In retrospect, we should have turned around in Heathrow and taken the next flight back out of this forsaken shit-hole of a country. Instead it took me almost a year to admit defeat and high-tail it out of the world’s
London is a sort of demilitarized zone in the mindless tribal warfare that is life in Engerland; a place where everyone has decided that the only way to not kill each other is simply to pretend that no one else exists.
Foreigners can be excused for making the mistake that a national capital would be a better option than a smaller, lesser, city, but in England this is certainly not the case.
London likes to trade on its history, but since 95% of it was built since 1945, anything older than that will cost you a minimum of 10 quid to go inside of. In London, and the rest of England, old buildings of historical or cultural import are “Grade Listed”. A Grade 1 listed building is anything built before 1945, and the more prestigious Grade 2 listing means that it was built before 1945 and has a pub in it.
If London were the shiny exciting cultural capital than Londoners vociferously claim it is, they would not all fatten the bank accounts of RyanAir and EasyJet every time they get more than 24 hours off from work in a row jetting off to such stunning and exciting destinations as Krakow and Maribor. Perhaps these trips are to convince them once again, of the relative merits of their adopted city.
