At the arse end of another weekend in the Smoke, we found ourselves with time on our hands at Liverpool Street Station. Liam’s bright idea to kill time was a detour to Old Spitalfields Market for a browse and a bite. I say ‘old’ but Spitalfields has been relentlessly gentrified since its heyday as an East End fruit and faggots emporium. Apples and pears have given way to arts and crafts, jellied eels to corporate fare. The place was heaving and the tourists lapped up the fake authenticity. There was a surprise round every corner and this was the biggest surprise of all. It was mesmerising.
Jack Scott Imagine the absurdity of two openly gay, married middle aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country. I chronicled our exploits with the mad, the sad, the bad and the glad in a blog for the whole world to ignore. Then came the book which became a critically acclaimed best seller. Its success opened out a whole new career for me as an author. Who'd have thought it? Certainly not me. In June 2012, we ended our Anatolian affair and paddled back to Britain on the evening tide, washing up in Norwich, a surprising city in eastern England. I’m sometimes nostalgic for our encounters with the hopeless, the hapless and, yes, the happy go lucky. They gave me an unexpected tale to tell and for this I thank them. The next instalment, Turkey Street, is out now in print and digital editions.