Neverwhere

I re-read Neverwhere, after chatting to Luke, who was reading it for the first time. I love this book quite madly, probably due to the combination of loving Neil Gaiman and loving London madly as well.

I love the way the hugely different worlds of London Above and London Below overlap, yet don’t quite merge, at stations of the London Underground. The Gap is a ravenous predatorial pouncing fog if you’re from London Below, as opposed to the minor hazard we’re told to Mind by a disembodied voice that’s become background noise to most of us. If you get off at British Museum (long-closed to London Above), ads for moustache wax and two shilling seaside holidays are still plastered on the walls.

There’s something about London, and the London Neil Gaiman presents in Neverwhere, that makes it almost easy to believe that in London Below there are black friars at Blackfriars, an actual angel in Islington, shepherds in Shepherd’s Bush who you should hope you never have to meet, Coke and chocolates from platform vending machines are served if you are a guest at Earl’s Court, and you have to get to the floating market at Harrod’s (the previous one was in Big Ben – it floats from place to place) by crossing Night’s Bridge.

Also About

Forget gourmet cuisine, decadent drug-soaked clubbing extravaganzas, and entertainment crossroads of the world for a moment. London is also about:

Kangkong belachan, beef rendang, nasi goreng, teh tarik and chin chow in Camden on a quiet Thursday night, when it no longer has the indier-student-than-thou, card-carrying nonconformist feel of the weekend. If you’re a Singaporean/Southeast Asian in London, give Singapore Sling (Inverness Road, across the road from the Camden tube exit) a try for pretty damn authentic tasting stuff, though of course at several million times more than what we’d pay at home.

Trying to blend in with what seems like the entire Irish community of London converging on the Electric Ballroom for an Aslan (described on their promotional poster as “The Best Rock Band In Ireland!”, more like Bon Jovi without sexy lead singer, cowboy fixation or, like, international fame) gig, watching fifty-year-olds sway along and belt out every line, all ultimately quite endearing and actually more entertaining than what I remember of Stephen Malkmus at ULU.

Mentioning to Sabrina that while we’re spending our Friday night in moot preparation drudgery, Alec is drinking the night away at Finsbury Park, getting her reply of “Oh, I used to live in Finsbury Park. A man got stabbed outside my front door.” and then worrying a bit.

Saving, yes, saving England from totally unforecasted gale-force winds and devastating storms by not going boating with Alec in Regent’s Park, although I do confess to unjustifiably endangering everyone all the same by daring to utter “Oh, it’s a beautiful day. Let’s go for a walk.”

Alone With Bankside

My last Saturday of 2001 should be written about, even if I don’t manage to write about anything else.

Lost myself happily in Surrealism: Desire Unbound at the Tate Modern for nearly four hours. Hans Bellmer’s doll concoctions made me think of Sandman covers. Un Chien Andalou wasn’t nearly as shocking as I’d expected it to be. Loved Man Ray’s photos of Lee Miller. Wished they had more Magritte. Finally found out name and artist of the painting I’ve long privately described as “Alice in Wonderland meets The Shining” – it’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, artist Dorothea Tanning.

When I left it was already dark, but walking along Bankside and across the bridge to Blackfriars, St Paul’s and all the other riverside buildings were lit, and the water was incredibly still, reflecting them perfectly. For a moment on the bridge it felt like I was the only thing moving through the world. I realized I hadn’t uttered a word to another human being in the last five hours despite being surrounded by crowds, and that I was freezing cold and completely alone – but completely content. And I walked along brimming with that strange solitary joy, loving London, loving the fact that I still love being alone.