I am become Londoner, the jaywalker of roads

Jul 02, 2025

I’ve officially been here for a month. When can I call myself a Londoner? Never is the answer, because that is cringe. But today I did something of note - something that integrated me into the local culture. I jaywalked. It was terrifying, it was electrifying, and by Jove did it make me feel alive. Let’s relive it together.

Just like every day that I decide to WFO (work from office)1 instead of WFH (work from home), I begin my commute by walking down the street and up the ramp that connects my neighbourhood to the main road near Westfield.

Wait, Debora! You were at Westfield in the last post! I hear you exclaim. YES, dear reader! How astute of you. This is why I love you reader, because you are so perceptive and diligent in your dedication to my Substack blog. Come here and let me ruffle your hair, reader. God, I love you.

But the reason I am plodding up the ramp is not to go to Westfield - oh no. For it is a WFO2 day, and I am heading to Shepherd’s Bush Station, which sits in front of the gleaming fortress of commerce3.

To access Shepherd’s Bush Station, I must make a crossing. It is not a simple road that I must traverse. You know what I mean - cars going left, cars going right. The classic. No, this road builds on the simple format that we all know and love by adding two bonus bus lanes and the merging of a slip road that offers up unlimited potential for being slammed by a 4000-pound car at full force! And every day that I must cross this road, whether that is to go to Westfield or to work, I see groups playing a game of chicken with cars. Their heads dart around anxiously as they scamper across the road, probably breathing a silent prayer to the god of vehicles.

I know you may think I love risk, seeing as I post my writing online, but I am in fact quite averse to it. This is why, upon moving to London, the local tendency to jaywalk at any given opportunity stood out to me. Of course I had seen it done before, and I suppose it’s not my business what people do with their free time, but I was appalled at the unabashed skirting of all crossing laws being carried out in front of me on a daily - no, hourly - basis. Sticking to my strong morals, I would turn my nose up at the crowds and walk the extra few metres to get to the traffic lights. I relished the safety of the legal crossing and smiled to myself as I reached the other side.

Today, something changed.

Not just something. Everything.

As I came up the ramp I was greeted with the familiar sight of a diverse array of vehicles zooming across the road. But as I approached, my feet did not walk towards the traffic lights. They propelled me forward, towards the edge of the bloody road!

What are you doing, feet? I asked. Shut up you freak and stop talking to your feet, they answered. Fair enough.

On either side of me stood my brothers and sisters in arms, ready to march4 across the busy road. The other side stretched out before me, and I felt like the captain of a mighty galleon about to embark on a treacherous journey across the unforgiving ocean. A pause as we assessed the situation. Then off we went, dotting between cars. My mind went blank with the adrenaline of the situation, and before I knew it I was on the other side.

I did it. I actually did it. I was exhilarated, because I hadn’t felt this level of danger since I stole a pound out of my mum’s bag over a decade ago. I turned to high-five my fellow jaywalkers but they were all gone, for it was not a special event for them, but a mundane part of their days.

Nonetheless, I was satisfied. Even though it was in no way more efficient than just walking across at the traffic light, I had done it. I had jaywalked. I descended the winding steps of Shepherd’s Bush Station grinning from ear to ear at my newfound victory.

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