With inflation rampant, growth stagnant, government disintegrating, and nothing working – so I’d read, all due to Brexit, naturally – it was a wonder to fly into Heathrow, breeze through customs, and smartly get to a smoothly-functioning, clean and new London hotel via train and tube.
What had happened to the strike-bound Britain that Poland was about to overtake in GDP per person? Largely the Remoaner fantasy, it seems, so prevalent even among Britons who should know better.
Mind you, there were plenty of signs about disruption to come via a Pride march; and there was a vital street near Trafalgar Square partially dug up on the Sunday I arrived, somehow still blocked-off a week later, even though the actual roadwork had all been done. No doubt that was just the car-phobic Labour mayor being bloody-minded to the traffic; but in a week of tripping around London and southern England, the tube worked fine and every train was clean and on time.
London has long been the world’s great meeting place; certainly that’s what it was in late June, although I was probably the only Australian not there for the cricket.
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