I love a good book and any reading matter on my adopted home of London is always welcome as I familiarise myself with its history and quaint customs, such as racist cab drivers and miserable-as-fuck-shop-assistants. My current tome is entitled London: Wicked City: A Thousand Years Of Prostitution And Vice by Fergus Linnane. I’m only just getting into this but already it’s throwing up wonderful script ideas because for large parts of its early history the Church actually controlled and profited from prostitution in the parts of London where it was permitted.
In the Middle Ages prostitutes were known as Winchester Geese because the Bishop of Winchester controlled and took taxes from the trade of prostitution in Southwark. My favourite snippet so far, though, is that one Middle Ages lady of the night went by the delightful soubriquet of Clara Clatterballack.
And this information came in very handy when the missus and myself were walking home last night discussing cycling.
‘It’s got cold. Maybe I need to buy some long cycling shorts. They look ridiculous but I bet they keep you warm.’
‘Or you could just cycle to work in your work clothes. Lots of people do.’
‘I don’t want to sit at work in my sweaty cycling gear.’
‘Maybe you just sweat more than is normal…’
‘I don’t sweat more than is normal. I just sweat when I exercise.’
‘But cycling is hardly exercise!’
‘I cycle 40 miles a week. That’s proper exercise!’
‘Not really…’
‘Sorry I forgot. You’re an expert on exercise!’
‘I’m just stating that it’s not really proper exercise and it shouldn’t make you sweat that much.’
‘Sod off Clatterballacks…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing… It’s French. It’s a term of endearment…’
I think I got away with it.
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