On a recent lunchtime trip to take photos of the Monument for this drawing, phallic London no2, or knobtastic London no2 if you’d prefer, I took advice that you can walk underground from Bank to Monument. It was raining or I wouldn’t have bothered, it’s a lovely history filled walk. In fact I walked there above ground and tried the return journey underground.
Yes you can walk from Monument station to Bank underground. Follow signs for the central line. As far as I could tell you need to pay, tap in with an Oyster card at least.
The route is another of Esther’s finest moments, stair cases up and down, escalators up and down, corridors all around. I surfaced in an unfamiliar place due to not loving the underground nature of the walk.
What was I expecting?
Not knowing the streets around the exit I made a guess and headed down one that I felt would take me in the right direction. It did. It took me past St Clemente’s and ever since I’ve been trying to remember the words to the nursery rhyme, Oranges and Lemons.
I’ve just googled them.
I know we used to play the oranges and lemons game. I know we used to sing the song. How did we all sleep at night? A jolly little ditty of debt and threats of execution.
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clemente’s
You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St Martins
When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey
When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch
When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney
I do not know say the great bells of Bow
Here comes a candle to light you to bed
And here comes the chopper to chop off your head…..
No wonder we’re all fucked up.
fat tart 