London is an old lady with yellow-fluo hair and a tweed-jacketed husband elbowing their way through Oxford Street.
London is a monocycle speeding up on a Camden curb. A man and a bowler hat on it.
London is merry men peeing and singing God Save The Queen at a Vauxhall Pub’s urinals and guide scouts with neon accessories squealing on Trafalgar Square.
London is an grey-haired Russian man with a pink lace umbrella at Charing Cross station and three teenage girls sharing two I-pods and a baby-blue nail polish in the tube
London is old people stretching their bodies in the sun by St Martin’s in the Field church listening to smooth Asian music. A mesmerizing and mystical experience.
London is buying 9 books for 19£ in dusty charity shops in Notting Hill, black cabs rainbowing away in a multitude of colorful ads, vintage shops at real vintage price, tea and beer in the pub anytime you please.
London is embroidered cowboy boots, skull-adorned cupcakes and licensed sex shops in Soho, hearing pop music everywhere and feeling rock’n’roll all the time, wearing weird animal hats and not caring, flaunting orange lipstick on a pale skin complexion with a blond bleached crop and looking fabulous, eating fish’n’chips and feeling glamorous.
London is free newspaper with crappy sensational non-news, London is retro-outfitted policemen, blue sky sometimes and red buses always, improbable accents by store attendants and fresh milk for breakfast.
London is lots of walking, finding Oscar Wilde books in the street, taking the double-decker home on the top floor at its very front and getting a panoramic view of the London Eye at night.
London is the smell of food in the streets, London is wide parks and squirrels, London is chav’ attitude at Primark and trying on Louboutins at Selfridges. London is strolling along the river and feeling afloat, is getting lost and feeling home, is slaloming in the crowd and feeling alive.