In 2001 I was invited to my buddy Dave Guzzone’s wedding in High Barnet, London, England. Just FYI, there’s no big bang finish to this story, this is just what happened.

I have been a lifelong Anglophile. Before I had ever heard of that word I discovered Monty Python. This was grade school. Benny Hill, Lord of the Rings, Captain Haddock, Roald Dahl, Jethro Tull, Sabbath and Ozzy soon followed. I developed an obsession with England, London, and the UK in general.

My love of a horde of British bands and musicians hadn’t lessened my love, but somehow by my late twenties I had still never made it over.

As good a friend as Dave was, I was having a hard time justifying spending all that money for a wedding. At that age, the concept of a wedding didn’t really land with me. Idk, sure, people get married. Do what you want. But the importance of it somehow still escaped me at that point in my life. Then it occurred to me that I could book some shows. Oh yeah, I play guitar and sing, and at that point had a band.

I set about asking some friends how to book shows in London, and was given a few avenues to try. I managed to get a show in an area called New Cross, another in Whitechapel, and another in Brixton.

I was very stressed during the packing phase about the possibility of getting found out at customs, that I was going to play a show and not just for a vacation. I had heard horror stories about musicians getting stopped and sent home. Would they take my guitar? My beautiful Dexter Johnson 1971, the twenty first guitar that he ever made ( he made mandolins and acoustics for David Grisman and Jerry Garcia). Would they send me straight back on the plane? Who knows?

At any rate, the flight was great. Free wine from a lovely stewardess. British Airway had all the trappings of a dignified English experience. And I encountered no problems at the border aside my heart palps and nerves.

Upon retrieving my luggage I headed down the ramp that leads to the trains to London. Quite suddenly, a strange rush of people began flowing back up the ramp, going the wrong direction. More than a few people started asking aloud what was happening, and various responses could be heard

“ trains closed”

“ too many people”

“trains broken”

“ a bomb went off”

A bomb went off? What in the what? What does that even mean? As I was trying to make sense of that, the flood of humans coming back up the ramp increased, along with a wave of fear and panic rushing forward, palpable to all. I wheeled my case around, back up the ramp and headed to the cash exchange to get some more money.

Once I got outside the Heathrow terminal, I tried a few different bus queues, one longer than the next, all going somewhere I was not. Next I headed to the taxis, the black cabs. Huge lines. Right about that time, military personnel carrier’s pulled up, and actual military personnel exited. Armed. Multiple vehicles, with soldiers piling out. Everyone and everything became quiet for a few minutes as the entirety of Heathrow’s arriving and departing mass realized that shit had gotten really real. For real.

Then the giant hum of the crowd kicked into a higher gear. Not the sound at a concert or ballgame, but panic. Rushing, knocking into each other. It was wild.

I saw a man getting into a cab and just asked if I could jump in. There was a younger kid, my age, getting in at the same time. The businessman was German I learned, and the kid was from Nigeria.

It was a long strange cab ride into London. We all chatted a bit, young man was visiting family, the german lived in London. None of us understood what was happening regarding this bombing. It didn’t seem like it could be a real thing.

I had a Nokia cell phone. It looked like the ones you see in early 90’s euro thrillers. QWERTY texting, no video or pictures. A wonderful time actually.

In the days before rampant cell phone use, or certainly media on cell phones, our ability to find out what was happening was sorta nil.

In the end the German didn’t charge either of us for our share of the fare. We bade each other farewell in central London and I hopped out with my Victorinox backpack/roller, my guitar, and my loaded up backpack.

I think I was dropped on Oxford Street and Regents, or thereabouts.

In my memory it was like the scene from 28 Days Later. As the hours passed, the city became deserted. There were a few people around, but very few pedestrians or cars. I wandered for a while. My phone wouldn’t work, if memory serves they had shut down the cell service to prevent …uhh..unwanted communications. I did have a calling card, and tried my buddy who was getting married, but I couldn’t get through there either.

I bought a beer and walked down to Hyde park and sat around. I wrote in my Moleskin, which I still have somewhere. Maybe I’ll add that into this story if I find it. The weather was nice, but starting to turn.

By the 5th or 6th time trying my friend I was getting incredibly frustrated. No busses, no cabs, no people, no stores open. I was exhausted and hungry and cranky. On the way to enraged. It started raining, wind was picking up.

fuck is going on!?! What the fuck!?! What kind of a god damned city is this?! I was ranting and raving in my head, and out loud! Whatever had happened that day still wasn’t exactly clear.

Gliding into the evening, I’d see a person skitter across a courtyard, someone dash into the street and turn back. Was this a zombie apocolypse? It had been hours at this point and was getting dark.

I made a last effort to get in touch with Dave, and I got through! Hooray! Jubilation!

“ Dave!! This is insane! I’ve been here for hours wandering around, there are no people, it’s totally deserted! I need you guys to come get me!!’

“Oh man, that’s not gonna happen, we already started drinking. You can find your way up here, c’mon”

I went silent, apoplectic with quiet anger. I flew to London for your wedding, and you’re not going to pick me up? Ever the great communicator I said fine and hung up.

Now before you get angry at Dave, he later detailed how the split second he hung up he realized what he’d said, the state I was in, the fact that I was lost and maaaybe I had a map of the London tube, but no google maps. He went nuts trying to get ahold of me for the next hour, multiple emails saying “ I’m sorry, where are you, we’ll come right away!!’ He felt awful, everyone he was with felt awful.

At any rate, I tried to unscramble my brain and think who could I get in touch with. I either got to an internet cafe ( before cell phones, you would go into a room w computers and pay to log in to your email or Blogger account for a period of time. I don’t know why I keep explaining olden times. Everyone has seen Hackers at this point, or some spy movie where the off the grid guy goes to an internet cafe. Anyway, back to the story).

My dear friend Alexis had heard about what happened that day, and emailed me that her ex Oliver, lived in Hackney, and I should call him. I got ahold of him. Turned out, he was within eyesight of one of the bus bombs that day and had left town with friends. He gave me his address, and told his flat mate that I’d be coming. It took me quite a while to get to Hackney. I walked. Almost two hours.

Hackney was maybe at the first edge of being cool? Think Brooklyn in the mid 90’s, or Beastie boys/Beck era Los Feliz before Silverlake was the new Los Feliz, before Echo Park was the new Silverlake before Highland Park was the new ….anyway, you get it.

His roommate was so sweet. I cannot remember her name right now. We had some wine, I caught up on the horrors that had occurred that day, and crashed hard. Really hard.

Next day got back in touch with the incredibly apologetic Dave, they ferried me up to High Barnet. Had a blast at the wedding. Dave’s sister was super pretty, got a crush on her. And then the day after the wedding it was time to go play my show in New Cross.

“ Hey guys, I have a couple of gigs I’m playing, I’ve got one tonight’

“ Oh great! Where is it?”

“ A place called New Cross?”

“ New Cross? We’re not going to New Cross. And you shouldn’t go to New Cross. It’s in Lewisham, which is the stabbing capitol of Europe”

Now that’s an amazing stat. A stabbing capitol.

Lewisham named 'least peaceful' place in the UK

I wasn’t able to confirm that item, but it was a pretty rough area, and their point was that wandering around with an expensive guitar late at night miiight not be a great idea.

I almost bailed on the gig, but some girl name Ceri ( I had pronounced it Sari in my head) had booked the show, so what the hell. It took quite a while to get from High Barnet to New Cross by tube. Here’s an image.

The 6 String Bar was the venue, on New Cross Road, right up from Deptford High Street. It’s gone now, but I learned that Bloc Party had their last big/ small show before blowing up there, so I was, as they say, chuffed. Tiny little place with a pool table.

Some guy named Cary introduced himself and seemed aware that I was playing, and I met a woman who I couldn’t really understand, but she had something to do with a Music Tourist Board which sounded really cool, and also seemed to sorta know me. I later learned I had been emailing with both of them. He was Ceri, and it’s pronounced Cary cuz he’s Welsh. And she was Caffy St Luce, and ran a multitude of events and night all around South East London, which we will refer to as SE13 from here on out. They were both very active in the local scene.

Young guy behind the bar was super friendly said he was called Ads. I asked what his name was though? Huh? I’m called Ads? Why do they call you that? What? It’s my name? Ohhhh.

The amount of new slang, new jargon, idioms and accents coming at me was incredible, Welsh accents, Sarf east London, I really could barely understand anyone, it was hysterical, and I couldn’t get enough.

“ You all right?”

Am I all right? I’m fine..why would someone ask me that? I looked down at my shirt…did I spill something? No. Bloody nose, booger? No.

“ Huh? I’m fine. Is something wrong”?

“ What?”

It was a constant round robin of who’s on first, but British style.

Round about showtime, the promoter who had his Ipod going killed the feed and got on the mic to announce an American was there to play some songs.

The group of teenagers playing pool in the back room, who had previously been very noisy, made their way up front, brought over chairs , and all sat down. I had been prepping myself for a very rough show; noisy game of pool in the back, no one paying attention, just play the songs and GTFO. I was doing what I came to do, play a few shows in London, I can tick the box and move on.

But they were as polite and seemingly, interested, as possible. They really seemed to dig what I was putting down. At one point there was a mild heckle, which I laughed at and responded to with something like “ That’s not what your mom said”

They loved it. I was in. They fell out laughing and were now on my side. It was a raucous solo acoustic guitar show. I had brought CDR’s to give away, and I learned they had bought them all, and insisted on paying for each one.

I had a similar experience at the Telegraph in Brixton ( though the Windmill Brixton became a home for me, Tim is a gent ) and the Rhythm Factory in Whitechapel.

I didn’t encounter any problems on the dirty streets of Sarf East London. I was followed by a group of toughs in Ladrooke or Kidwell once. I slept on a park bench in Hackney Park because the fog was so thick I couldn’t tell where I was going. With my digital camera, mini dv, my acoustic and a few pedals, I woulda been a great mark, but never had an issue.

Turns out the 6 String was shut down the week after I played. A bouncer had been stabbed and a bartender raped. So my friends weren’t all wrong.

We did get into a brawl one night at a party and chased some guys down the street. As I was running after them at 4am I thought, this is a terrible idea…what the hell am I doing.

My next trip over Ceri linked up with the wonderful Sylvie Green. She had green hair, and had been the head of the local green part. She was a poet, a beautiful sweet soul, and a collector of everything and everyone. Her house was crowded with sundries, but she had one small room she’d rented to me and a long list of local musicians. She was the sweetest. We ate kippers, drank cans and watched Eurovision while I dyed her hair green. She had a beautiful British smile that only a life talking and laughing and loving can give you. She has moved on, but I still think of her on a regular basis.

I loved learning the learning the eccentricities of the local dialect. Safe. Allow it. Jog on. Ok. It was hard to learn that someone asking “ You alright?” Wasn’t implying that you seemed sick or had ketchup on your shirt, but was just their way of asking How are you? Answering a question with a question was also strange.

“ Hey Manny, how’s the evening going?”

“ Well I’ve just got here, haven’t I?”

And in my mind I’m thinking…I really don’t know have you? Haven’t you? What? I asked you, and now I’m trying to answer if you just got here or not.

I know the attacks on 7/7 had to have some effect on everyone and my entire experience. The city life around me did seem to snap back quite quickly. I Think it made everything more vivid and intense. I made my way to Paris and stayed with my friends Thomas, Leslie and their children in a little town called Cergy Le Haute. Hit the Eiffle Tower.

That group of kids at the first show became fast friends, and welcomed me into their community. I went back for 6 years straight, playing all over Lewisham, Deptford, Brockley and New Cross. I love SE 13.

Played all night bonfire shows in Hilly Fields , Sunday BBQ’s at the Windmill Brixton, numerous times at Foxfest — the locals-only 2 day, 2 stage indoor festival at The Fox and Firkin, run by Carl 2bob. I’m still in touch w a large number of these people, friends and bands.

I can actually see myself retiring over, where no one looks askance at an older muso just playing local shows and having a pint.

I heart NX

My Love Affair With England was originally published in Digital Global Traveler on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.