Piles of “whip-it’s” at the Notting Hill Carnival

London: round two. The depression had already started when I left magical Milos. Santorini just wasn’t my jam. I wasn’t jazzed to pass through London again, because I was ready to get home, but there are worse places to layover. I had made arrangements to meet up with Rose, who works for the Feminist Library in London. We had coffee in Little Venice on the canal and it was perfect. We got to chatting about all sorts of things political and non. The Feminist Library is in the process of moving to a new location so I wasn’t able to visit or donate zines. But if you can, check them out.

After my coffee chat with Rose, I met Jemma at the Bayswater station to check out ‘carnival’ which is London’s Caribbean population celebration. Caribbean foods, and flags abound, and floats representing different nations parade down the street. The streets were packed with festival attendees -dancing their arses off in the streets, huffing nitrous balloons, sipping cocktails and live drumming and bands. A bit too much merry-ment for me. Also- whip-its? I haven't hit them since...? High school? We used to do them at festivals and Dead Shows. My sister was famous for dropping into a seizure in the old Giant's Stadium parking lot because she kept huffing the stuff back and forth into the balloon without taking in any oxygen. So, yeah, there's that. Glad that is no longer a part of my lifestyle.