Columnists
Ah, London
It’s our last Sunday here. It’s going to be interesting heading back to Picton, leaving a big city in the UK for a small community in Ontario. But I do miss the peace and quiet of the County. I miss my pillow. I miss going to the gym. I miss my friends and the Canadian part of my family. But, oh, the people of London! I’ll miss the people watching, for sure.
This time out we ended our UK trip with a day of rock music at the historic Camden Market. “Camden Rocks” is a two-day event that begins at noon on Saturday and ends late on Sunday evening. If you like people watching, and I do, the historic Camden Market on Camden Rocks Weekend is the place to be. If you like rock music, and I do, Camden Market is the place to be. And, if you don’t mind having your first beer of the day at 10:30 in the morning whilst making your musical selections for the day, Camden Market on Rocks Weekend is, most definitely, the place to be. Some of you might be shaking your heads and saying quietly to yourselves, “She’s far too old for a rock concert, let alone six bands in six hours.” You might be right in your mind, but Londoners don’t see age the way we’ve been trained to do. I’d have to guess that the youngest concert- goers might have been in their late teens. The stunning part was, LOML and I were far from the oldest enjoying the sounds of Flight Brigade, Bottom Line, Soap Girls, Ginger Wildheart, Virgin Marys, These Five Years, The Wild Things and Wheatus, to name eight of approximately 400 bands playing. Spotted on the second floor of The Monarch Public House were two people who might have been in their eighties. Both of them feeling the beat as enthusiastically as the gyrating audience on the bar level.
Ah, London! I’m going to miss you. I’ll miss the coffee breaks at the Pret before a museum or gallery day. I’ll miss how attached Londoners are to their phones, more connected than any other group of people I have ever encountered. I’ll miss the intense press and squeeze and drone at rush hours in the Underground and on the buses. I’ll miss the twice daily garbage pickup, because who doesn’t want to hear, see and smell a refuse truck twice each day. I’ll miss having to look over my shoulder and around the corner whenever I cross a road. London doesn’t have stop signs at corners and pedestrians do not have the right of way when crossing. I’ll miss the folks who wear loaded backpacks, as well as shoulder a massive carry bag while dragging small-wheelie-suitcases. Cars are a luxury here, so anything you might throw into the boot of your vehicle you physically carry on yourself, or drag behind, throughout the day. LOML became quite adept at shoulder bags and grocery totes, although I don’t think we’re ready to forego our vehicle when we return to the County.
Ah, London! I’m going to miss the faint smell of diesel mixed with bleach and a soupçon of rotting garbage and the cloying sweetness of elderflowers. I’ll miss Fairy washing-up liquid. Wet washing hanging on radiators inside the flat, to dry. Small kitchens, bad coffee, fabulous tea, pulpy bread, lovely butter and cheese, water as hard as rocks, foxes on the roads in the evening, rats in laneways looking at you as if you’re the intruder (and I suppose we are). I’ll miss the beautiful parks with lush green grass. The breathtaking architecture, the museums and galleries, the monuments, the canals and the bookshops. I’ll miss people asking if I’m a Republican, and I’ll miss the look of relief on their faces when I tell them I’m a Canadian who doesn’t understand Brexit (mostly, neither do they). I’m going to miss the math involved in deciding three pounds isn’t the same as three dollars. That being said, everything is quite expensive here, and paying three pounds for a bottle of juice is what you pay if you want a bottle of juice. Mostly, I’ll miss my UK family and be so very thankful for Facebook messenger and Skype. Ta ta, London. See you “Brexiting” on the news.
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