Wandered into town and into Shoreditch, and was pleasantly surprised at how it was rocking. Not just cool (which is boring), but actually rocking, eclectically.
And then I went to the Joiner's Arms, and my heart went to fury.
Transformed into something nondescript and soulless, just by revamping it's back and side walls. Grimly unhappy barstaff. I knew there was something terribly wrong, and in a rage, I looked for the owner. There he was at the bar. Unrecognizable. Withered. Shrunken. Shrivelled. Like any alcoholic that has lost the fight against their foremost vulnerability. He reminded me of my Dad on his deathbed.
For those of you who think drink is just a pleasure, and deny that for some people, it is a disease: so angrily do I feel against the callousness towards primary alcoholism, that I would prescribe Islam if necessary, if that is what it takes to rescue them from your ignorance.
I vented my rage at him, but since he was drunk, it was like water off George Bush's hairdo.
This in a week where David Morley was murdered in a queerbashing by London TEENAGERS. This outraged the London gay community enough so that there was a candlelight vigil in his memory. Why? Because finally some people realise that London is atomised and contains some dangerously unhappy people. Your average fragile pensioner in London knows what a hazardous and hateful place this city can be. But when cowards seek out a gay man and murder him, it agitates other gay men who happen to know that there are so many gay men in London who are SO self-destructive, that a brutal and savage murder is horrifically uncalled for.
And the most cynical and dangerous people of all will think: Well, if some gay men are so self-destructive, then better that they be the ones that get murdered, than any others........
For indeed, these people know that the measure of success in a population is not whether you have lots of money, lots of so-called friends, lots of so-called good looks, lots of so-called sex, but whether you have lots and lots and lots of children, and are doing so with minimal expense to yourself, and maximum expense to the society at large. And they really don't give a damn if someone else gets murdered, whether or not they were a feeble old-age pensioner, or a gay man.
This is why London is about survival, and not about being cool, or rich, or more intellectual. Welcome to London. Spend your money on your airfare to get you home.