I LOVE LONDON
Big up all LDN crew and other such youth talk.
I spent the weekend up in London. It was aces. I was supposed to be there in the capacity of investigative journalist, in order to top up the work on the other channel. I failed bigtime, by not getting up to London until the evening, making trampspotting a hopeless pursuit, as it was dark and all the parks were locked up. Sad faces all round.
However, I did manage to have some fun, including sloshing around in an inch of many other people’s piss with my pants around my ankles in a train’s tiny toilet cubicle, whilst brown stew mutton and jerk chicken flew out of my neck at high speeds. Good times.
I have learnt many things this weekend.
Not only is Mr Jerk of Wardour Street an over-priced and completely inauthentic Caribbean dining experience, but it is also situated right next door to a much more friendly and better priced Caribbean cafe that sells better food. Whilst waiting for our food to arrive (fourty minutes, after being told 5), my girlfriend went next door to the smaller, splinter group faction Jerk City and bought some saltfish and ackee patties that blew everything I ate at Mr Jerk out of the water. Hopefully, this was not what blew it out of both of our gullets at various stages of the night.
I also learnt that visiting old friends is something I should do more often. I caught up with someone I hadn’t spoken to, for more than 30 seconds, in over 10 years. I learnt one of his brothers is currently doing rather well in Hot Chip, meaning he’d blown out a free gig at the Brixton Academy to come and see me. That meant a lot. Even the slightly uncomfortable hugging at the end of the night wasn’t enough to tarnish the situation. Gus, blood, it was awesome to see you.
Finally, the most important thing I have learnt this weekend is that you should never, ever, regardless of your abilities, attempt to put up a flat pack bed when you have food poisoning. Or eat Caribbean food. When you have food poisoning, that is.
I think it was a dodgy tuna roll.
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