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Labor supply vs London. London

Five has the English tourist meccas, Paris, Rome, Prague, Amsterdam and London. Meccas Five must-see, five meccas to provide office on a Monday conversation, but yes, five meccas that can not be named in vain ... except at prayer time, "as in Spain, anywhere." But hey, that's only prayer, as we all know, is a matter of faith.

And the truth is that Paris seems to me a fascinating city Is objectively beautiful Prague, Amsterdam and Rome I can not judge them for not being there ... and yet London leaves me indifferent. I know this may sound odd or unpopular, something like a safari without going Tapiocca Colonel dress. How can one leave the city irrelevant McDonalds whose patriotic pilgrimage thousands of students improve their English summer after summer? How can one not like the city of frantic shopping weekend at bargain prices? How can one not excited about the city where the most varied urban tribes burned every night and part of the day? Yes, folks. London leaves me indifferent. Central London, that is. Yes, that has free museums, shops and restaurants of all kinds, elegant avenues without a paper on the floor, huge parks, changing of the guard, telephone booths, bobbies and an egg of people from one place to another. But for me it's a soulless town without charm. Maybe it's because it is a horizontal city, built on four floors, do not know. Anyway, that leaves me indifferent.

And yet, when one crosses the bridge at Vauxhall, with the silhouette of Battersea Power Station defining a psychedelic picture where the flying pig just need to feel telestransportado to Animals cover, and through the tender Royal Vauxhall Tavern, the "Little Portugal" in South Lambeth, truly little, but still Portuguese, and heads its way south towards the once indomitable Brixton with its Electric Avenue market with its own currency, with its mural style New York's Harlem, with its avenue Coldharbour Lane, strangely quiet today ... Ah, man, that's another thing! And that I love London, I really love ...

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It could have been in the coffee-tasting ...

Perfectly could have been with her friends, emperifolladitas all of them, compared to around biscuits in the coffee-tasting turn. Chatting, gossiping, or complaining about the youth of today, you have to see how piggy you are, how to leave everything after bottle.

But no. Was in the car, a vehicle of upper-middle range, probably a Passat , moving through the streets of Deusto. Beside her, her husband, well dressed, classy, \u200b\u200ba kind. Suddenly a light turns red, and the car stopped beside me, who was walking down the sidewalk. Discuss something, it opens the door, and the lady, so resolute, so determined, with their designer sunglasses and blond class well, throws some ball into the garden of a tree planted in the sidewalk. With the bad luck that "something" keeps rolling along the sidewalk. She is unfazed. I take a couple of quick steps to stop the rolling object. It was a car freshener, a kill-paff . It seems that he had exhausted the essence, and what better place to deposit it next to a tree in the sidewalk on a public street. I'm looking for about 10 seconds. I look, but nothing. Slightly lift your hands, as demanding an explanation. Look the other way. Talk. Open the door, reluctantly, and inquisitorial tone, I said "Tramel, bring it." Thus, the imperative, as if thinking the bad fortune that has come across such a picky . "Let's see if the next traffic light to another I am not stupid." And I say nothing. I'm speechless. But I can not help thinking that, maybe tomorrow, she will address the pastries in the coffee-tasting, complaining about the youth of today, what are piggy ...