It's a London thing

Jo had one of her fleeting visits from Athens this weekend, so I popped to London to meet her . An expensive, but worthwhile exercise. On the bus into Cambridge, I had to listen to some locals berating all the 'Chinks' slowing the bus by requesting every stop. Only one Chinese student had used the bus. Their racism is hugely outdated, the Chinese in Cambridge are by now probably third- or fourth-generation and are quietly muttering about immigrants from the Caucasus.

Jo and I met in Oxford Circus, our biggest mistake, and the pedestrian undercurrent hauled us into a heaving Top Shop. One look at the Soviet-style queue forced us back out and towards the V&A's fashion exhibition, where we laughed at how tiring it would have been to been an original mod, fighting your way through the trouser-suited idiots of Carnaby Street. Fearing a two-hour transport-enduced famine, I sought out a very cheap Japanese bento shop in South Kensington and I stuffed myself full of over-spicy yakisoba while lamenting the loss of izakayas from my life. It was strange spending the day in London as a tourist: you're constantly jostled by shoppers ramming shoe boxes in your ribs and have to really hunt out sensibly priced eateries. I am also slowly becoming disorientated on the Tube, like a real outsider.

It was lovely seeing Jo, but I really didn't want to come back. As we strolled through Soho to meet up with her boyfriend, we passed loads of little bars and restaurants whose windows I wanted to press my nose onto. I was quite sad on the train leaving it all behind - more so when I missed the Haverhill bus by ten minutes and had to pass the time in a pub by Cambridge train station. Cash-free, I was forced to try the Osborne, next to the much more savoury Flying Pig, to see if they would accept cards. Fortunately not, as I had to watch an alcoholic barman swaying and squaring up to a 24-year-old he suspected of underage drinking, all while a gaggle of 15-year-olds drank pints and played pool unmolested.