Tuesday, July 17, 2007


"London has a beating heart" said P two years ago. We were in Amsterdam sitting on a bench and watching the Amstel. He was opening grolsch bottles one after the other like pistachio nuts. "London is a living monster. It can crash you like an insect, throw you into the gutter, it can kill you if it wants, but it can also protect you, heal you and look after you".

Saturday London decided to be kind. It started with a slow and good visit to the market where we found asparagus, parsley plums, grapes and papayas. Later a five hours farewell-to-south-London party on the roof with a pink sunset on one side and a rainbow on the other. By 1am got hi-jacked to another party in a former psychiatric clinic, squatted by Polish kids. The building seemed in bad shape, and they have no water or electricity inside the house. So they use a generator and rebuilt their kitchen in the garden near the only working tap. The music was 1980s cheese, bad, bad, bad, you know it.

Someone looked at me and said:
Very good. Always make sure your shirt matches your drink.

I was holding vodka and cranberry, which should give you some idea about the shirt.

Slim bikes were overcrowding the dark corridor. The next room had a football table and a kitten. And their court papers for late July.

When I cycled back the day was starting. Walorth road was packed with cars and bagels were in much demand.

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