London never fading

For the past week I have walked the streets of London, in multitudes of crowds, filled to the brim tube fares, lines upon lines of travelling tourists longing for an almost never-ending dream of a city soaked in music, colours, ancient history of kings long since gone, cask of whatever ale guesting the local pub at the moment and endless rows of performances of every kind. The performances of this city are as many faced as the galleries which inhabit it. From the man who plays his drum on the street corner, the Agatha Christie mystery which renews itself night after night never to be fully solved, to streets that never completely empties, just like the pint glasses of the old man in the local pub who also seems to never leave completely. Where ever you wander a show is always in progress, the steps of old St. Paul's invites to a play of old, how often have not a stranger put on his merry face to ask for a two-pence?

I have walked the streets of London many times before, and the show that I see is always new, always ancient, always the same. The ancient stones, the old faces, the familiar sounds and smells, but never fully the same. There is always a new road to take, a street corner never before seen, or a pub never before visited, this is what creates the show that never ends, the London of all time. I have been to many a bookstore in London before, but I always find a book I never read, I have entered many a friendly pub, but I always find a beer never tasted.

To walk the halls of knowledge, art and history I find myself amazed at every turn. I never get bored of either Turner, Shakespeare or the marble halls of the British museum. When entering these great halls, I feel just like the kid I once was, and well, never grew out of, that for ever hungers for more of that abundance of knowledge.

I have, as oftentimes before, walked the streets of London, but these streets are for me not quite the same, not quite new, though, I know not what I will see.