Sitting here in Berlin this evening, wired on coffee in a strange local café surrounded by the lights and concrete of my adopted city, it's easy to feel a million miles away from London. The pubs aren't going to close anytime soon, the transport runs like clockwork and the beer is reasonably cheap. All of the components for a normal European Saturday night are in place.
But having recently returned for a 2-week visit to the UK with Olya, I am forced to concede that I probably have a lot more connection to the place than I would usually care to admit. Maybe it's when standing on the terraces at Brentford, very vocally accusing the referee, a man I have never met, of being a 'wanker' just because he makes a few bad decisions. Could be how much I like the way that complete strangers will call you 'mate' (or, indeed, 'wanker'). Or just the faint shiver that goes down my spine as we stand outside the skeleton of the old Intrepid Fox pub where I (mis-)spent many evenings growing up and which is now being converted into luxury flats. Either way, the older I get the more I realise that you can't escape your hometown just by leaving it.
Olya and I kept a bit of a record of this trip (300 or so photos constituting 'a bit') like true tourists. Hopefully the strange mish-mash of experiences collected here will form some kind of comprehensible whole.
Probably not, but then that's cities for you.
Tate Modern.
By the Thames.
But having recently returned for a 2-week visit to the UK with Olya, I am forced to concede that I probably have a lot more connection to the place than I would usually care to admit. Maybe it's when standing on the terraces at Brentford, very vocally accusing the referee, a man I have never met, of being a 'wanker' just because he makes a few bad decisions. Could be how much I like the way that complete strangers will call you 'mate' (or, indeed, 'wanker'). Or just the faint shiver that goes down my spine as we stand outside the skeleton of the old Intrepid Fox pub where I (mis-)spent many evenings growing up and which is now being converted into luxury flats. Either way, the older I get the more I realise that you can't escape your hometown just by leaving it.
Olya and I kept a bit of a record of this trip (300 or so photos constituting 'a bit') like true tourists. Hopefully the strange mish-mash of experiences collected here will form some kind of comprehensible whole.
Probably not, but then that's cities for you.
Tate Modern.
By the Thames.
Sammie and Ema seeing in 2008 at the Crown.
Londoners
My dear departed Intrepid Fox (Soho) becoming luxury flats.
Hey Suburbia. South Ealing, all wired up.
Spade-umbrella.
Cafe.
Me, Judy and Sammie on the terraces at Brentford.
Onfield. Brentford 3 Chester City 0.
Me and Sebby.
2008 looks this good.
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