The lads over at Top Gear, the greatest TV show on the planet, have rather coincidentally provided a photo gallery of just the sort of cars you can see on a typical afternoon in West-Central London. You’ll remember I said something about this yesterday, and here’s visual proof of what I was talking about. Click here to see the full gallery, but here are a few of my favorites:
Oddly omitted: the sublime Maserati Granturismo, fairly common in SW3, SW1, SW7, W8, and W1
Gotta catch em all!
After reading the previous post, one of my great friends from my student days there had this to say to me about London, and it deserves to be shared:
‘London is a place where everything lives and dies. It’s a city where you’ll extend the frequency of your existence like a rubberband testing its stretchiness. You have the choice to live a big or a small life, to learn everything or nothing. To feel alone in the silence of its parks, or claustrophobic surrounded by a cocophony of cultures & scents. It’s one of the only places on this earth where a global nomad can go back to and it will always feel “same-same-but-different”.’
I may live mostly in DC, frustratedly adore Beirut, and enjoy travelling round the world, but only one place is my true love: The Metropolis; Her Majesty’s Capital; London. Having lived there twice and visited so often I’ve lost count of the times, London is truly where my spirit resides. When I arrive at Dulles, I groan; when I arrive at Heathrow, I think “I’m home.”
Given a little thing called the Olympics is going on there now, it’s a great time to tell you why London deserves every bit of attention it’s getting.
Throw you double, triple, or fourple-blade or greater razors out, chaps. Chuck the advanced micro-nutrient Whiz-Tech cream out with it too. You only need one blade, a good brush, and some soap. Much has been written on the classic and oft-forgotten art of wet shaving, so I shan’t be adding to the literature. Should you want more information, check out this handy guide from the Art of Manliness. No, today I sing the praises of the Temple of Keeping it Old School, Taylor of Old Bond Street, St James’s, London.