Travelling out of London by coach makes you appreciate how direct train lines are. How big the city is. Once you have cleared the edge of Victoria, and headed over the bridges near the offices and stadiums, the back streets begin. Full suburbia with roads that look too small for cars, let alone a coach.
A logic must exist to this route. Half a dozen stops happen during these empty estates, but no one ever got on. The sole signs of existence are the Chinese takeaways and closed newsagents. Perhaps the occasional kebab joints dotted between constant two story houses with pebble dash and tiny drives.
Something about this journey set off a terrible sense of dread. The possibility of error on a coach journey is almost nil. If you are heading to the final destination, all you have to do is stay on, listen to music, and wait. But I spent most of these journeys worrying about getting off at the wrong stop. That I would end up trawling through the streets of an unknown town, blubbing until the police were called.
What often set off this fear was Tiger Mansion.
The house was detached, but on the small side. In the North you might find something similar for under half a million. The gates were twisted iron, and a four by four of some kind sat on a decent tarmac parking spot.
But what set Tiger Mansion apart were the pair of cat statues. Both were human height, and carved from smooth white granite. They stood in eternal watch from either side of the gate, giving away nothing about those who lived within.
I always made sure to look out the window when reaching Tiger Mansion. Any glimpse of the owners was an eternal objective. But the lights were almost always off. This did not stop me trying.
My patience paid off during a return trip from Camden. The lights within remained inactive. But something on the roof crawled like a human with an arched back. A tail wagged, but this may have been pinned on.
After crawling across the roof, it backflipped onto the roof of the four by four. Teeth shone in the glow of a neighbor's security light. A pair of eyes flashed green, and stared directly at me.
At last a light turned on within the house. Inside was a large heap of bones, china white and picked clean.
The coach drove on. It was suburbia all the way to the motorway.
Line: What often set off this fear was Tiger Mansion.
