully free of some of the more cloying social niceties. It’s a long way from Bideford, the town of my birth, a million miles in attitudes to race and gender. Yet I feel more at home here than I ever did in Devon.
Croydon: A Glass Half-Full
So, back to my brain teaser from the beginning of these ramblings. In retrospect, Croydon is a glass half-full — indeed, full of life.
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