They did not pass

Multilayer identity is possibly mankind's greatest innovation since wheel, and the very fact that you can at the same time be, for instance, a Finnish / Central Finnish / Karelian / Nordic / European (viti)cultural ambassador of Georgia and Suolahti geezer who, when intoxicated, introduces himself as a reincarnated Illyrian, and still be considered relatively sane and normal by your fellow citizens, is exactly what allows this century to kick so much arse. The term "citizen of the world" is a bit too much of bathos and ihq for my taste, but even still, I think it's an extremely healthy concept. (I know, I know - it's slightly elitist and doesn't apply to the vast majority of Earth's population, but let's not think that far this time, okay? I'm the one who buys his groceries from Waitrose here, anyway.)

The newest product in my identity trolley is East London - or the East End, to be more niche. It's odd how quickly it got into me, but when I for example during my Christmas holidays met people who asked where I'm living nowadays I every time underlined that, hey, mine is East London. I'm Aapo from the docks, chaps, going up west is not my thing. (Well, quite often it is, but, you know, truth is created through narration.) If London is a global village, the East End is its worn down gate; these are the places where incomers usually arrived and where they started to build their new lives, often from scratch, and this is also where ships set their sails and leavers left, to do the same somewhere else. It may have merely symbolic significance, but in any case it makes a stimulating environment if you're a young immigrant yourself. There's some history around here, dudes.

Below are a few photos from my Sunday walk - I actually wanted to do some scavenger hunt on the foreshore, but didn't make it before the end of the tide so I ended up just walking around. Sorry for the bad quality, but the only camera I have is my phone.

This plaque is on Dock Street, parallel to Cable Street and some 5 minutes from my home, commemorating the Battle of Cable Street:

The old town hall close by has a mural painted on its wall, this is one detail of it:

An Eastender communist with a scenically big mouth:

This no-no sign had two words I didn't know:

Ships of wood, men of steel:

Every time I go to the Prospect, I just can't help thinking how it may have looked in its earliest days: