Everything You Will Ever Need To Know About Me
Sunday in London with my girlfriend. We meet some friends from Brighton, browse at the nearby Royal Academy and chat in the cafe about work, visits to India and Brighton house prices. We stroll through Green Park, then St James’s Park, where we talk to a man walking a ferret on a lead. London is cold and grey, but all the more beautiful for it. There are locals and tourists here alike, all from scores of different countries. We then semi-ironically/semi-unironically admire the guards at Horse Guards Parade and take a walk along the river. We end up in a top secret underground wine bar where we order lovely wine and brilliant fast food in the form of big chunks of cheese with pickles and salad. And I bump into a couple of people that I know, which almost never happens, but makes you look very cool in a “London is just one big village” kind of way when it does.
We say goodbye to our friends, then look at The Guide for a film to see. We are faced with a huge choice, so, unusually for us, we instead decide we’ll pick up some sushi from a little place just over the road, buy a liberal Sunday broadsheet from a salt-of-the-earth Cockney vendor and head home.
As we walk to the tube, my girlfriend says what a great day it has been, and lists all the different things that we’ve done. She’s right; it has been great. It has been like being in an advert for Oyster cards, or a TV programme where impossibly beautiful metropolitan 30-somethings with high-powered jobs ponce around doing interesting things instead of watching Friends repeats in their pants.
“Yes, it’s been great”, I reply. “But if other people did it I’d think they were wankers.”
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