wandering back from hackney, i see fragments of a london left behind, drunk girls falling out of cars clutching their cans of special brew but letting go of any dignity, shrill broken cries of desperate attention, lost souls almost ghosts. jake and i avoid the drama, we dance on peripheral, he goes off to work while i follow my nose down brick lane to the bagel shop. brick lane, half of it traditionally trendy and cool, the other a dump, derelict weary buildings cold and damp penetrating the fabric of culture, curry houses ad infinitum, dodgy looking taxi companies fronting for the some bangladeshi cult. the massive city looming over my head reminds me london is a saudi city. economics always wins, govts always sell their soul, it's the devils business, politicians sell their soul and then your country. a global problem far to late to unravel.
in rough trade i hear some music played loud, it's got something familiar about it, something interesting. i ask the man who tells me it's an australian compilation of electronica. ironic, can't escape the place. although i consider myself english i cannot vote here, neither can i vote in australia, yet i have now lived over half my life in australia and feel less connected to the uk than ever.
later i find myself in soho, my old haunts, wadour street, brewer street, all cleaned up and looking spiff, nice niche shops, trendy well dressed individualistic types, jazz man, it's like watching jazz sprawling out in three dimensional space, i like it. this tiny area will always be my london.