The World's End + A Christmas Walk
Some musings on being alone in London on Christmas Day
The World’s End in Camden, Everyone’s Local
A North London landmark for as long as anyone can remember, The World’s End Pub, which is even open on Christmas Day, calls itself a home to an eclectic mix of people — kind of like Camden itself. The first reference to a tavern in the area occurs in 1690, which Camden was entirely rural and the proprietors relied on trade passing by on the road from London to Hampstead and Highgate. Someone had the idea to call the place, the Halfway House. But by 1751, owners had named the pub, the Mother Red Cap, thanks to its proximity to the cottage of a notorious witch, Mother Damnable. By the late 19th Century, Camden Road was later built, and the building, designed in 1875 by H. H. Bridgman, was expanded into a large pub and venue.
In 1988, Andrew Marler, a serial developer of Licensed Premises bought the World’s End and made it big enough to hold music acts, with a capacity of 1,000. He opened a venue for metal bands called Underworld, which has hosted Dave Stewart (The Eurhymics), The Cranberries and Radiohead.
A Walk through Regents Canal on Christmas Day
I decide about two o’clock that even though it’s Christmas and I have absoluely fuck all that I want to do (not have to do — I have a lot of that) I would take a walk down Regents Canal to a spot called Little Venice.
I love houseboats, and I had wanted to check out the menagerie of them on this particular spot, near Notting Hill for at least a year. As I walked, I thought and saw lots of things. Here are just a few to wrap up the year:
Oh, there’s a Dad shooting a seagull with a gigantic telephoto lens. Christmas present to self…
I wonder if those cans are empty. Someone had fun down here last night. God, I want a drink.
I wonder what I did to deserve a Christmas alone again. A lady passes me by with her Bible playing loudly on her phone, “Matthew Chapter 1.”
Caladonian Road always has traffic
Ah, there is a girl with a Pret Cup, at least you can rely on a Pret A Manger every day of the year.
There is Merlin Trotter’s Boat. I should photograph his boat to get his number. I may need it for a reading later. Oh, there is another sign on his old, shabby boat. The Tarot game must be good this year.
That guy on a Lime Bike is riding too fast. He is a menace to society. No Lime Bikes are a menace to society. And why is he playing the George Michael “Last Christmas” song?
There are a lot of boats s I used to always see on my end, and now they are on this end of the canal. “You can’t hide from me forever,” I tell them in my head. Or the Regents Canal authorities.
Why am I alone in London on Christmas Day?
The last time I was on this canal, I was in love (probably just lust) over a girl I’d just started talking to on Hinge. Possibilities! I’ve always been in love with possibility, that’s it.
The last time I was alone on Christmas, the iPhone and Facebook were still a novelty, and I actually read people’s posts. Now I just don’t care?
A Japanese lady looks at me as if she knows why I am alone on Christmas day. She can see right through me, I feel.
The last weird Christmas I spent was with a new girlfriend: a woman I saw in 2021 for five months. We were in Bath and I was drinking again back then, and the mulled wine made everything seem as normal as Christmas could ever feel.
This one, sans mulled wine, not so much.
Why do I care? Why am I giving this day my precious thoughts?
Oh there is a boat I have photographed 1,000 times. Why do I still feel lile I need to snap it? I just need to gey by The Constitution pub; it’s open.
I hate Lyme bikes.
I always feel better when I am moving— going somewhere; delaying the inevitable; staving off the pain of sitting and being alone with my thoughts .
Oh, there is a boat about to go through a lock, but oh, there is a crew hanging out. They are surely drunk if not high. I should move on. The Lock will take forever and be boring, anyway, I tell myself.
There are families away, together. I miss mine.
Camden seems to be the only place that feels normal today; that is problematic.
Should I buy myself a Christmas present from the souvenir peddler?
“Camden normalcy” made me feel lighter and cheerier for a few minutes, like I did the right thing. Now I am venturing into uncharted territory and that feels refreshing, too.
Blues staved off for now.
Oh, here is the London Zoo. I’ve never really thought of this zoo — probably because I don’t have kids and I haven’t absorbed all the propaganda of England’s patron Saint of Nature, David Attenborough
But how much of this year has actually felt normal? Really? I know something was amiss when I walked down the canal to my apartment with Magda last year, fresh from Malta. And nothing has been the same since that day.
I feel like an American today, or a citizen of nowhere, belonging to no one.
Everyone feels they can sing out loud today. Thisis normal for NYC, strange for London.
Alright, well, I don’t think I am going to make it to Little Venice. Will try again tomorrow, on bike.
Wow, Paddington. You would really have to have come from ancient Londonium to not get the irony of being alone on Christmas day and seeing that huge electronic sign that states how chronic lonliness affects more people than “50 Oasis concerts.” Is that targeted to Gen X, or Y? But not Millennials, because Oasis had split up for that generation. Or did they? Are they still split?
Here’s my Uber. Another human in my space. The radio. That’s something. Build on that.
