Yup, tomorrow I’m leaving London “for good”, or at least the foreseeable future. I got two bags alá 20 kg ready to go.
I’m in general not a sentimental person. Terrified of change, yes, but not particularly sentimental. I won’t miss the flat we live in; it’s tiny and has an odd shape. I won’t miss the car alarm that goes off roughly 3-5 times a day, 24/7, outside our window. I won’t miss the pimps and their customers, or whatever they are, scaring the SHIT out of me by ringing our door bell everywhere between 8 pm – 4 am. Apparently there’s a travelling brothel in the neighbourhood, which is not quite like a travelling circus. If I had to stay here any longer I’d do a Sebastian Horsley and put up this sign:
I will miss the copious amounts of ready-food, cheap and easily available just outside our door. We had Indian take-out from Sangri yesterday, which was fucking glorious, and we might go across the road tonight and get fancy ice-cream. The reason is that we have a jar of coins that we’ve been meaning to spend for ages and now that I’m leaving we need to get on it. Here’s some food porn for you from yesterday:
The wine is called the Hedonist. We bought it because it had a pig on it and we had already tried the one with the cat on it.