If you’ve been tasked with writing a magazine article about East London, or are reviewing a bar, restaurant, pub, market or road in the area, don’t worry.
The trendy Hackney locals realise it can be difficult to come up with hip adjectives and arty, bearded ways to describe the scenesters and alternative moustache-wearing crowd you’re expecting to find while stumbling through the borough’s experimental decor.
So if you’re unsure of what words to include in your copy, here are some hints gathered from other well-known guides and newspapers, which will undoubtedly serve you well when portraying a clichéd view of London’s area du jour.
Handy tip: Grabbing a pen and checking them off as you go will help to make sure you don’t use the word “hipster” twice in one sentence.
“But how does it work in practice?” I hear you wonder.
Like I said, don’t worry. These words apply to any East London establishment you wish to describe.
e.g. Car-boot sales
TimeOut says fashionable locals can’t get enough of second hand Fischer Price toys
I’ve been a convert to travelling by bus ever since I moved to Stokey back in April.
This was partly down to there not being a direct tube to work nearby, and also because moving to east London’s “trendy bit” – hurrrrgh – meant inadvertently subscribing to a lifetime of Death by Rent, wherein an inch of your soul chips away every time you check your bank balance at the beginning of each month.
Happily, using the bus in London saves me a princely £30 on travel; money which can then be flittered away on more worthwhile pursuits – such as ordering three rounds of tequila five minutes before last orders at the bar.
Tequila funds aside, there are lots of reasons why buses are well good. But if you’re thinking of becoming a regular on board, there are a few things you should know.
1. This:
2. Strategically placing yourself / your bag in the aisle seat to stop anyone sitting there doesn’t work
In fact, I’d say it’s the fastest way to ensure that someone does try to sit there. Because if there’s one thing Londoners love to do, it’s teach other Londoners a swift lesson in rush hour etiquette. Besides, everyone knows the only way to ensure no one sits next to you is to do what the bloke behind me did yesterday, and choose the seat next to a patch of dried vomit. Even then, it’s probably more hassle than it’s worth, because you’ll only have to explain to everyone who tries to sit there why they shouldn’t, and in doing so, alert the entire bus to the fact you’re sitting next to crusty sick. No, good morning to you.
3. By opening the window the minute you get on, you’re basically telling your fellow passengers “Good lord, you lot stink”
Opening the window is always a controversial move for some reason, but especially in winter. I’m always amazed by the top deck’s capacity for sitting in what basically amounts to a morning breath steam room; a place where passengers stare at the fogged glass, forlornly wiping the sweat off the windows with their sleeves as if there’s no other option. Guys, I want to say, this place smells like onions cooked in armpits. Let’s ventilate this badboy. Then I open the window. Five minutes later, the bloke next to me shuts it. No. he wants to reply. We’re fine as we are.
4. You don’t queue to board a bus. You bundle
Apparently, in some parts of the country and very civilised parts of the city (i.e. Fleet Street), people form an orderly queue for a bus. Not so in the wilds of east London, where you’ll be subject to a bus stop free-for-all that no amount of audible tutting can call to order. Ultimately, It doesn’t matter if you got there first, and it doesn’t matter how much you glare. This isn’t the Post Office, mes amie – it’s London’s very own street version of Ryanair. And that’s what elbows are for.
5. Don’t press “Stop” over and over and over again when the sign clearly already says “Bus Stopping”. It’s really annoying
A symptom of the headphoned masses? Perhaps. A perfectly logical thing to happen when you have 70 people in a relatively small space all going about their business? Maybe. An affliction of adults who never really got past the childish lure of a big, shiny red “stop” button? Absolutely.
Obviously this list is in no way complete, so if there’s something else you think newbie bus goers should know, leave it below.
Last week began in much the same way as the previous one had ended: with me reaching into my pocket, tipping out the contents of my bag and realising that – for the second time in under seven days – I had lost my Oyster card.
Ah, Oyster Cards: the Londoner’s passport, our essential bit of kit, the one thing guaranteed to make us late when we get to the bus stop and realise it’s at home on the kitchen table, or in our other coat pocket.
Alas, this one was in none of those places. It was doing a lap of London on the 76 bus or in someone’s lucky swag bag, along with my newly replaced work pass which also lived in the plastic holder.
All of which would make for a pretty boring story – and an even worse blog post – if it wasn’t for what happened next.
Because about half an hour later, another Londoner found it. And they didn’t just find it, they took it back to their office, sat down at their computer, and did a bit of detective work.
After Googling the name on my work pass, they found my Google+ profile. Which lead them to this blog. Where they located the “contact” section and an email address, and sent me a message.
Hello,
Bit random and advanced apologies if I have totally got the wrong person but I found an oyster card/id card on the bus this morning.
Have you lost an oyster card??
I replied to say yes, that was me, and at lunchtime I toddled along to Fleet Street and reclaimed my Oyster card and work pass from a very kind girl, who, upon hearing that this was my second loss in a week, also provided me with a lanyard to tie it to my person.
Aha. Good thinking.
The whole thing sort of reaffirmed what I’ve thought for a long time: that given the chance, most people get a better feeling from reuniting someone with a lost item than keeping it themselves.
Lost: two shoes. Brown. Smelly. Last seen on Adam Street.
In fact, I will undoubtedly get kicked up the bum by karma for saying this – but I’ve got a bit of a good track record for losing things and getting them back.
It first happened at Baker Street station a few years back, when I lost my iPod Touch and later received a hand written note through the post from the man who picked it up.
After confirming it was mine (an admission of some dodgy UK Garage and a penchant for Evanescence seemed to do the trick – don’t judge me, it was 2008), he sent it to me recorded delivery – wouldn’t accept any postage or payment – and included a note wishing me a happy Christmas and, err, better taste in music.
Noted.
Sometimes though, an item will find its way back to you when you absolutely least expect it. Stories abound of instances when brand new Mac Books have been left under tube seats, never to be seen again – but even in a big, busy city like London, luck can still be on your side.
Which is a roundabout way of saying “Yes, I am that person who left their brand new iPad on the bus to work one morning because sometimes I’m an absolute idiot before 9am”
After realising my error and banging my head against the desk repeatedly for 20 minutes, I did what every 21st Century girl does when they do something astronomically stupid: I tweeted about it.
Which was when this happened:
Technology saves the day. @_sampat reminded me about the “Find my devices” function, and I tracked iPad down at the bus garage. Sheesh.
Anyone who knows north London will perhaps understand my sense of “Oh no, not there” when the little tracker dot zoomed into the Tottenham area, and then relief as it came to a stop in the bus garage, at which point I made a phone call.
“Hello, I think my iPad is in your bus garage” I said.
“It’s not” the lost property lady replied.
“It is. I can see it.”
And with that, my iPad was retrieved from the back of the bus where I’d left it, and I became the luckiest girl in London.
PHEW.
So if you’re also a little bit careless and generally not to be trusted with expensive technology on public transport, here are some handy little ideas that have helped me get my stuff back.
1. Keep a slip of paper / ID card with your name or e-mail address in the pocket of your Oyster card holder. Cross your fingers. Wait a bit before cancelling, just in case (it’s not reversible)
2. Instead of calling your phone / Mp3 player / camera phone something normal like “Jo’s iPhone”, name it with your door number and postcode. If someone plugs your kit into their computer and is greeted with a way to contact you, the guilt strings are going to get pulled and if you’re lucky like me, you’ll get your iPod Touch back.
