Blackfriars station at night seems over-large. Nearby attractions are sparse. There’s the Blackfriar pub, a curious wedge-shaped Art Nouveau building saved after a campaign by Sir John Betjamin. There’s the automatic flowers machine in the concourse of the station itself, where guilty city workers in need of an evening gesture can drop twenty five quid to free bouquets from little plastic boxes. There’s not a lot else.
Dawn and sunset both offer spectacular views of the river and rapidly changing city vista, but these face competition from free papers and candy crush.
The river-spanning platforms are designed for twelve carriage trains. Which means the four carriage ones that run in the evening seem puny and out of place. The trains stop at the south end of the bridge, while most of the passengers arrive from the north side. So many an evening ends with a shuffle, then a panicked trot as passengers seek their steed back to the suburbs.
They’ll be back here in eight hours or so.