What do legsore travellers think when they disembark at Gatwick airport and find that the route to central London is through the tatty sadlands of Croydon and Streatham? Streatham, in particular, has that odd narrowness of streets British cities achieve without ever straying close to either the chic or the quaint.
Streatham is the sort of place you quickly remember not to stop, unless it’s for the magnificently conceived bulk-buy Indian supermarket (AKA the cash & curry). As I reluctantly pulled the car over at a petrol station one evening last week, it was therefore only after careful calculation had shown that I would conk out in Croydon.
The forecourt was gloomy, underlit and overlooked by a dark brick building of indeterminate purpose. The sign on the pump was both grim and baffling:
A PRE-PAY SERVICE IS NOW
BEING USED AT THIS STATION,
RANDOMLY
PLEASE SEE THE ATTENDANT
BEFORE PUMPING
No comments:
Post a Comment