A Curve Across The Pond: Part One
Disclaimer: A Curve Across The Pond has nothing to do with Los Angeles, other than the fact that it is written by an Anjealeno.
London! Giddy London home of Thai Chicken on Fire! Have not been here in over two years and it is comforting to see so many things remaining constant. Like this miserable piss-drizzle blanketing the scent of diesel. Like this Steak-and-Guinness Pasty™ in the train station.
Like this confusion. I’m on foot. For the life of me I cannot find my hotel. I pass the University of London Union, host to tonight’s sold out Peter Bjorn Sven (and Larry) set. It is somewhat comforting to know that I will squander the cash to see them here mere weeks before they’ll likely play Spaceland or a comparable venue for less than $10.
Still on foot. Holy Hell. I’ve changed directions eighteen times and laughed at Compton, Gower and Calabasas signs. Gower! Speaking of, where’s a baconwrapped when you need one. I’m walking for a good 45 minutes in 18 different directions, looking for anything approximating my hotel. Holy Underground. I keep returning to the damn thing. I’ve tried 18 directions now. I think I just saw Jeff Chiliburger. Could I be any more lost? I set off once more.
Through the drizzle I see them ten paces up. Uggs. Only an American would be so cheeky. The American is walking with a purpose. Follow the Uggs.
I follow the Uggs.
To Be Continued…
