Ok, that's it. I'm done with London. I love it like a second home and all, a mistress if you will, but sometimes you just need to get away from the hustle and bustle. I left it like you'd leave a torrid love affair. With one hasty, sloppy, but lasting bang. I got on an open-top tour bus all day and photographed the shit out of her, 'til we were both breathless and spent. It's been nice, baby, but we've done all we can short of moving in together... Maybe if you change your attitude about shacking up with Yanks we can have something, but until then, it's another case of been there, done that.
Of course, I still think of her. That last evening, sliding around underneath her in the Tube, exploring her darkest corners, searching for the spiciest of experiences.
That is, I took the Underground to meet up with Pav at Liverpool Street, so we could seek out the finest curry house on Brick Lane. We found it in the highly recommended Preem, an Indian joint with fresh beer, fresher chutney, and one of the best deals in London: 10 quid for papadams, pakora, tandoori chicken tikka, salad, vindaloo curry, chicken tikka masala, aloo gobi, and palau rice. All at a high quality that even the finest Indian restaurants at home would race to compete with.
I went back early and walked the streets of Kensington and Chelsea before crashing in the mid-evening, warm in the arms of London's toniest neighbourhood, feeling once again that I was home.
I'm sorry, baby. I'll be back. Soon.