London, foxes and happy tiredness

Ok, so my cut and paste techniques are not up to scratch, so I'll have to leave my tale of jetlag and getting into London for a later date. 

Last night I saw a fox on the streets of London, in Whitechapel where I'm staying with two old friends of mine. I was standing at the window at about 1am and I saw a sleek little fox emerge from the lower level of the block of flats opposite me and slowly edge its way onto the street. A fox in the middle of the city... They are land based carnivores, not like possums, mere tree dwelling omnivores, so it was an amazing thing to see. Ive also seen squirrels in Hyde Park (rats with cute tails) and a tern fly past the flat.

It made me think tonight about how I am the last person asleep and how many nights I am awake, late, just thinking,pondering,just awake. Nine times out of ten the last person asleep. Maybe I'm also the last person awake. For that reason I hate creaky floorboards and the sense of people maybe awake waiting for the next noise I make. One day I'm going to live in a treehouse i swear. Nothing but swaying trees and rustling leaves all around.

So other things that have stuck me about London... in no particular order... I drank today in the pub where one of the Kray Brothers shot another guy/gangster for calling him a fat faggot. That's one of the more extreme ways of dealing with homophobic harassment I guess. It seemed to have done the job though.  All the staff these days are skinny gay boys. Its called the Blind Beggar in White chapel. Right outside the pub is a daily market mostly run by Bangladeshi guys selling crap clothing and seemingly hundreds of mobile phones. On the outskirts is a little army of people selling bootleg copies of whatever new release movie you want, Sex in the city, the hulk, all of them. I like their initiative, but am unsure what the quality of their DVDs would be like, camcorder in the theatre or a rip off from the original digital copies. London is an enterprising city. 

Today I wandered up to the Spitafields markets by accident and walked through the antique section, past a million things that would send Aussie customs crazy, like ivory knives, fox/deer paw cheese knife handles, boar skulls, stuffed weasels and deer horns. Some of the more dodgy carnie folk I've ever seen in my life were running stalls selling the most craptacular collection of old shit I've ever seen in my life. I think theres still a line between old and antique. Some of this stuff was sadly just old, desperately old. 15 more years and it'd be collectible, but still not antique. 

So I resisted the temptation to buy a range of monkeys/monkey related kitsch (damn you Luke and your infectious monkey related obsession) and stumbled into their fashion section, which is when I realised how many fucking fashion designers were in  the average city. I think its one in every 1000 people is a fashion designer. I chatted with a woman who was just starting out at the markets, selling shirts and patches (patches, tiny one colour for 3 quid=$8 Aust dollars). By those standards I bought over about $2000 worth of stuff in a little shopping bag.

I wandered around some more and looked at a few more dozen stalls, realising that Im bored by so much of what goes on fashionwise. (Here i hold my hand to my head dramatically and look whimsically towards the sky looking for textile salvation....) That's why most of my laundry is black. Such a pomo faggot cliche non?

I turned a corner and found the art district, about 15 stalls in a row. That was interesting, especially as i am helping organise the Newtown 'Walking the street' art fair in late September in Sydney. There was much good art for sale, and if Id had money, there was one piece I would have bought and two more I would have tried to get someone else to buy. I need more upwardly mobile friends, so I can go to their places and look at the art Ive encouraged them to buy... 

Then I wandered out of there and down Brick Lane a major Bangladeshi area and weekend market spot, I came across a place with 2 pound pints and I had one and read my book. A real old school English pub... The romance was broken when I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and there was a mouse on the cushion of my booth...

That's it for today....tomorrow or later...how I learnt to love my reading glasses again, the free media infestation of London and my trip to the Tate Modern. I'm off to Birmingham tomorrow on a random mission to see an old friend....

london volume 1: Jetlag

The first of at least a few sporadic updates on my travels. Im in Vauxhall at Neils place, after wandering around London for the last 2 days trying to tell myself that jetlag was an urban myth.
Its not an urban myth, it makes you a space cake and all the senses are dulled and sharpened. Its like being super tired but more disorientated and incapable of thought.
The flight was a bit hellish. My layover after 14 hours in Abu Dubai was not a good idea. It was 31 degrees at 1am and i landed with a trash n treasure hoodie with 2 giant pictures of a cat holding a machine gun and a backpack full of queerzines. Normally Im really good at killing time, but this time, time was killing me.
The united Arab Emirates was on a super high warning of terror (or terror warning, whatever). They were frisking old English hippes as we got onto the plane for the final leg. The plane was full of very non-asleep kids. This was at 7am-ish Sydneytime after my flight left Syd at 3pm. The sun started to come up, and i think the plane was racing it. I was so delerious by then, and need something/someone to lean on. Asile seat=bad idea. The touchscreen on the back of the seat in front was good, but the movies had been censored. There was a camera feed from the nose of the plane so you could watch the plane land. Awesome...unless you were a bad flyer I guess. The food was all halal, so no bacon. It was weird, a meal every 3 hours. Airline food is always in its own category. I ate things I couldnt identify...
So I finally landed in Heathrow at 7.30am and it took an hour + to get through passport control. There were 12 agents dealing with 1200 or so people. The one I got was cute but a hard edged narky dude. 'What are you going to do here' 'Show me your return ticket'. Oh well... I finally went to collect my bag and went through the nothing to declare gate to...nothing. There was no customs staff at all. I could have had a live calf with mad cow in my bag. So then I wandered into the tube and got a train to Brixton where I met up with Rob. We had many coffees and caught up, then a few pints. I saw a bobby and wanted to do the da-da-duh (theme music from the Bill) and say you're nicked! but restrained myself, then went to Vauxhall where Im staying with Neil. Hes got a cute little flat and funny housemates.
By now I was pretty fucked, I mean travelling across numerous timezones, regions, for the better part of 34 hours. But Bar Wotever was on, a weekly open decks open stage night at a pub/club called Central Station (www.woteverworld.com). I met some very nice people and played shocking pool with Neil and Rob. But when I saw the band setting up I knew I had to go. We got a double-decker red bus back to Vauxhall and I crashed.
Next morning/afternoon I went looking for a powerpoint adaptor and an internet cafe and stumbled around Soho and Oxford St for a while. My phone was dead and I was realising how much jetlag can do to you. Seeing the sun come up twice in 4 hours will fuck up your reality I guess. So I went browsing and had a pint at the Admiral Duncan on Old Compton St (Oxford St with personality). I saw some amazing graffiti and cool Banksy merch, but restrained myself.
Tonight Im off too see Peaches DJ at a silent disco and some queercore fundraiser at a squat somewhere in uh, somewhere. Tomorrow theres some Morrissey festival...Presets in a week or so.
But now Im going to cook a pie for Neils house and get some sun. Its sunny until 9.30pm.
Freaky country hey?
Lotsa love,
Chris