elephant & castle

I'm currently obsessed with Elephant & Castle.

A dodgy neighbourhood in Souf East London.

I'm learning to speak like a South Londoner by practicing my haccent innit. I'm told though my accent is crap even though I've been practicin and practicin like a right old codger like.

Do one.

We watched Harry Brown the other night, which is about the delinquent youth of Britain, gangs and such and such, which is filmed on a council estate in Elephant & Castle.

I always get like this. Fascinated with ghetto's. When I first moved to Johannesburg, I became completely fascinated with Hillbrow, and would walk the fucking streets taking pictures of those post-modernist blocks, camera a-swinging from my scrawny little neck.

Now, new city, all I want to do is discover the same sort of thing in British ghetto's.

I'm a ghetto goer. What the fuck.

I announced to the Brit last night, on coming home after a glass of wine that we're going to Elephant & Castle this weekend.

'Er...why?' he says.

Why?
Because:
1) Michael Caine grew up there. My dad loves him.

2) The Bakerloo line goes right into it.

3) Aylesbury Council Estate is one of the biggest and most notorious in Britain.

4) The Cockney term for arsshole is an Elephant & Castle.

Oh and there's a statue there. Of an elephant. And a castle. And the castle is sitting on top of the elephant.

Get a load of that shit.

Then he informed me that Elephant & Castle is home to The Ministry Of Sound.

Car alarms and cash cheques.

Kaching. 'We. Are. So. Going.'

We love car alarms. As in music that has them. I only own, like, all the Ministry Of Sound compilations on the planet, I am more Ministry Of Sound than Ferry Corsten and Paul van Dyk having a fourgy with Armin van Buuren and Paul Oakenfold.

In my humble opinion.

So on Thursday, I'm whacking on my rave freads and dragging the Brit to Elephant & Castle. I'm going to make a documentary on delinquent gangstahs.
And then we're going to dance.

And it's only £15 entry as well.

Fuck I'm excited.