Living in California has its perks, but there are a few things happening in the UK right now that I’m missing. Continue reading F.O.M.O.
I’ve just got back from a couple of weeks in London. While I was there, I binged on Britain – I drank in every pub, ate in every tea room, lined up in every job centre.
It was my first trip back, and I was surprised by the things I’d missed. Here they are.
1. The chippy. When Londoners look for a place to live, they search against 3 key criteria: local transport links, quality of schools, and proximity to good fish and chips.
2. Middle-class rebellion. This is rife in North London. Parking your BMW defiantly in a no parking zone, and – horror of horrors – leaving a coffee stain on the counter top, right beside the designated dirty spoon receptacle.
Soon after the above photos were taken, a middle-aged lady sped away from her local Waitrose in a Range Rover, with excesses of free samples from the cheese counter.
3. Celebrities. London is home to some of the most famous faces in the world. And some other randoms who look just like them. I call this one “Micky Gervais”.
4. Bagels, from a handful of bakeries across London. Perfect for Sunday lunch or at 2am, when you inexplicably find yourself on Brick Lane, overly drunk and an expensive cab ride away from home. Get them when they’re fresh and your teeth will sink right through. Eat them the next day and it’s like biting into a rockface.
5. Jay Z has 99 problems, but Mr Whippy’s flake ain’t one. Nothing says 80s childhood more than being enticed from your house by the tinny sounds of Greensleeves, and then narrowly avoiding an oncoming car as you run across the street. The taste of ice cream was always that much better right after a near-death experience.
No. 1: aggressive pigeons.
We’ll miss these little cuties, with their dirty grey bodies and mangled feet.
Little-known fact: I can read their minds. This one’s saying: “I dare you. Take one more photo and I’ll do a fly-by shit in your lunch”.
No. 2: tube sleepers.
This lady, doing a good job of pretending to sleep, to avoid giving up her seat to a pregnant commuter.
No. 3: posh pooch poop.
You know you’re in a Royal Park when there’s a designated doggy dump area. You know you’re in every other part of London when the designated dump area is the whole bloody neighbourhood.