Well, that was a heart-breaking goodbye. There was a part of me that wanted to thrown myself on the metaphorical coffin when Billy walked off down the street with Hanni on his way to live with her parents in the countryside. I found myself sat at the bar at Tegel airport, spending my last euros on beer, trying hard to keep my quivering chin under control. This lasted all the way to London, in the taxi to my mate John’s flat. Thankfully, he had these slippers on which cheered me up a touch.
So, I’m in London. Capital of England, capital of the United Kingdom. Population: 70 zillion. All of them wandering aimlessly around Oxford Street looking at mobile phones, DVD boxsets, and underwear that would make themselves or their girlfriends look like a whore.
Any of you London dwellers got any tips on where to find cafes with free wifi? I just wandered around Soho for about an hour trying to find one. Eventually, on the verge of giving up, I found this fancy schmancy place on Great Marlborough Street called Le Pain Quotidien, which is where I am right now, sipping an organic beer and listening to the Germans on the table behind me chatting. It makes me slightly homesick.
Oh, and talking of Germans, here’s something really freaky. When I first moved to Berlin, I lived in the Kreuzberg district, and I’d very often see this guy who had long flowing hair, tight jeans and a vest. He looked like a slightly less macho Fabio. Then when I moved north to Prenzlauer Berg, I’d again see him on my street. It felt a bit odd that he must’ve moved to Prenzlauer Berg around the same time as I did. I saw him yesterday. In London. At Archway tube station.
Anyway, I’ve saved the big news ’til last: I just saw Jim Bowen walking down Dean Street.