London; Your name seems familiar but I donít recognise your face.

There comes a time in your life, when many of those places you pass every day are no longer there.

Gone are those old cafes, signs, buildings and shops that inhabit you peripheral vision, the personal wallpaper of your life that mean so much to you. As the strata of past occupants is swept away in the name of progress, so my personal city becomes a sadder place. London has become a pastiche of itself. A scrubbed up city of fake Victorian gas lamps and identikit office developments with a lame public sculpture outside; then all carefully signposted for the best photo opportunity.

So whilst I contemplate my home city as a bland gimcrack tourist stop off, I also realise that every inhabitant before me has mourned the passing of their own London.


 © 2014 Gram Hilleard. All rights reserved. Do not duplicate or redistribute in any form.
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