There’s no fucking joke coming, you are Satan’s spawn

I have to question the area I live in some times. It took me very close to an hour on the 136 from Lewisham to get to home in Downham today. A staggering 2.7 miles that is, with probably an average speed of 5mph. I could have walked faster if I wasn’t half asleep.

That’s not bothered me as such though. It was the people around me and the conversations I was overhearing.
The girl next me, very loudly, was on the phone to a friend and the gist of the conversation I happened to hear upon sitting next to her was about her beating up 2 ‘gals’ who were ‘icing up her man’. Even urban dictionary can’t tell me what to ice someone up is. The response from the friend – who was on loud speaker obviously – was:

“Isit doh?”

Yeah fam

“But isit doh?”

Yeah fam

“Isit, rah”

The young girl beside me then asked if her friend’s fight with the “skanky hos” was still on for Saturday at Kennington.
Conversation got livelier still when it was revealed  that indeed some people in question were sentenced with murder for what they did to ‘that kid’.

This girl was no older than be because of her blatent college attire and school bag and yet she gets into fights, has friends who organises fights for later dates, and also has friends in prison for murdering someone.

Well done South East London, your Satan spawn are growing up.

What are you icing on my man for rass?

Oh and then I almost forgot to mention the guy dancing, yes dancing, around Lewisham swearing to everyone in song. It would be impossible to reinact the amazingness of it on a blog online so just take my word for it. Cheers.

London Town

We don’t get half terms at Uni. Well,  not official ones anyway.

I am instead blessed with the reading week (named project week for me because I do a science I think…) which is a week off lectures and classes to erm, well, erm.. What are you supposed to do, besides going home and enjoying my fantastically superior bed, enjoying my mums cooking (which was practically a Christmas dinner yesterday!), and enjoying sofas!?

There is two sides to this story however. Sometimes London doesn’t half annoy me. If it isn’t waiting an hour for a 199 to Greenwich, or little beggit Kosovan kids aged about 15 discussing the fight from last night and how “Krazy” (I can only imagine it was spelt with a “k”) got shanked and “bare of his blood was gushing.. like proper.. like bleeding blad”, then its grumpy men taking up most of the two seats that are left on the upper deck. Oh, and then getting moody and asking you “what  are you doing?” when the bus jerks and I accidentally hit his leg that is practically on top of me anyway… Sigh.

On the other hand, only on London’s DLR will you find 5 ticket officers telling rude jokes and not checking my oyster card. (The term “my” used loosely there and its actually my 15 year old brothers). Then to be proceeded by one declaring: “Ladies and gentleman… boys, and girls, hehe. I am glad to announce we have delivered, yet another, successful DLR service to Lewisham. I hope you have enjoyed your journey with us, please take ALL of your belongings with you as you depart, into, this glorious… day. Thanks again.“

Fantastic. Made mine, and probably about 50 other Londoner’s day.

Lewisham DLR station... The place where dreams come true