A lot of the borough is built around stations: it’s a reasonable rarity that you get two (different) main lines running through the same town, but that’s how special we are. There’s a reason: one’s always been overground and the other, amazingly, was an Underground line. Now they both run into the centre of town, covering locations both north and south of the town’s main roads.
Basically, we’re a transportation smorgasbord. Whichever way you come from London, you’ll end up falling onto the High Street eventually. Watch out for the buskers under the bridges, and don’t feed the seagulls. Seriously, you’re just asking for trouble…
The Next Station is…
Next station, end of the line.
Button, bias backed, done up a treat
both ways to get here; worlds away
from London Town, their great escape.
Next station’s holiday, lie low
Sweeney chasing bad ‘uns here
Eastenders noshing, Jamie’s shack.
Beware, our seagulls do attack.
Grey shift, house shrink, blurred way
transport lives that could be yours:
stay well within their lines, escape.
White fed morsels freed on rails,
weekend tails, dancing to own songs
in time with poles: Karl, he knows.
Rhythm of travel, unopposed.
Two ways to meet an end, aligned
step towards lads’ weekend, planned
ice-creamed doughnut slots, escape.
Destination’s golden, miles
accountable no longer, smile: don’t care
now Friday’s here, direction’s clear.
Southend’s mine; another beer.
Next station, start fresh; good time.