LB and I descend into the pit down a flight of steep, wide steps and I laugh under my breath that it feels like we’re Cinderellas entering the ball. I’m not overexaggerating much. LB attracts male attention anywhere she goes and here men outnumber women at least five to one.
“Am I dying?”
“No, it’s just London.”
Even a girl with a such a sensible head as mine can’t help but fall lose it over. It keeps happening, all the time. I caught it happening at least a couple of times this week, this dizzying, headfirst rush.
Somewhere between Aussies in uniform, sweaty boys in Bintang beer singlets, plentiful cheap beers, we had stepped through a black hole to an Australia that never quite existed. It was 4pm. We could stay here all night.
There was only one little problem with this genius plan.
So, let’s go back to the dark and rainy and neon-lit Clapham High St, midnight on the verge of Good Friday.
An update on work + play in London.
Angel Islington is one of the pretty pale blue properties on the Monopoly Board. It’s nestled in near Euston Rd, Pentonville Rd, Kings Cross Station, Chance and Jail. For years I idly wondered, whenever I landed on this cheap little property, what angels had to do with it. These were the days before Google, obviously.