It is finally time to hear about my time down in the London. A large percentage of my time was spent in an office somewhere near Shepards Bush. This was in completely the other side of London to where I was staying. My room was situated in the East, while work was in the West. A bit of a nightmare but not too bad when I got to grips with the Underground. My first major malfunction was on the first day. I stupidly didn’t realise that two different lines went from the same stop. I like the Northern monkey I am, got on the wrong one and ended up in the north. I then had to flag down a taxi who got me back on track. Mind you I did have to cross his palm with a load of gold for his troubles.
Anyhow, back to the office. During my time there I made very good friends with the scanner and the mail room. I did do some other bits, like some viral PR about a camp Russian popstar called Sergey. This was about as exciting as it got. The people I worked with were all sound but I couldn’t imagine working in PR forever. Most of their daily chores are spent chasing journalists and trying to plug some rubbish product. Not my idea of a full-time career.
The snaps I promised you didn’t quite make it. Instead of playing the tourist I spent most of my weekend in various boozers. Most of them were very pricey, others were just a bit steep. The other thing that took a bit acclimatising too was the general rudeness of the London public. Not only do they walk through you like you don’t exist, but they also squeeze in front of you just as the tube doors open. No matter how long you have been stood there, a slimy Southern worm still reading his paper will glide in front of you with all the elegance of a raging bull. There job must have been more important than mine. The worse thing is after a couple of days you find yourself joining in. Eat or be eaten I say. This did go against all my polite Northern gentleman principles, but a man gotta do and all that jazz.
In a hungover haze I did manage a short trip to Abbey Road as you can see below.
Anyhow, back to the office. During my time there I made very good friends with the scanner and the mail room. I did do some other bits, like some viral PR about a camp Russian popstar called Sergey. This was about as exciting as it got. The people I worked with were all sound but I couldn’t imagine working in PR forever. Most of their daily chores are spent chasing journalists and trying to plug some rubbish product. Not my idea of a full-time career.
The snaps I promised you didn’t quite make it. Instead of playing the tourist I spent most of my weekend in various boozers. Most of them were very pricey, others were just a bit steep. The other thing that took a bit acclimatising too was the general rudeness of the London public. Not only do they walk through you like you don’t exist, but they also squeeze in front of you just as the tube doors open. No matter how long you have been stood there, a slimy Southern worm still reading his paper will glide in front of you with all the elegance of a raging bull. There job must have been more important than mine. The worse thing is after a couple of days you find yourself joining in. Eat or be eaten I say. This did go against all my polite Northern gentleman principles, but a man gotta do and all that jazz.
In a hungover haze I did manage a short trip to Abbey Road as you can see below.
That place has had legends like The Beatles, Pink Floyd and Cliff Richard record there. There isn’t much to see apart from a zebra crossing (pictured below) and a graffiti covered wall. Anyway since returning I have managed to shrug off the southern charm (or lack of) and returned back to normal.
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