It’s Good Friday, the day Our Lord was apparently crucified. As a child, I remember any display of happiness being strictly forbidden. The Catholics of Kilburn and Cricklewood would make their way to the sombre 3 o’clock service, all terribly solemn. Or pretending to be terribly solemn. Everyone knew that within 48 hours Our Hero would be up and about again, sporting a few minor abrasions. This whole charade now seems as silly as believing in Father Christmas or the tooth fairy. It’s a beautiful day, four days off work and an imminent chocolatefest. A lot of people have gone away, leaving London joyously accessible to those who remain. I couldn’t be happier. And seriously, if I’m wrong and there really is an all-loving and all-merciful God, isn’t this how he’d prefer us to be?
I’m not supposed to feel like this.

- Columbia Road...7th May 2017
- I suppose it'...6th May 2017
- The local cou...5th May 2017
- The Duke of E...4th May 2017
- I always thou...3rd May 2017
- Another four ...2nd May 2017
- The sport to ...30th Apr 2017
- Quick drink w...28th Apr 2017
- The only thin...26th Apr 2017
- You know you'...22nd Apr 2017
- I'm not suppo...21st Apr 2017
- If you think ...20th Apr 2017
- Snap election...19th Apr 2017
- I'll never be...18th Apr 2017
- One more reas...17th Apr 2017 prev next