Unknown's avatar

A one stop trip on the Elizabeth Line

Lockdown cracked my London Tube habit. I no longer dive underground as soon as a destination is suggested – I walk. However, just occasionally, I run out of time or get tempted, and it’s usually the Elizabeth Line that does the tempting.

Today I had to travel from Farringdon to Tottenham Court Road. My timings were on the edge by the time I reached Farringdon, so I walked down the two, steep and gleaming escalators to the curve of white tunnel that leads out on to the platform. Wide as a beach this stretched into the distance, everything muted, even the trains. I don’t think I heard a single announcement while I was down there, waiting briefly for the next train to hum in and whisk me on to Tottenham Court Road.

My return journey, a couple of hours later, and a few carrier bags heavier, was just as smooth. And empty. And relaxing.

I think the Elizabeth Line is such an achievement, well worth the 13 years it took to tunnel the 73 miles, east to west. It cost around £19bn which I can’t begin to imagine, but perhaps that’s what you have to pay if you want capacity for around 200 million passengers a year.

Thankfully there were not many of them travelling mid-morning with me today.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Unknown's avatar

What do your trainers remind you of?

I studied my pair of trainers and considered the question – what do they remind me of? A lady on the radio said that hers reminded her of what she was capable of. Mine do not do that for me.

First they remind me of lockdown. These shoes were the pair that I wore during the first spring of the pandemic. We spent those months in the City in London, when that part of the capital was virtually deserted. On our daily walks we covered miles up and down the empty streets and along the Thames, with one of the few other sounds being the thudding footbeat of the occasional runners who passed us. We loved those walks, and since lockdown the habit of walking across London has stayed, but not in these trainers. They have been retired from that duty, and their place taken by a younger pair, better suited to the hard un-give of the pavements.

However, these particular trainers were not retired completely, and their next outing came immediately after lockdown when I decided to test them, and myself, on a longer rural walk – the Cotswold Way. The aim was to walk a hundred miles in a week, to raise money for the favourite charity of a friend who couldn’t do the walk herself. I thought it would be fine after all the miles done on London streets, but there were two big differences. First it was a hot week, and second, the Cotswold Way is very up and down. By the end of the Way I had blisters as big as bath plugs, plus the late learned knowledge that the trainers were too small for the walking socks I’d chosen.

So … what do these trainers remind me of? That I should never have bought the cheapest pairs of walking socks in the shop. If you’re ever in danger of making the same mistake, remember that you may well end up paying more for blister plasters than the good pairs of socks would have cost you in the first place.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Unknown's avatar

We played tennis today … but not like they did

The Gentlemen’s Singles Final at Wimbledon was on this afternoon – Novak Djokovic, the 36-year-old defending champion from Serbia, played against the 20-year-old Carlos Alcaraz from Spain. Both wanted to win, and both nearly did, but only one could claim the trophy.

The match went to five sets, with the two circling around the court like leopards, their reactions so quick, their bodies so supple, their concentration so intense. To be present, even from a distance, felt a huge privilege. It was like watching an epic duel through Attenborough eyes – two males of the same species, fighting for one prize – domination – their families waiting anxiously behind them. And it wasn’t just any two males, it was the ultimate two, the final pair, the bravest and best, the winners of endless contests to reach this point.

In the end, after over four hours, the victory went to Carlos Alcaraz, the third youngest winner in Wimbledon history. The man who lost, Djokovic, accepted his defeat like a player among players, head high, wearing his wounds lightly, and acknowledging the achievement of the first team to have knocked him from his Wimbldedon centre court pedestal since 2013.

What a moment in tennis.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023