Wrapping up the second year of my international wanderings, goodbye London. This may be a few months late on account of baguettes in Paris, heavy chemicals in the Ukraine, collectors in Russia and crazy nomads in Mongolia but here it is, the see yas fucken later loose end tie up.

• First up drumroll please, Bazalgette the Sewer King and your glorious system for transporting the Fresh around London. Thanks for the good times geez! This guy would hand Kirkbride's sappy ass to him on a plate. Look at that pimping-ass moustachio'd motherfucker. Respect.
  
• So long River Tyburn and Bazalgette's Blight, that evil stomach churning ass-pissing malady that besets the best of us.

• Also the Fleet for your massive filth chambers and Serpent's Lair for your putrid mix of sewage, commercial slurry and floating rat carcasses.
• Stoop's Limit for being a convoluted mess of little tunnels and bobbing nuggets.

• Goodbye to tasty curry, especially the pla chu chee at Charlie Wright's.
• You too brick lane hawkers, always good for a laugh.
• Later shoreditch twats, your 100 quid haircuts never failed to amuse.

• I'll miss pushing my way through masses of rude Londoners on the tube, with a backpack covered in sewerjuice.
• Good riddance to the bitches with handbags the size of small children who plonk them onto the Oyster Card reader then become surprised when the reader can't detect their card through 10kgs of makeup, 3 pairs of H&M knickers, pocket dildos, cans of hairspray, 4 books, a water bottle and 5 packets of crisps. In peak hour.
• Moreso the sluts walking around town with their rollerbags getting in everyone's way and running over their toes. Seriously, get a hobo sack.
• Also, the men with briefcases on wheels. Pick that shit up you weak ass bitch, carry it like a man.

• I'm gonna miss you tasty cider beverages (1quid 8% 500ml death cider in a can not so much).
• Bye Hackney Wick, sleeping on the floor for months, separating frozen chicken with a hammer and chisel, artfags, midnight basketball, trampolines in the kitchen, weekend learner drivers pottering around, that evil smell of dead animals, that glorious smell of the Northern Outfall Sewer below the rape path.

• Later bike messengers, you make cycle commuting ever more exciting.
• Goodbye bombing along the canals with no brakes and no bell in near silence, dodging other cyclists and scaring pedestrians.
• Later, doing the same at midnight scanning left-right constantly for the east london massif.

• Fuck off annoying chav kids yelling "oi geezer how much was ya bike?" or "Is that a pink bike?". Thanks captain fucking obvious.
• See yas later london bike cops who don't carry guns but sport intimidating SMITH & WESSON stickers on their bikes.

• Gonna miss you home-made sushi, feeling sick on western fried chicken, munching bacon/egg/cheese baps with brown sauce and tabasco.
• Huzzah for no more 20-packs of chicken nuggets at 3am when McAbortion is the only place open.
• Goodbye sleeping on the couch at work after late nights exploring. Not so goodbye being woken by the Project Manager at 8am.

• I'll certainly mourn the loss of rolling into work in shorts and flipflops while the poor bastards on the tube wear suits and penny-loafers.
• Later riding the tube in waders, sliding through the stations on the metal wader studs and making inane conversation with commuters. "We're going to the sewers". "Is that a club?", "No, it's THE SEWERS".

• Goodbye to the drainers. Young, old, retired and those who've almost given up. May the scent of fresh guide you in times of need.
• Later Gremlin, hope you're doing the things you enjoy where ever you may be.

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