London Life

I say boycott all British newspapers that drew reference to the second world war in their reporting of England v Germany. It’s boring, irrelevant, insulting and distasteful.

It’s four minutes to midnight on a Saturday evening, and I’m lying on my bed, with my Mac, looking out of the window to the apartments opposite. I can see straight into the kitchens of three flats in a block directly opposite.

An Asian family on the ground floor; some students cooking in the flat above; and lights on in the kitchen above that - where occasionally a muscled man runs in and out bare chested - I’m almost certain he’s aware of his audience from the flats opposite.

I can hear two or three police sirens in the distance; a door slams somewhere. The screech of brakes of a London bus. And the ever present faded din of traffic carrying on the night air. There’s something almost meditative about listening to the sounds of city life. We live cheek-to-jowl here and it’s never truly quiet.

Will I ever stop loving London?

Just on a train home from Waterloo, surrounded by middle aged Australian women tourists. This guy sat nearby dropped a frappé down his suit jacket and one of the women offered him a wet wipe to clean up with. Then as I glanced over, I saw her snap shut her ‘Femfresh’ box. I can’t believe she gave him a fanny wipe!