Londonlondonlondon. Lived here for three years. Three hour exam on London in the morning.
And all that is in my mind is my urchin Oliver, my little Pip, my saintly Esther singing the opening page of Bleak House.
London. Michaelmas term lately oooo-ver...
He has it memorised and set to a choral score. Urban beauty itself. His voice soars on the polluted city winds, angelically cutting through the fog like a swan cuts through the Thames sewage.
Three years of London, and twenty-one years of literature, condensed down to three hours of essaying. I shall end up writing such COCKney. Metropolitan poppycock.
1 comment:
Not all wasted then!
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