When walking towards the exit of Aldgate East tube station this afternoon I could hear that someone outside was playing Wonderwall. I was joking to my friend Oli who is visiting me from Berlin that he now even got to see Oasis live. But then when I actually saw where the music came from I somehow didn't feel like joking anymore.

There was this rather rugged looking man on his guitar busking away. But he was not alone like I would expect from a busker.

I will never forget the image of him playing his guitar while his son was dangling of the stair-rail and his two daughters sitting on the cold concrete of the pavement - as if they were sitting in their bedroom. It felt they were there for hours already and were totally sunk into their own little world while their dad was playing to make a living for his family.

But I admit that I deep down also thought just by judging him by his look that he might just buy the next ration of alcohol from the money he earned.
There was something about this scene that really touched me. I know I will for a long while think about their backgrounds - thinking about the answers to the questions I never dared to ask.
What is their story? Is this their everyday life?

Something that really amazes me about this country: Hardly any dog shit on the street. Man, if you go to Berlin, there is dog shit every two metres.

At the KGB?

Simple and cheap but great looking: Beer crates as lamp shades as seen tonight in one of my favourite bars in London - the Foundry.