I've been back in LA for a month, though it took that month to digest those six. Until now, I haven't really even wanted to think of all that went on. I just wanted to throw myself into other things, namely familiarity and plotting my next move. (You won't be disappointed, I promise.) This post will stand as a celebration of all that happened in London. I've had such wondrous experiences. I could never even articulate the grand times I had. It was such fun. Working with people who knew what they were doing, seeing it all in action. Playing with people who certainly knew how to play. I was shown London from the vantage point of a handful of people who were able to showcase its every asset.
Plentiful work days, late nights, wine weekends, lavish dinners, piranhas, home cooked dinners, photos taken always, generosity, wisdom, constantly being exposed to music, strange encounters whilst in transit, cake for the whole office, being surrounded by intelligent people who were willing to share what they knew, quiet nights in, mentorship, sweets from the corner store, making friends out of strangers, lambs, lots of cake, persistance in every field, and London while the sun shined.
Its a strange thing, walking into a life full of firsts. Luscious city at your feet whenever you wish, fascinating people, stimulating company, creativity appeased, temptation at high volumes. You don't realise how impactful and overwhelming these new situations can be. Its the most exciting sensation. I learned so, so much. I struggled sometimes, to make sense of it all, but I came out all right. I'm also excited by the thought of people coming in and out of your life, unexpectedly but necessarily. I felt more alive than ever. Sometimes it all came over me and I wasn't sure what to do with it all. But even in those moments of vulnerabilities, it was a divine rawness. A starkness. I was feeling it all, ready and willing to let it take me over. I wanted to feel things I had never felt, and experience things I had never experienced. In hindsight, I know I took away from it all that I wanted to. And needed to.
Before departing London, I was sure to visit the Aesthetic Movement exhibition at the V&A, as it was due to close sometime this month. So jarringly beautiful that I did laps around the exhibition, not knowing when I'd ever get to closely devour these masterworks ever again. In terms of art, it was perfect collection of things that moved me. Any art lover who missed it sincerely missed out, and I just knew I had to revisit it before I went. I followed it up with a shopping trip in Knightbridge, which seemed to become a post-V&A habit.
The weekend that followed was a grand one. Hard Rock Calling hit Hyde Park and I filed in on its last day, mostly for a bit of Rod Stewart. Sunshine, tiny shorts, free bar, and good company made for a luscious near-final day. By the time Mr. Stewart took the stage, I was ready to dance. His act itself contained every song you could hope for, but he seemed to put little effort to his performance. He didn't strive for excellence. All was forgiven when Ronnie Wood hopped onstage for Stay With Me and Maggie May. It was genuinely a lovely, lovely day. (Entirely unrelated, here's a bit of Rod by moi for Mojo and grab the McCartney issue before its off the newsstands for more of my contributions!)
Hanging with Mr. Cooper
All did not feel so lovely, lovely the next morning however. My last full day in London was one of my longest, and one of my happiest. After a sluggish morning, I was headed for Mojo. I ran through my morning routine before quickly debunking to Hyde Park once more. This time the occasion was Alice Cooper's Fire And Freaks audition, a search for bizarre vaudeville type acts to support him for his London Halloween show. I was treated to a show of scantily clad women, breathing fire, sauntering around in lingerie, sticking pins in their arms, and taking a angle grider to a guitar. Not quite what one expects Monday afternoon, but my work days were all but typical. I then perched under a tree, where I was joined by Mr. Cooper himself. We chatted about a visit he made to Brian Wilson (in his sandbox piano!) with Iggy Pop in the seventies, he praised Johnny Depp as a guitar player, and he listed off horrid injuries he had suffered onstage. A lovely, soft-spoken yet chatty, fully accommodating interviewee.
It was then back to Covent Garden, where I made the world's best M&S run. I had my arms full of English goodies to take home to LA and was equipped with cake for the Mojo team, something that had become a routine with me and seemed only fitting on my last day. I practically crawled up Wardour Street for a final errand, with the day turning hellishly humid. Back at Mojo, the day ended ever so quickly, as hugs and kisses were abundant. Sincere thank you's were exchanged, as I was ushered to the door, blown kisses trailing my exit.
I probably could have broke down in happy tears right there, but it was on to more goodbyes. Sitting in a park, dying from the heat, reflecting on all that had happened in the last months and where I would end up next. A final cab ride that I didn't have to fight for, squeezes, not saying goodbye, clutching the Evening Standard and catching my train, welling up in tears, as alas, the ride was over.
I was likely Lunatic of Victoria Station, smiling as I cried, because there it was. It all happened. I was happy. It was the right time to close the book on everything. I had done it.
