London Beautiful, London Hard

There's a large white moon hanging over London today. In a day or so it will have reached its fullness, prompting all murderers to come out and play. On days like this, when the cold wind has cleared out the canals and streets, the sky is blank, the cranes tilt their necks above the trees in Victoria Park, and alsatians dive into the lake to fetch a stick for their owner, you find some beauty in London. You are at peace with your own mind as you stare at a warehouse, balloons stuck to the weeds growing at its feet, wondering whether you should take a photo. You find a cafe on Broadway Road, order a cappuccino & a banana and pecan muffin, sit in the corner and think of a Christmas tale while your boyfriend scribbles away in his notebook. You then buy lightbulbs, vegetarian burgers and chips at the nearest corner store and run into a pair of giggling co-workers coming out of a pub. If you had a polaroid camera, you would photograph them too, then follow the bike trail left behind by track-suited teenagers on the canal's puddled path.

Yesterday, London wanted to be difficult. The crowds in the tube at night, heading towards their favourite meat market, shoving each other as they left the station, made for an ugly sight as they lined up outside exclusive cheeseclubs on Leicester Square. While I waited outside the Empire cinema for my saviours, thirstypixel and sarcaustick, a procession of Hare Krishnas sang their way into the square. They played instruments to a pre-recorded indian song, dancing in two lines. Suddenly, a group of black teengirls joined them, swirling their umbrellas above their heads, grinding into each other down the Hare Krishna line as if they were in Dirty Dancing. The Hare Krishnas stopped their procession and sang louder, big smiles on their face. The girls danced harder, sang harder "HARE KRISHNA HARE HARE!", unaware of how much wood they were adding to the procession's fire. Then, just as suddenly, the teengirls wandered away, searching for their next victims, while the Hare Krishna procession snaked up Charing Cross Road and disappeared.

My saviours arrived and we wandered around until we found a Korean noodle bar on Charing Cross Road. We gossiped over dumplings, soup noodles and marinated chicken, then retreated to a hidden pub beyond Leicester Square for a final drink. I walked them to the bus stop for the No.24, gave them a hug, wished them a happy new year (knowing I'll only see them again after I return from Canada in January), and took the tube home.