Myself and Zero stank of putrid Mid-Level 2. We’d crawled through a two foot high pipe to enter another system whilst rapidly trying to avoid the shit torrents almost peaking above our entrance. Stagnated sewage and its relative detritus clung harder than hard so we needed a high place de-smell and un-sweat the underground dregs. After testing out a few new keys fresh through the post we decided to avoid paying the £1.50 or whatever it costs (to go up Monument) and instead spend the oyster fair to reach a different rooftop.
The night was clear, and we sat listening to The Shimmering Hour by Wisp discussing the relative fuckeries of life, love and bullshit, with our attention turning to the talk of climbing The Shard. From the latter end of the building looking southward we watched tiny dots scuttling across London Bridge and from the north side the sky was pierced by the funny odd shapes and bright lights that make London’s skyline. It was nice, sitting there, knowing that there’s still a few beautiful roses in the garden of the world even though you’re constantly scouting the ground for dogshit – dogshit that the owner forgot to pick up or maybe even left there for you to purposely step in.
Photo: Me sitting on some fucking rooftop blah blah, London, UK (2010)
