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To: Nihil
Deepest Darkest Africa


I left my chocolate box Cape Town life, and came to London. Why you ask?
I ask myself the same question everyday, and have thus spent the last few weeks pondering. All the heavy duty excogitation has manifested itself in this illustrious list - explaining in a concise manner why London is shit. This is not a very productive exercise I know, but the best option for me now is to laugh in the face of danger.

1. The people are shit. No-one is London gives a flaming rat's balls about you. They don't care where you are from, what you have done, no way no how. They are cold as ice and ugly to boot.

2. The girls are slappers. Never in all my years in the incestuous cesspool of Cape Town did I encounter the vapid callous shallowness I am faced with here. They ooze self- consious sexiness and have chubby fingers and thin lips. Their constant 'coy' giggling carries on ringing in my ears long after I've made my way to safety.

2.1 The Fashion. I really thought that in a bigger pond the birds wouldn't be on the same bandwagon. WRONG! It's absolutely absurd how the majority of the giggletards cavorting around think they are on the cutting edge of fashion when they really all are quite simply 'the valley of the clones'. They ALL wear cowboys boots (Dynasty meets Top Shop) and God Forbid! The rise of GREEN! They are all wearing various shades of Green. It's soooooo 'now'! Green is also the colour of sick. It wouldn't be that bad if I could ignore the onslaught of robin hood's merry cowboy boot wearing minions, but they bleed out of every pore in the city.

3. I can't get a job! I'm redundant at the ripe old age of 25. Which leads me to 3.1 which is inextricably linked to 2.1

3.1 Being bullied by the London economy into temping, I had to invest in some secretarial type attire. Fine. Off I trotted down Oxford Street. The horror! I cannot even begin to describe the scene, but I will give it a whirl: Enter H & M. Stand Back! Rabid girls lathering themselves all over the racks, frothing at the mouths, boots flying, coats and shirts flapping around in the eye of the manic hurricane of the panting and tittering of girls in the throes of shopping ecstacy. There were literally clothes strewn all over the show, the place looked like a bomb shelter. It was UTTERLY scary. I panicked. The other stores were no better. Top Shop might have been worse. I can't remember because everything started to melt and swirl around until I was forced to go to Burger King to calm me down. (note: most of the stuff in the stores was GREEN! Christ.)

4. The tube is a fucking rat hole and stinks of piss and there is barely anything more revolting than being sandwiched inbetween a sweaty armpit and a greasy ponytail. (The flat hair revolution is still big here. The girls spend hours straightening and productifying their hair so that it eventually looks greasy and frigid. Thanks Redken!)

5. There are a bazillion people intent on knocking you right the fuck outta their way. (I always seem to be travelling upstream) I understand that Verve video now for Bittersweet Symphony - you know the one with the full lipped lanky cock monster singer dude walking down the road with a very determined look in his hairy eyeball.

6. You are automatically expected to have some kind of solidarity with other South Africans (or saffers as we are affectionately known… ugh). i.e. I am to entertain the idea of friendship with some random oaf of an Afrikaner just because we are from the same country? There is acually a bar here where 'saffers' and Aussies go specifically to hang out with their own kind. Losers.

7. There are no ghost pops in London (Someone told me that you can actually get them at a South African store that stocks all the stuff that you can't get here like biltong and such. I will have to be really desperate to find myself in this store.)

8. Cigarettes are devilishly expensive

9. The sky is low. It's not the greyness or dullness of the sky that bothers me. It's that it's low. Sounds a bit bizarre I know - someone else pointed it out and now I can't get over it. It's low and oppressive. It makes me feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic.

10. The filth. Now I am no stranger to filth, I've had my share. (I'm sure cerebos and fuckpirate will agree) But it reaches new levels of repulsion here. You practically peel the city off your face at the end of the day. Layers of grime so thick and sticky. That's kind of related to my gripe regarding the weather. See point 11.

11. The weather is shit because it's either soggy or muggy. There is no hot and cold. It does not exist. You are either wet and cold and smell like damp dog, or you are moist and stuffy. (Most of that sweat isn't yours either - you picked it up on the tube or the bus or in the kebab shop or wherever.)

12. The TV. Now TV is my business. I'm a slave and I won't be lambasted for that, so all righteous 'I don't watch TV' new age liberal types can piss off. My eyes are nobody's eyes but mine! The TV programmes here are mostly reality TV. When will this fad pass? It's so revolting. Why do I want to be exposed to the worst side of human character when I have to deal with it everyday on the street? I want trivial filth! Entertain me!

12.1 Britain is OBSESSED with plastic surgery. This is reflected in various TV programmes, some worse than others. Nip/Tuck isn't bad 'cos it's like a soap. Plastic Surgery live on five is bad 'cos it's reality TV. They show EVERYTHING! My God. I got too drunk and stuck to the scratchy couch to switch it off the other night and was subjected to a 45 year old woman saying she wants to look like barbie! Is that for real?! She had 19 operations! Well that's dedication for you. I have a conspiracy theory about this TV show but I'm saving it for another article.

The end for the moment.

Next installment will be good things about London. It will be short but bitter-sweet. It's like the enjoyment and satisfaction you get from scratching your itchy bites until they bleed.

Thanks for coming.


I am so fucking happy I can beat myself with a stick
Sticks: Is there anything they can't do?
Argh. I'm fucking hungry and I can't walk
All I have in life are tazos and a massive collection of disease inducing condoms.

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