My Island is Beautiful

 Excerpt  :

The Docklands Light Railway from Tower Bridge to South Quay. Funny Lego trains jolting along the track, curling like a cheap roller coaster over the roofs of East London. I would usually try to force my way to the front of the train so that I could sit and enjoy the weirdly sexual feeling of the carriage exploding out from the dark tunnel, into the daylight and then the uphill climb of Wapping. Crisp packets and bits of animals would fly out before us as we pushed the air forward. A rocket in a tube, slowed by the weight of suits. It always smells of fizzy drinks and sweat, damp dogs and catalogue shop perfume. No matter who I sat next to, or stood crouching beneath, my eyes would turn to those windows at the front of the train as we crossed from one world to another.

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