T’other week time was taken out from the daily grind to traverse the London streets and see what was shaking. First stop was Wetherspoons for a lovely spot of fish, fresh from the deep fat fryer. Yes. Yes.
Following that we took to the streets and in the absence of any dosh meandered through the corridors of power drinking in the sights and admiring streets which weren’t covered in chicken bones.
Bucky P, Brown’s stomping ground in Whitehall, a slice of Green Park, popping into the ICA followed by bouncing past the Ritz and hailing a tube back East. It was deeply Balearic and enhanced by chowing down on an off cup of tea.
That weekend we got messed up big time and I reverted to type by trying (unsuccessfully) to take a picture of a beautiful scotch egg. I failed but it came in a lovely white boat. And set sail straight into my greasy gob. Wobble on that.
Royal vibes
Not lost. At all. No way.
Power
Intoxicating
