Does not compute; does not commute

Is there such a thing as oversharing? I don't know, let's find out. On Sunday 5th November, I went to the Victoria Park fireworks alone. It's one of the biggest firework displays in London, the event attracts around 70,000 people every year. The park is only a five minute walk from my flat and I know it well, so despite expecting a crowd, I felt fairly comfortable going. However, I was in an emotionally vulnerable state beforehand, and became disorientated and upset as I tried to leave. I ended up being forced along in the direction of the crowd, and out of the gate leading towards Hackney, rather than towards Mile End and home. I was on residential streets, surrounded by people on all sides, most of whom were taller than me and as I tried to push to the non-existent edge of the crowd to get out, I was met by pavement barriers. I couldn't see where I was going, all that I knew was that at that moment I had no choice about going there. I felt my legs starting to give...

“I walk to Oxford Street and climb on the Number 8. It's freezing and it starts to rain and it's the ugliest bus I've ever seen, rattling down the ugliest streets, in the ugliest city, in the ugliest country, in the ugliest of all possible worlds.”   The Late Hector Kipling - David Thewlis Mr Remus Lupin writes fairly well about London. Who knew? In my London, I often walk to Oxford Street and climb on the Number 8.  Not long before the end of the line at Bow Church - having dealt with confused tourists at the British Museum, crawled through the City, and inevitably been thrown up on somewhere around Shoreditch High Street - the Number 8 bus drops me off right by my front door.  It's often "freezing", and almost always "raining". But that is where the similarities with My London and His London end.  Just like our wolfie friend, many would have you believe that London is that ugly city, and it is so because of its 'ugly people'; a col...