Homage to All Ears.

Drunk customer: "Hey, I served you like 5 years ago at a bar!"
Bartender: "Really?"
Drunk customer: "Yeah, now things have come full circle and you're on the other side, haha!"
Other bartender: "Actually, not really, things have only gone half way, full circle would be if you were serving him again after he served you. So really, it's just that the tables have turned."
Drunk customer: "Why does everybody have to get so f*cking technical at a Low gig?"

Ootside mah hoose.

As I promised several posts ago I would post some pictures of my 'hood. As the kids call it. I figured I'd start with a wee view from my window of the park, showing off its wonderful lustre. Or something.

This is the view from my desk of the park where it apparently lots of single men like to hang around doing absolutely nothing. All day, every day. Apart from shouting at each other and urinating in what might be London's largest public urinal- the wall at the side of my house. Nice.



And the view from my bed of the park. I know, I'm spoiling you all aren't I?



And the view from my kitchen window of the White City development of what purports will be London't biggest shopping centre. Great. Still, nice cloud and cranes combo.



So then I decided I'd wander into the park and take lots of amazing photographs of the shrubbery and green grass, showing you all how fantastic London is when it comes to parklands and commons. Instead the only thing of any real note was this tree.



But wait! What's that in the background? No not the Walkabout, which I've already mentioned and is already the bane of my life. Why it looks like the Shepherd's Bush Empire! Who could be playing there...?



Oh great. Jethro Tull. A guy hopping about on one leg and playing a flute. Just like it's 1978 all over again. Thank goodness I moved here for all the cultural delights London promised. I'm going home.

So I about-turn, and wander back where I see my room! It's where the magic happens. The one of the top middle two windows. And the bookies below? That's where a disproportionate amount of the guys I mentioned earlier seem to spend their time. Those guys must be really good at betting to not have to work all day.



So I go beyond the block to the side entrance, avoiding the puddles those kind aforementioned gentlemen leave for the residents, and walk through the back alleyway to my lovely front door, at the back.



Where I safely ensconce myself in my room (look at the difference!) and get back to work.



And there you have it, my Sunday afternoon.