
It might be your local publican, might be the bloke who works in the greengrocers down the road, or the barrister you always end up talking to at the football, or even the journalist you've befriended in your neighbourhood cafe. For years there were half a dozen chaps I was on nodding terms with, who worked in various record shops around town; I never really knew them, but they were always around. It was confusing when they drifted away.
I spent years going to nightclubs and knew dozens of people only by their Christian names; never knew what they did, didn't matter, I didn't care. Years ago there was a character called Jesus who used to turn up naked to festivals and gigs in London. He was so famous that if you went to a gig and he wasn't there, you'd inevitably be disappointed. He was a part of the fabric of London. He was a genuine London face (and actually a kind of London backside, too). London is full of faces. The fashion designer Paul Smith can still be found in his Notting Hill shop at the weekend, looking after his customers, checking on trade and feeling the buzz.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة May 13, 2024 من Evening Standard.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
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هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة May 13, 2024 من Evening Standard.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول

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