Last night I went for a stroll around central London with my friends Gillen and Sam after discovering that Sam, who’s lived here for a few months now, hadn’t yet been to Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus or even Trafalgar Square. After wiping the stunned expression from my face and acknowledging that, yes, Sam had been too busy to sight-see, a hasty tour was arranged.
Piccadilly Circus: bright and busy.
Leicester Square: bright and busy.
Trafalgar Square: rather dark and completely empty. Not a pigeon in sight. Odd.
Our tourist trail continued along Whitehall and towards Big Ben. On the way, I pointed out some chunks gouged out of a wall not far from Downing Street and observed, “That’s where an IRA car bomb went off. Look at the damage!”
To which Gillen – who’s from Belfast – countered: “Call that damage? That’s nothing. Where I’m from it’s more like, ‘See that field? That used to be a town!'”
Well, that’s one-nil to Gillen. Not a contest I’d like to win, though…