London. London. London. London? Yes. London. You know. Fish, chips, cup o’ tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fuckin Poppins. London. Off to London for a couple of days to annoy a singer or two and get lost in the dirty streets of the city. In search of one of those magical drink-holes that give the town a bad name. Where the beer is lukewarm, the whisky is of dubious quality and the vodka is brewed in a tub in the back. Where the same raw and ugly blues notes are on repeat till the sun rises and all the decent folk awake…
“Do you hear that Doug? I’m comming to London!”