1st May 2014 down North End Road.
Walking out on a wet West Kensington morning. The rain falls in thick straight lines like a never-ending watery screen. People seems as grey and morose as the weather. The previous night, local football team, Chelsea were knocked to the European Cup by rival Athletico Madrid. Nothing like your local heroes losing a match to make you feel bad. Life goes on though.
Outside the flat an Irish builder’s van plus up. Out jump a couple of Polish guys clad in hi viz jackets and hello safety hats. They rush into the local Italian café for a cappuccino and a salt beef bagel. I carry on down the road, past the Irish pub, the Kebab restaurant, the take-away pizza place, the Indian restaurant, the noodle bar and the Thai curry house. Further up, the “Minaret Community Centre” and the Sikh-run mini grocer’s.
On a street corner, Moslem women clad from head to foot in black robes stand around gossiping. At the bus stop, a Jewish family with hordes of kids stand waiting for the bus. Outside the mini cab office, an old Jamaican grandad with dreads sits smoking and whistling a reggae tune.
On into the market. The market traders shout their wares in raucous cockney voices. “Luverly daffs, a pound a bunch … trawls two pound a pound.” A group of French tourists stand on the corner taking photos. I love this city. All the world is here. why go anywhere else when I can go to the end of the street?