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Old friends.
Sep. 10th, 2019 08:42 amI met up with e_compass_rosa from LiveJournal yesterday as she was in London for a couple of days. We had spoken on the phone last over a decade ago, but we seemed to pick up the conversation where we left off, which is always amusing.
Anyway, I had a simply delightful day and evening. Drank too much, obviously. Talked far too much, also obviously. We wandered around a few bits of London and ended up pottering about my old haunts in Soho where I pointed out all the places that used to have musical significance, doing my Rock 'n' Roll historian routine. And the shock of change was brought upon me. Crossrail has brought a hammer down on Denmark Street. I can't even place where Battistas was (on the opposite corner to Denmark Street) as the buildings have changed as if leftovers from the Doctor Strange special effects units had somehow bled onto the Charing Cross Road.
And the Gay Hussar is gone. I was going to take Madame there to eat, and talk about Soho's history, and the mix of politics, music, prostitution, and "drugula" activities which all had their London home in Soho. Instead we found a pub and I got questioned on Brexit, which immediately caused me to weep into my beer and tear my hair out in large chunks. Madame consoled me by buying supper; she's a sensitive lass. We wittered on about anger management, education, families and stuff until it was time to go home.
I had a lovely day out and I can really appreciate the changes London is going through; well you can't avoid noticing them really.
So while the mother of all parliaments was prorogued in "an act of executive fiat" and Bojo was losing his sixth vote in succession, which is why the prorogation happened no doubt, I was enjoying myself in good company. I too can fiddle while Rome burns.
Anyway, I had a simply delightful day and evening. Drank too much, obviously. Talked far too much, also obviously. We wandered around a few bits of London and ended up pottering about my old haunts in Soho where I pointed out all the places that used to have musical significance, doing my Rock 'n' Roll historian routine. And the shock of change was brought upon me. Crossrail has brought a hammer down on Denmark Street. I can't even place where Battistas was (on the opposite corner to Denmark Street) as the buildings have changed as if leftovers from the Doctor Strange special effects units had somehow bled onto the Charing Cross Road.
And the Gay Hussar is gone. I was going to take Madame there to eat, and talk about Soho's history, and the mix of politics, music, prostitution, and "drugula" activities which all had their London home in Soho. Instead we found a pub and I got questioned on Brexit, which immediately caused me to weep into my beer and tear my hair out in large chunks. Madame consoled me by buying supper; she's a sensitive lass. We wittered on about anger management, education, families and stuff until it was time to go home.
I had a lovely day out and I can really appreciate the changes London is going through; well you can't avoid noticing them really.
So while the mother of all parliaments was prorogued in "an act of executive fiat" and Bojo was losing his sixth vote in succession, which is why the prorogation happened no doubt, I was enjoying myself in good company. I too can fiddle while Rome burns.
