Went to Petticoat Lane. Didn’t stay long and only bought a ring which was really depressing, considering it was the one place I wanted to go. Went home and had lunch. Walked to Madame Tussaud’s which I really enjoyed. Boy George has a bigger head than I thought and Michael Jackson is terribly skinny. Forgot the camera. Again. Walked back and found a second hand bookstore. Found a first edition copy of a book with a heroine named Carmel. It was £8 but bought it anyway. We had tea and walked back to the hotel. Had something to eat and gave Brian and Jane their drawings I did for them. Drew Morris. It turned out OK but I don’t think he was impressed with the chub I drew. Went back to my room and packed for France.
Every now and then I think of stuff to buy people. I looked for a Melody Maker of an NME but couldn’t find any. Heather may have to suffer with a Simon Le Bon poster. I’ve also looked for an I Heart London button for Jan but they are non existent. I think I’ll get Karen a Boy George card or something. I should have got a whole bunch of those rings in Petticoat Lane. I think I’ll have to get a picture of Pete and Barney (?) before we go just to prove to everyone we met some punks who were friendly and to Miss G that they don’t all hate tourists and “normal” people – just fat, rich ones who are condescending, laugh at them and ride tour buses and stay at $200 a night hotels.
My nose has been stuffed for this whole trip so far and it’s a real bugger and hard to sleep My voice is horrible. It’s all raspy and deep. I think I have laryngitis. I was getting a lot fitter from all our walking but today I had a lot of junk food – Dairymilk bars, and cheese and onion crisps. I’m not too wild about the breakfast here. The eggs etc. are poached in oil and the milk is too creamy but I eat the cereal anyway. Cherie hates it ad slept through brekky this morning.
Well I’ve been here almost a week and I still haven’t seen John Taylor – what a piss off.
The city here is atually quite dirty and really bustley. Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery are hangouts for everyone – tourists, punks, vendors and locals. On most corners there are people selling newspapers (usually old). Mostly at subway (underground) stops. Another thing London’s exits and entrances are marked WAY OUT or WAY IN. Sounds like a video game.
We saw this old man and woman screaming at each other using phrases like “you fucking ole bastard” and “you bitchy ole cunt – you fucking whore”. How pleasant. One of the amused watchers said they must come from Putney. Hmmmm.
Almost everything closes here around five. Restaurants close about 4.00 except for Wimpy’s etc, which are open quite late. I guess only the clubs are open late. I’ve got to take down this info for Duran Duran stories. The people here drive crazy. They careen around these tiny streets in the huge double decker buses at about 50 mph and half of em don’t even watch or obey the lights.
Tonight while I was sitting out talking with Morris, Brian and Jim(?) we heard what they assumed was shots. A bit later the police went roaring down past King’s Cross/St. Pancreas Station. They call the law the “Ole Bill”.
There is no pattern to the streets of London. They go in every direction so it’s very hard to tell where you are going especially which direction to go when you get off the tube.
In the hotel there are two bathrooms and two showers for the whole thing. This morning me and Ma and Pa had brekky with the skinheads. When I drew Morris’s picture I think he was disappointed because he thinks his handsomer than he is.
In Madame T’s they let you touch the statues. I thought that was neat.