Another Sunday afternoon in the Grind hoping an ice cold Savignon will make me dizzy enough to forget what day it is today.
I made it to 9 am yoga this morning which still makes me slightly shaky, but very proud of my downdogs, pigeons and the other animals. Moving from West London to the East of the city, from the settled, family area to the Ultimate Realm of Singlehood, even the yoga classes start differently. Everywhere else in the World the instructor would ask if anyone has any injuries or anyone pregnant; well, in Islington he congratulated us to make it to class then asked if anyone was hangover. I feel like he can be my best friend with proper inner peace and adorable gay vibes, not to mention he pulled off one of the best yoga classes I’ve ever attended.
I f**** love East London. It’s where people watching itself is a form of entertainment and boys are extremely pretty. Earlier this week I had a weird realisation, spread all my passion and over-honesty and just let the World deal it. Needless to say the World decided to ignore it, but I still felt liberated. The day after, the ran-down streets of EC1 were filled with beautiful people and all I did on the way to work was wondering where they’d come from and most importantly where they’d been before. Funny when you let things go, the World suddenly becomes a better place.
(Happy Birthday, M.)