Mild-mannered London

11th September. London is yet another city with a reputation for grittiness that makes it quite hard for the regular visitor to find said grit. Maybe they mean places like the “Favela Chic” bar? Yes, yes, this thing does exist, in Islington, and the London trendies are self-importantly queuing to get in. I consider spitting some green phlegm on their recherché-dishevelled outfits, but decide there isn’t enough of Sid Vicious in me to pull it off and whimper away. But if there are any bourgeois rebels out there looking for London grit without being able to find it, here’s solace: you can have it in the form of overpriced caipirinhas in a bar glorifying ghettoes. Alternatively, you could give London up and go live as a homeless in a North American city that will chew you up and spit you out in a spaghetti mass of cartilage, mucus and psychosis.

Berlin might be stodgy but London is chainified, compulsively groomed, drooling over profit and wanking over its own hype. The familiar overpriced vintage boutiques, fashion shops for babies, organic cafes for their ecstatic mums and massage parlours for the obese family dog thrive here like dandelions on a Victorian grave. We love it dearly.
                                                                                      tchuss, la mordue