Monday, March 14, 2005
I don't come around very often any more. Life takes over in that special way that only life can - keeps me on my toes and buries me in an NW/SE axis.
But once in a while, like today, life has mercy on me and places me suddenly slap bang in the middle of the Gate, usually right outside the yellow bookshop that seems to be open every hour of the day.
The shops change frequently and are becoming more and more gentrified, most aspiring to become the new BBB which in itself is not that hip anymore at all but you'd have to live there to know. Mariella Frostrup still lives around the corner along with most celebrities who see themselves too earthy for and superior to the warped art-puppies who have relocated to Shoreditch a long time ago.
The area has choked on its own uber-trendiness and caters now mainly for Spanish and Italian people who like the laid-back life in the slow lane, coffee in hand, fag in close proximity, smoking itself in a makeshift ashtray.
I still consider it home, though. I have tonnes of memories that relate to the area, to that shop, to this offie.
The shops change frequently but the people never - I can stay away for 6 months and come back and find someone in the place where I last saw him, wearing the same kind of clothes, still looking bored and gorgeous. And I feel myself losening up and chatting and swirling my hair, just like the tall bohogirls who have got the latest model mobilephone and boyfriend.
It's about feeling comfortable in what is known and excited about the unknown, as opposed to where I live at present where the known and the unknown is equally dreary, the dangerous just scary and not exciting, and the exciting limited to finding out that it is my lucky day and my supermarked actually stocks fennel.
But once in a while, like today, life has mercy on me and places me suddenly slap bang in the middle of the Gate, usually right outside the yellow bookshop that seems to be open every hour of the day.
The shops change frequently and are becoming more and more gentrified, most aspiring to become the new BBB which in itself is not that hip anymore at all but you'd have to live there to know. Mariella Frostrup still lives around the corner along with most celebrities who see themselves too earthy for and superior to the warped art-puppies who have relocated to Shoreditch a long time ago.
The area has choked on its own uber-trendiness and caters now mainly for Spanish and Italian people who like the laid-back life in the slow lane, coffee in hand, fag in close proximity, smoking itself in a makeshift ashtray.
I still consider it home, though. I have tonnes of memories that relate to the area, to that shop, to this offie.
The shops change frequently but the people never - I can stay away for 6 months and come back and find someone in the place where I last saw him, wearing the same kind of clothes, still looking bored and gorgeous. And I feel myself losening up and chatting and swirling my hair, just like the tall bohogirls who have got the latest model mobilephone and boyfriend.
It's about feeling comfortable in what is known and excited about the unknown, as opposed to where I live at present where the known and the unknown is equally dreary, the dangerous just scary and not exciting, and the exciting limited to finding out that it is my lucky day and my supermarked actually stocks fennel.
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