You usually remember a gig. You might remember it because it was very very good, or because it was bad, or because you were excited, or mildly disappointed, or because you’d had a crap day followed by three incredible hours in a magical, strobey, packed, loud, laser-filled room. And if you’re 5ft 3, you will also remember, in exacting detail, the thread count of the t-shirt belonging to the very tall man who stood in front of you.
Ever told a Londoner that their area of London is crap? No. Don’t do it. It’s not worth it. Just let them show you around instead, it’ll cause less fights.
Imagine the excitement of finding an actual hand written note on the District Line. What life affirming advice would be found within?
Stand by, London. Christmas is coming. Which means everyone in this city is about to lose their tiny little minds.
I went to Reykjavik in Iceland for a couple of days, and despite it being absolutely nothing like London, I decided to compare the two cities anyway.