Drifting Along the Walbrook River Walk

Despite only three hours of sleep and a head full of lead, I joined a few strangers and friends yesterday for a London Walk -- my first one. Our guide was the lovely easterbunny, who was just as welcoming as the sunny day itself. Kevin, for once, came along; we met sushidog inside Mile End station then joined the Walkers at a pub near Liverpool Street station. Printed maps were handed around and we were soon on our way.

Due to severe brain malfunctioning, I retained very little of the history Easterbunny shared with the group. I suspect that the car park at our first stop lay on top of a well, which later became a medieval garbage dump site; and that we followed the path of an ancient river that ran past temples, churches and London's old wall. I kept getting distracted and thinking about large plates of chips with vinegar and salt, or chilled coffee. And, as always, my brain decided to latch on to the least important bit of information: somewhere out there exists a writer called Kate Fox whose book Watching the English showcases the essence of English upper-class evil. I must find a copy soon (but not buy it, because she certainly doesn't deserve the money.)

I feel a little ashamed for not remembering more of the history so many of the Walkers shared with the group. It's the same problem I have with what I "learned" in university: I know Nietzsche said "God is dead" only because one of my profs had a 7-year-old son that quoted that to me, in all seriousness, at one of our college's parties; and I know Schubert died of syphilis because the most interesting bit in his biography were his escapades with prostitutes. You can say this propensity of mine to latch onto the salacious will land me a job in Heat magazine one day.

After the walk (which is more comprehensively reviewed here) we hung out for an hour or two in a nice pub near Borough Market. Kevin and I scoffed down burgers topped with cheese and bacon, chips and a cold glass of Coca-cola. I think we deserved it. We then said our goodbyes; Kevin went home while I travelled to Covent Garden to meet up with an old Brasilian friend, Ricardo. He has just arrived in London, under a highly-skilled immigrant visa. He was in the mood for drinking with the gayers and talking about the life he abandomned in Brasil, and the one he's starting here. He bought a can of beer from a corner store while I purchased a cappuccino from an Old Compton street cafe. We found a spot of grass in Soho Square and spent some time checking out the gayers, the pigeons, the drunks, the solitary Poles, the day cooling down, until we said our goodbyes with promises to see each other again soon.