LONDON IN AUGUST

“You’re probably reading this on the tube. Or trying to. But you can’t, because there are too many people, and they’re radiating heat, and there’s no air-con, and you’re distracted by how sweaty your back is, and how the sweat is trickling into your bumcrack, and how everyone else probably has a sweaty bumcrack too, and it’s all evaporating and you’re just breathing in the evaporated bumcrack sweat of strangers.
This is London in August. Isn’t it rubbish?
Soon you’ll reach your stop. But that won’t matter because the platform will be jammed with confused tourist. They’ll have backpacks. And they won’t know the “stand on the right” rule. Or how Oyster cards work.
Eventually, you’ll elbow your way to the exit. But outside will ve just as bad, because this is London in August. The sun’s too bright. Everywhere smells like bins. All the good pubs are crowded. The place is full of exhausted parents dragging obnoxious children around unsuitable museums. People walk everywhere too slowly, and you can´t get past, and you want to shove them into the road or set them on fire or make them explode with your mind, but you can´t because it’s too hot. Your brumcrack is now a tepid water park. A scary one. One where people die.
Then you’ll get home, find your flat is still too small and expensive, your wiring is still faulty, your neighbor is still a dick, and you’re still paranoid that you’ll be stabbed in your sleep by a stranger because your window’s open. London in August… It’s London, but crapper.”

TIMEOUT AUGUST 20-26 2013