About

Bliss it was to be London in the Summer of 2012 … Wasn’t it?  New York  has the money and the art and the music but can’t rustle up the history. Paris has the history, but how much else?  Londoners have the sport and the music and the art and the fashion and the theatre and the clubs and the heritage and the banks which, until not too long ago, were happy to pay for the lot. It’s all out there somewhere. Whatever it is.

Imprisoned by The Project for the past three years, this Londoner could have been living in that green and scary place – the country. Or, even scarier, Surbiton. I had turned into a late adopter, further behind the curve than those with a lawn sprinkler and a box-set of Lewis.  There is no point in being in a global centre of cultural energy if you’re not plugged into it.

Whatever it is, is not going to be found in the leafier SW or NW postcodes, those strangers to grit, grime and graffiti: they’re spiritually Surrey, but with less parking and even pushier mothers.

The hunt for urban London is on.