My Ilicit Love Affair with London:Part One

'Bless me Father, For I have sinned. It has been many months since my last confession....'

When I moved to London a few years ago, I fell in Love.
I wandered haphazardly down Oxford Street, a venue for my would be destiny.
The soaked concrete from the street cleaners defying the crowds of angry pedestrians and protesters for palestinian freedom.
The large corporate window displays desperately screamed 'buy me, buy me, I'm in vogue this season' and the frienzied milling of commuters poured from the four corners of the centralized tube station.
It was there I saw him.
He stood alone, silver haired, taut and slim in his shorts, sandals and white sox, the grey old fox. He ignored the chilled gusts on his goosepimpled skin as he spoke about his love for the Lord, his love for Jesus Christ.
He spoke about redemption, his calling and our responsibilities on this earth through the power of his megaphone.
He spoke to me.
There was an instant attraction.
We could not keep our eyes from one another, to avert our longing gaze. He saw me for the pitiful waste, the excuse that I am. He made me want to cry out loud for my sins, pray for my soul. He gave me an unquivocal answer that day, to join with him in eternal unison.

The day I fell in love with Phil the Preacher.