Settling into Post?

 

Back in Atlanta, after a four-month sojourn in England (ahem Notting Hill and Ladbroke Grove), I am finally making a concerted effort to settle into post. Not that I'm moaning about my new life in the US of A. Perish the thought.

The Left Bank of Rotting Hill Gate

Virgin Records on Notting Hill Gate (1977). The first Virgin record store in London.

There's a lot of haunted history on the left bank of Rotting Hill Gate. Where do I begin?  

Anatomy of Yankland

 

Last summer Scott Waters, a fat American with a beard, took a biking holiday in the UK and wrote a humorous list of what he saw on a Facebook post. It soon went viral.

Yorkshire: The Texas of England

Not as flat as Texas

Going up North usually means a trip to Liverpool. Not this time. On this occasion I'm going up to Yorkshire, the Texas of England!

The Pussification of James Bond

 

In the novels by Ian Fleming, James Bond smokes like a trooper, shags like a rabbit, drinks like a fish. He's handy with a knife and has enough spunk to carry a ladies handbag gun. He is supposed to be what every man would like to be, and what every woman wants between the sheets. In short, James Bond 007 is a tedious masturbatory fantasy suitable for members of either sex.

A Stroll Around Rotting Hill

Campden Hill Towers and the far side of Notting Hill Gate

Unexpectedly, I am back home on Rotting Hill Gate. A good time to continue my stroll in the graveyard of memory and the ghosts of businesses past!  

Return to Terminus

Digging up bamboo stumps in the "yard". 

 

X1 DVD of Alistair Cooke's America; 200 Duty Free Cigarettes (Benson and Hedges); X2 Clarins for Men Moisturiser; X3 Boots No.7 Anti-Aging Serum; alcohol units 0 (almost five years); minutes thinking about women I shouldn't fancy 4 (vg).