crier votre bouche c’est chiennes londres


I always used to find it odd in London that you didn’t speak to other people. Saying hello or thank you was greeted with a look like you’d just asked to fuck their dead grandmother. The same went for queuing for public transport – basically no-one does in London, its a free for all and you will barge that large pregnant woman out the way to get the last decent sandwich in Pret.

I vowed never to be that person, I would always strive to say hello, offer my seat to those unable to stand and make sure I held the door open for others. I’ve lived in London for about 12 years now and although I do try sometimes, I’m normally the first person with the sharpened elbows out, handbag ready to hit the old man in the face and the “fuck you” growl to get people to move out of my way on a crowded London street.

I pity those who come to London seeking their fame and fortune, thinking that everyone will be as lovely as their local shopkeeper. We’re not in London, we’re bastards, we hate everyone and we have no problem physically climbing over you to claim that last seat on the busy 17.30 train home.

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