It became clear very quickly, and of course I knew already, that London is not Adelaide, or even Sydney or Melbourne. It wasn’t the swarming crowds, or the multiculturalism or pound shops or even the weather (about the same at the moment). Neither was it the grown, some would say overgrown, men sporting Premier League football shirts- you see them on Jetty Road every day. No, it was the people dressed in animal costumes on the train.
It could only be the world’s least exclusive fancy dress party or something to do with rugby – an incomprehensible posh boys sport that makes AFL (Aussie rules football) appear skilful and elegant. Chacun a son gout as the French would say, as a man-sized cockerel walked past. My favourite though was the shark. Maybe London is a bit like Australia after all.