Bright lights, big city… The Nurse hits the big smelly
If you want to blend in, come to London.
The Nurse, having tidied herself up somewhat in a Swiss Cottage public loo, cuts a reasonably inconspicuous figure in the big smelly.
There’s nutters galore here. A middle aged lady limping along with a Margaret Thatcher hair do, filed pointy teeth and a thunderous expression doesn’t stand out too much. Especially in a place like Oxford Street, where the loonies of the world congregate. Stand there long enough and you’ll eventually see every booby on the planet shuffle by.
Right now she’s hanging around outside the Lloyd’s of London building in The City, admiring the funky metal tubing, reminded momentarily and pleasurably of escaped intestines.
Last night she broke into a posh flat along a leafy London street and slept like a baby in the softest bed she’s experienced for decades. Then breakfasted well in a stranger’s spotless contemporary kitchen, hooking out a tin of grapefruit, a stray avocado and a chunk of fragrant pink and yellow Battenburg.
Tonight she’s walking through the wee small hours, hoping to hit Sussex by Christmas day. At this stage in the game, sleep isn’t an option.
The Nurse imagines she can taste the salty tang of the sea on the westerly breeze but it’s probably wishful thinking. The channel’s siren call always did bring out the best in her. Or the worst, depending on your perspective. If you object to having your skull trepanned when you’re least expecting it, you probably won’t like her much. If, on the other hand, you think carrying out amateur brain surgery on unwitting victims without their permission sounds like fun, she’ll see you in Brighton.
