As many of you know, d and I lived for about 7 years together in London, and then left for the comparitive sticks of my home town, Merthyr Tydfil, in South Wales.
I've always said that part of the joy of living in London is the anonymity, which allows people to be just as unique, self-expressive, self-realising and...well, not to put too fine a point on it, deliciously weird as they want to be, without anyone else actually having the time or inclination to give what might realistically be considered to be a whole fuck, let alone a fuck and a half.
And so when we left, a handful of people, knowing my view, nodded sagely, as at another soldier fallen, another tattoed mentalist gone to work in insurance, another lover of the wild, gone, as Billy Connolly would have it, decidedly beige.
"You're gonna miss the weirdness," they said. "The wild and crazy mentalness that only a city can provide..."
Wellll....
This morning, I met a bloke who had all over, bright blue, snowflake-crunchy zombie skin covering his whole face, who was dressed in a light tweed suit, with an alpine hat, out of which protruded a magnificent feather, and who carried an open bottle of beer in one hand, from which he sipped, rather than guzzled with the need of an early morning alcoholic.
This was at 9am, on the way home from Tescos.
Bring it on, London! Bring it on...
Tomorrow of course, I'm going back to London. For an all day committee meeting...about committees.
Cos that's the kind of mentalness you miss...
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