Camden 2017

I’ve been meaning to write for a while, but I’ve been ill and very busy sitting on the sofa and pretending I don’t have work to do or a life to live. But in the spirit of positivity or whatever, today I’m gonna share some pictures from my trip to Camden this past week, and have a ramble about the less-than-24-hours I spent there.

Although the main purpose of the trip was to go to a gig, my friend and I decided to make the most of the fact I’d never been to Camden before, and have a chill wander around the lock. Unwinding in a deckchair in the middle of a market with a cup of rhubarb lemonade was a surreal, yet weirdly cathartic experience. A strange amalgamation of waterfront chill, western style vintage, and buildings akin to that of an eighteenth-century bread maker’s house turned bookshop, Camden Lock Market is effectively how I wish my personality was in a location. Unfortunately, I’m not that cool and am merely the try-hard version of that, but you can dream, right?

As all wannabe bougie hipsters do, I was required to try new things after meeting my mum for dinner: a huge slice of pizza eaten on abandoned chairs beside a bin, three truffles shared between us in weird but amazing flavours (coffee and jasmine, anyone?), and an extortionately priced but incredibly tasty pressed juice which unfortunately did not prevent me from getting ill this week, despite the name flu fix, but NEVER MIND.

Reconvening with my friend before the gig, after his nearly being flattened by a car while running across the road, and being accosted by two of his viewers (bloody fancy famous people), we stopped off for falafels. Where I was promptly chatted up by the server, and gifted the best falafel I’ve ever eaten. I’m still chuffed, if I’m honest.

Which brings us to the gig – one of the best life performances I’ve seen, truly. It’s hardly an exaggeration to say that I’ve been listening to Jeff Rosenstock’s new album, Worry, non-stop on repeat since I discovered it, and hearing it live was truly incredible. The hour he was on stage was sweaty and intense, funny and heartwarming, and I would re-live it over and over if I could. His charisma and wit resonated throughout the audience, the nicest group of people I’ve met at a gig to date. The love and positivity spread around the room throughout the performance, especially in light of the Manchester attack the night before, made the whole experience that bit more meaningful. It’s rare to find a person who can make you completely forget your mental illness, but for the duration of his performance, Jeff filled my being with happiness and for a while, my mental health problems were a thing of the past.

Despite the physical exhaustion brought on by this euphoric experience, staying in an unfamiliar, loud, and overly warm hotel room meant I was unable to sleep – allowing me to witness a beautiful sunrise over a now-quiet North London, yet meant I was left an anxious zombie attempting to travel across London during rush hour on very little sleep.

From an overall weird, tiring and enjoyable experience, I can’t urge you enough to check out Jeff Rosenstock – because punk isn’t dead.

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