The Carnivalesque

The interwebs sagely advise that the Notting Hill Carnival began in the '60s and was organised by the local Caribbean community as a protest against race riots of the time. The carnival continues to celebrate Caribbean culture as well as embracing the wider cultural diversity of Modern London.





Sir S, Her Mazness and I were swept along with the tide of people on Notting Hill's suburban streets. We snacked on orange paddies (spicy pasties), supped coconut water, and grooved to reggae and electronic offerings at the various street dance parties around the carnival. Many a rump was shaken in a provocative manner, and many a spangled cleavage glittered in the sun as the carnival parade wend its way through the burgeoning streets. I kept my eyes peeled for Mr Brett Anderson, who is known to live in these parts, but he and his fringe were most likely safely ensconced somewhere more subdued, such as Hampstead Heath. We caught the Tube just in time before wanton hooliganism marred the day's festivities.





I say, I have never lived in so multicultural a place as London and I am simply absorbed in observing the array of people, interesting fashions & c. Near my lodgings here in Bury-Me-Under Park, whilst waiting in line for the omnibus, or wandering the markets, it is not uncommon to be standing next to a woman in a flowing burqa, or a bejewelled sari, or a towering African headscarf, or next to a man in a kurta shirt, or with a sweep of long dreadlocks. As I telegraphed to His Edenic Maj only tonight, I feel as if I'm not in England at all, but in a futuristic metropolis in the sky.