Capital pitching, dear boy

I like London. There are usually two ends to this illuminating spectrum. The raffish at one and the uber sophisticate at the other. Suffice to say, Colin and I formed a coterie that sat comfortably with the latter. Seamlessly we blended with the social mores of NW and EC1. Barely concealing our provincial credentials with an A to Z Handy map, we set out to " burn some shoe leather " (c) Robert Craven. As I gingerly exited Chalk Farm tube, a quick call to Col revealed his position to be the Salvation Army cafe. Anticipating a painfully a la mode coffee lounge with a trusty oak and leather combo, imagine my surprise as the warm brick exterior belied the rudimentary interior. Tea for two and a yoghurt encased cereal bar for 2 English pounds ! This isn't London. This is Utopia.
Crackling with ideas and spewing out the odd invigorating torrent of thought, we set our course for some upscale estate agents. In this postcode, they don't do proletariat. As Aussie Col performed his elevator pitch to the townhouse alumni, I window shopped, wrestling with the impossible sounding mortgage multiples. One would-be-buyer stood chatting to an agent who could clearly smell something numbered and Swiss. Eavesdropping, I felt like Sarah Beeny minus the perennial pregnancy bump. By now, the beautiful people of these monied boroughs will have seen our video and it will be the talk of the town.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Rcr4ojLcSM

London town. A Wonkana kind of town.
Head back here on Monday for more on The Smoke.