“Tired of London, Tired of Life” – Well, fuck.
I know I should learn to love this city; it’s quirky sky scrapers, Brooklynesque bar scene and breathtaking views. I’ve always liked the idea of the place, the people and the stereotypical cockney characters. Unfortunately, I just don’t think I’m going to find my idyllic little London town buried beneath its tourist trappings, overpriced coffee chains, deathly quiet streets, overcrowded undergrounds and bland hubs that seem to lack any sentimentality. I want to find it, quite frankly I need to find it but I have yet to glimpse any hint of life in this seemingly dreary city.
I’ve wandered the rooms of the Tate, clinked champagne glasses at Sushi Samba and strolled through sunny St. James’ Park. I’ve been floored by the Great Gatsby stylings of Claridge’s tearooms and suffered momentous hangovers from the many, many drinks downed in Dirty Dicks. I have Bunga Bunga on my brunch to-do list and I’ve developed an on-going relationship with burgers from Meat Liquor. I avoid the likes of Oxford Street and instead opt for the beautiful and spacious Westfield. I cherish my buy-one-get-one-free cinema tickets on Wednesdays and I have come to care for my Oyster card like an old friend. I would happily visit London anytime.