24 hours in wimbledon

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On Thursday evening, I travelled up to Wimbledon in London. This is the first time I’ve had to navigate London and its trains alone. Also, my first time getting the tube. Terrified? Me? Definitely not…

Once I had arrived at Paddington, I’d been advised by British Rail’s online journey planner to take the Bakerloo line from Paddington to Waterloo, then travel from Waterloo to Wimbledon on an overground train. But after taking a degree in Maths, I decided to actually look at the Underground map and just go straight from Paddington to Wimbledon. Why do they have to overcomplicate things so much? One thing I did notice whilst being on so many trains, it seems everyone in London has two phones. Every person I sat next to had two phones stacked on top of each other. Is everyone in London just a drug dealer? Us country bumpkins with only one phone don’t understand this phenomenon. Answers on a postcard, please.

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In spite of the crappy advice, the journey was much easier than I thought it would be and I made it in one piece. I stayed in a lovely bed and breakfast. Above is the sunrise from just outside my window. Yes, I did go out at like 7am to get that photo. Definitely worth it. No lie-ins for this photographer. Hardcore.

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The actual reason for this trip to Wimbledon was a product photography course that my work had sent me on (ooh, ark at me, on a photography course, don’t you know). Here are a selection of my favourite images from the day. The course was really interesting and I picked up lots of new tips and techniques.

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After the course ended, I wandered (for 35 minutes, with flu, two bags, and a massive tripod) to Wimbledon station and got the train to Waterloo (“I was defeated, you won the war”). I sang this song in my head the whole time I was there – like you do.

Once there, I travelled from Waterloo (“promise to love you forever more”), I changed at Salisbury where I stepped off the train onto platform 4, and then set off to find platform 4 for my next train. After wandering around looking for the platform I was already on, I realised my mistake and finally caught my last train home.

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So that was my whistle-stop trip to Wimbledon and back. I proved to myself that I am able to navigate around an unknown city, catch correct trains (after asking every man in a high-vis jacket [whether he worked for Great Western Railways or not] if I was going the correct direction or not), and entertain myself on 90-minute-long journeys by eavesdropping into overly-audible women’s conversations about their unpleasant friendship group. However, I’m now very ill with the flu, so I’m going to spend this weekend in my bed.

 


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