puke, gag, retch.
i’ve lived in boston, montreal, and new york. i’ve visited cities big and small all around the globe. and i have never anywhere else seen as much vomit as i have in london.
upchuck, blowing chunks, tossing cookies, spewing – call it what you will, but it’s everywhere on the pavements of the big smoke. it makes running on sunday mornings a minefield, and turns a monday morning commute a stomach-churning experience.
against walls, in bus shelters, next to gutters – you’re always encountering the remnants of someone’s unsuccessful drunken curry or hungover chips. if you’re particularly unlucky, you’ll see the heave in action, in full technicolour effect with sound. i’ve seen more strangers puking in public than i care to count. the pigeons peck at it, then it dries to a dark spatter, eventually washing away with the rain.
it’s a particularly nasty side effect of the binge-drinking culture that’s so prevalent here, and i will not miss it at all.