tomtaylor.co.uk

I love those moments in cities when the normal rhythm of the daily grind is interrupted, and in the momentary disruption a different city shines through. As if someone paused the record, allowing a simple discussion to take the place of the loud drone. The lifting of Tower Bridge is one of those events, a minor but regular disruption in the flow across the Thames.

I’ve never seen the bridge lift from afar, I’ve only ever been sitting at the head of the queue. As the gates close, the traffic is backed up all the way to the next junction approaching the bridge, and with no traffic in the opposite direction, all the cyclists move up to the front. Everything seems quiet - some cars turn their engines off, and there’s no alarms or warning bells on the bridge. Just a pair of red lights, politely encouraging you to wait.

And in the silence people begin to talk. Not those in cars, mind, but pedestrians and cyclists. Couriers discuss their day, a couple discuss their surprise at seeing the bridge lift. Tourists snap photos, both of the waiting Londoners and approach vessel. I stand next to my bike, in the middle of the road, tying my shoelace.

A boat glides through, slicing through the wind and the water. A few moments pass, and the bridge drops. Cyclists jostle for position, cars turn their engines on. The opposite side is a mass of bike lights, from which you can almost feel the potential energy.

And then the pause. A voice reminds you to not proceed until the green light is shown. And in this pause you can almost hear button being lifted and the record speeding up again.

The gates open, and cyclists pour through from both sides. Somewhere behind, the light goes green and the queue follows. Normal service resumes.

That’s why I enjoy @towerbridge so much - less the concept of machines talking, but more a simple reminder of the disrupted moments in everyday city life.