Stratford. It’s actually quite an interesting place, historically speaking that is. Know where to look and you’ll come across abandoned bridge parapets, forgotten platforms, commanding modern architecture mixed in with a railway heritage that stretches back to 1839. It’s also a great place to spot a diverse range of rolling stock with the Olympic stadium looking on in the background. Class 90 MkIII sets speed through on their way to Norwich, 66’s lead container freight round to the North London line, tube and DLR intermingle on different levels and if you’re lucky you might spot the new Crossrail fleet on test.
But none of this matters compared to the unbridled evil that Stratford has come to personally represent.
Three levels of badly designed crowded commercialism looms over the northern exit of Stratford station filling me with a sense of anxiety and dread. Slow moving pushchairs dawdle their way through the unnecessarily warm aisles, sharing their space with confused bargain hunters and lost souls. Yet I still find myself drawn here for the sheer ease of convenience that it presents. Why. Why do I do it?!
Image copyright A Carter – CallingAllStations.co.uk