I’ve spent the last 25 years treating London like my private playground. I have asked to see the mayor, I have peered behind the cellar door and booked my consultation with Evans and Peel. I’ve hint hunted my way to freedom, I’ve earned great wealth locating the seven noses of Soho and I’ve tasted both victory and defeat while chariot (rickshaw) racing down Wardour Street, but more on all that later.
A dashing English author once said ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life’, well I’m not tired. But bar the occasional ferry to Normandy I am about as worldly as the 61% of Americans who are yet to obtain a passport. I only recently discovered that Istanbul and Islamabad are two different places and that Sweden and Poland are not adjacent.
So in a bid to seek penance for my crimes against geography, I am leaving London to meet some of the rest of the world. With my ‘Dick Whittington’ style stick and hanky combo I have packed my bags. I intend to eat, drink and experience as much as I can stomach before the chimes of Big Ben summon me back to The Smoke.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I will.