July 1st 2017

Today I got the train to London to spend the day with a mate. There were massive train delays all morning, but I got here eventually. The train has always been my preferred mode of transport, especially because I usually book a seat in the quiet carriage, but because of the delays I ended up having to stand in the middle of the aisle. That wasn’t fun.

Nevertheless, I made it to London Paddington.


We didn’t have anything explicitly or particularly planned for today. I just fancied seeing a mate this weekend. We wandered on and off various underground trains around London, headed over and explored Brixton for a bit. We had pizza at Franco Manca. It was good.


We found this maze of a secondhand bookstore. There was no logic or organisation to the stacking of the books, and that chaos made it better. Again, I found myself wanting to buy a load of books that I have no intention of reading. I just like having books.

We headed to that ol’ British Institution, Wetherspoons, for a cheap pint, and then headed to Canary Wharf for an expensive one.

Canary Wharf is one of my favourite parts of London, because it combines two of my favourite parts of the city: Water, and Tall Buildings.

I wouldn’t want to swim in the Thames, but I like looking out over it. And I like how small tall buildings make me feel. And I like considering the complexity involved in constructing one, and thinking about how difficult it must be to get a crane to the top of a skyscraper, and how much more difficult it must be to get it back down.

We had food at Browns in Canary Wharf. Naturally, I had steak.


I’m a big believer that if the steak is cooked well enough then it doesn’t need any sauce. That, and I’m too cheap to spend £1.65 on a microwaved bearnaise sauce when I’m already spending £18.95 on the steak.

It was an 8oz sirloin, which kind of put into perspective the sheer size of the 22oz lamb I cooked myself for dinner last night.

Canary Wharf on a Saturday night is weird. I’ve been there at 5pm on a Friday and it’s like the migration of the fucking buffalo. But on a Saturday at 8pm it’s completely dead there. I guess all the bankers and business people who work there during the week don’t want to go back at the weekend.

Also, of the people that are there, no one seems to eat food. Everyone just goes for drinks. We went to this one place to begin with that stopped serving food at 8pm. 8pm on a Saturday night? Madness. I guess London lives off liquid lunches.

Either way, my steak was nice and I wish I could afford a flat in Canary Wharf.

Until tomorrow, it’s nice here.





2 thoughts on “Wharf

  1. thats true. no body wants to go back to a place you slog 5 days a week. a painful reminder of a life wasted in a man made jungle. therefore, its dead on weekends.


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