Fear and Loafing in London

I was more than happy to stay in Zone 6, lounging on the couch, watching bad television, skinning up, and eating enormous breakfasts at the corner greasy spoon. The Dream Cafe served up enormous (non-greasy) breakfasts, and when I ordered a can of Lilt that was out of stock, the owner popped next door to the Tesco Express and picked one up for me. Having suffered a few weeks of bitter Russian service, I was speechless. After traveling hard for six weeks, there was mammoth pleasure to be derived from the simple act of loafing. And when Minesh took me to Sakonis in Harrow, surely one of London’s best Indian Veg joints, I tasted spice and mouthwatering flavour for the first time since leaving Malaysia. I gorged on the buffet until I almost threw up my poppadams.

Fortunately, it was Fruitstock weekend - a free, family orientated festival now in its third year in Regents Park. A couple years ago, some banker-finance types decided they were tired of greasing the evil machine and wanted to do something worthwhile and tasty. So they fooled around with some smoothie recipes, and decided to let the public decide. They set up a stall at a music festival, with a very big sign stating something like this:

IF YOU THINK WE SHOULD QUIT OUR JOBS AND SELL SMOOTHIES, THROW THE EMPTY CUP IN THE “YES” BIN

Needless to say, the Yes Bin was overflowing, jobs were quit, the Innocent Smoothie Company was founded, and today, Innocent has sales in excess of 30 zillion pounds. They promote healthy living, the environment, organic foods, and naturally, everyone loves their yummy product. Like the company, their Fruitstock festival has grown exponentially, and there must have been 30,000 people enjoying the music, the carnival atmosphere, and the blessed summer sunshine. It was the perfect place to meet people, both old and new, and so it came to be that we brought along 7 bottles of Pimm’s, beer, wine, and more than enough snacks to celebrate Cookie’s birthday, my arrival, the summer, and life itself. I met five new cousins under the age of nine, fellow world travelers, people from Brazil, Israel, South Africa, Ireland, and Siv, who could be Stevie Wonder’s younger brother “if only he could see me!” It has been almost eight years since I was last in London, and my glazed memories of the late 1990’s were thick and bittersweet - so many good times, a couple of challenging ones too. When we revisit the lives of our past, the passage of time becomes almost painfully physical.

The taxi drove past the BBC in White City where I used to work (oh boy, don’t tell “Dino213b”), near Warwick Avenue where I once shared a digs with ten travelers, including one Australian guy who paid rent to sleep in the closet under the stairs! Once again, I found myself eating late night donor kebabs with hot chips soggy in vinegar, listening to hip club music on the radio in the afternoon, minding the gap in the underground. There were new additions to London’s eclectic skyline - the Millennium Wheel, that weird purple building that looks like a swelled condom, and the Arch on the new Wembley Stadium. I didn’t want to see too much because the London in the library of my mind has to be different from the London of today. I didn’t want to see that bar in Piccadilly where someone spiked my drink, or green Hampstead Heath where I would take romantic walks in summer, or The Reliance on Old Street, where I would inevitably drink too many Hoegaardens and be busting for a pee by the time I got on a tube home. Still, if you’re going to pick at a scab of memories, best do it surrounded by friends, family, and fresh smoothies.
“There’s a reason we’re single,” says Minesh, after I elaborated on the latest romantic implosion in my life. Gus, blue eyes beaming from Ireland, is sucking back a tall can of Stella as the three of us sit on the locks of Camden. We missed the last tube, and had fallen in with some drunken Polish guys and a girl with a huge tattoo on her back. One of guys has passed out on the lock wall, and will eventually be abandoned by everyone, save the night wolves of London.
“We are charming (cough) world travellers, in our thirties, full of stories of inspiration, yet we’re incapable of finding lasting relationships. This holds the same with TJ, and Phil, and [insert various names here until the original point of inserting names is almost forgotten]…why?”
“Because we are vagabonds,” says Minesh, although it might have been me answering my own question rhetorically.

Gonzo Gallery for Fear and Loafing in London

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