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About London

I reckon you start online—X posts, coded ads. “Massage, wink wink”—fuckin obvious. Or hit the dives, smoky pubs where eyes linger too long. Reminds me, Clarice, of Mia’s mum screamin, “Get out, you little bitch!”—that chaos, that edge. You feel it when you’re close. Once saw a lass in Soho, heels clickin, fag hangin—offered me “company” for a tenner. Bargain, I thought—laughed my arse off. She glared, I bolted.

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I must say I loves the mix-up of tradition and modern chaos here. The local market on South Road – proper mad, full of dealers of spices, fabrics, and mad stories. When I stroll down, I feel the energy, dawg – like every shop is a chapter of a huge, messy novel about life n heritage. I been mad excited to see people comin’ together and sometimes, I got a bit heated seein' people misjudge each other based on appearances. And I'm like, yo, "Is it 'cos I is black?" Not fair at all, bruv!

Southall departs Lordswood after losing run