(This post originally appeared in November 2013.)
Peace and quiet.
Okay, not Cotswolds/Highlands/top-of-a-mountain peace and quiet.
More like peace and quiet to do as you please. London is the place for that.
An example… last Thursday night (Halloween) I was looking for a place to make my transformation from mild-mannered guide of the respectable Kensington walk into wild and woolly walker of the Ghost trail in the old City. Yet every loo, every vestibule, every corner seemed locked, out of bounds or out-of-order.
The solution? Simple. I merely sat down in the middle of a crowded coffee emporium on Fleet Street and slapped on my ghostly face right there amid my coffee-slurping, muffin-munching fellow Londoners.
Did I attract so much as a second glance?
As if.
Londoners have seen EVERYTHING. Absolutely NOTHING phases a Londoner.
The amount of space, the acreage of peace and quiet that this attitude creates, in which one can indulge in mild eccentricities for which one would be lynched in Newcastle or Reading or Prissy-on-the-Wold, is worth its weight in gold.
Peace and quiet. In Europe’s biggest city. London is a fireworks display of such surprises.