The Wrong Way to Vauxhall

On Friday, when driving up to Pimlico to get my new passport, I went the wrong way to Vauxhall. Bear with. Bear with before we get into the philosophical discussions about “So what?” and “Can there ever be said to be the wrong way to anywhere?” etc. Firstly I am going to explain to you why this is remarkable. I’ve lived in London all my adult life, from 1977 to date; that’s forty years for you non-mathematicians. And before that too actually, from 1970-1973. And, before buying my own first car in 1979, I went everywhere on the bus because […]

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