London is an old man who has worn many, many coats in his lifetime, seen many wars, many triumphs and many tragedies. He's ruthless, tough and haggard, his innards rotting and dissolving in the acid of his past, but on the outside he has put on a new jacket, a sharp suitcoat with blazing pinstripes that hide his withering physique and sunglasses that mask his sunken eyes. His face is painted up like a corpse, a dashing smile over tight lips and broken teeth. Despite all this, his mind is ageless and still has all the fury of the swords he welded in his reckless youth. He keeps all he knows and he knows all he keeps, and though everyone knows him, his secrets still abound.
He remembers the days when he was a king, when he wore a golden crown and all bowed down to his majesty, 10 cigarettes in his teeth and all power and iron. He still keeps remnants of that past in his pockets, which he shows to whomever will look, smiling gleefully as a child showing his favourite toys. "Look at my castle," he says, "Look at the white bastion of the west! I was a handsome man back in those days, and all wanted to make war with me---and all wanted to make love to me." He shows you the scars of both---when plague ravaged him, when foreigners' bombs blighted his countenance, when fires tore tendon from bone. The bridges and towers that still stand are the fairest tokens given to him by past lovers, as well as altars to religions he once clung to but since rejected, retaining them merely for their beauty, as any man will grasp at the last lovely strands of his youth. The shiny bangles that now decorate his newest suit are evidence, not of love, but of gold diggers who want a piece of his accrued wealth and status, and he welcomes their attention in attempts to appear revitalised and hip.
But London is married, did you know? You cannot go as long as he without finding a good woman to support you. And while he has lost his hold in the world, his wife is still a queen, and she is faded and old, just as he is. He reveres, and perhaps even loves her, but she is no longer his pride and joy; he has seen younger men with fairer ladies and refuses to let his age show with an old granny on his arm. So he has taken a mistress upon Downing Street, and she keeps him wrapped around her finger. His wife the Queen knows all of this, but is satisfied as long as she is still first in his heart, if not in his bed.
And this is how Old Man London Lives. Old and beautiful, ugly and new, crumbling into the ocean and yet still living and in some manner, pushing himself to thrive by bootblacking his beard. London reminds us of who we were and who we all will be eventually, and we use his wisdom to keep from making the same missteps that he made. As long as he remains living, though his looks are merely photos in picture books, he will never truly fall into disgrace. Long live London, and may the Ravens of Grace forever roost upon his ancient shoulders.
Comments (2)
how much is it?
Hello Ms. Erin,
You made your site simple yet elegant. The videos are a nice touch. I see that you have a wide variety of personal observations here!
I like to write articles about God and religion on my site to help people to really get to know God, especially in these troubled times. 13 "Therefore this is what the Sovereign LORD says: In my wrath I will unleash a violent wind, and in my anger hailstones and torrents of rain will fall with destructive fury." (Ezekiel 13:13) (NIV)