Country boy in the big City

I forgot what a glorious city London (or, as the locals pronounce it, Laandaahn) can be. I made a recent trip there last week, and instead of risking a bomb-run on the underground (although I am addicted to the warm, strange smell of the underground. Someone could bottle that and sell it on Ebay) I walked from Victoria station up to Liverpool street for the next leg of my trip.

It really is a beautiful city, with concrete grey slabby buildings next to glittering blueglass metal buildings with ornate olde worlde churches and buildings liberally sprinkled along the way.

I did stop by a few pubs along the trek (there was a curious pub where ladies took off their clothes and danced around the noses of fiver waving office types – wha-hey!). And one thing I noticed about the pubs over there was, due to the smoking ban, there were many, many other ‘fragrances’ that assaulted you. I guess a thick layer of second hand smoke becomes an almost unnoticeable, background smell – and part ‘n’ parcel of a night in the boozer.

However, with the smoke ban fully enforced, the myriad of people aroma’s has become evident – and perhaps this is the latest pubgame – name the public house aroma. The ‘stale beer in carpet’ competes with ‘bloke letting off small but regular farts’ that almost has dominance over ‘beery belch mixed with last nights curry breath’.

Of course, the cure lies in the cause – and after eight pints you barely notice the smell (or the time!).