Forget the twinkly nonsense and mood-matching tealights. Londoners know the true glow gods are buzzing tubes of light. Big, deliberately extra, and louder than a drunk on the Northern line, neon is back, and it’s got serious glow about it. From the raunchy leftovers in Soho to Brick Lane’s glow-up corners, neon signs are London’s passive-aggressive wallpaper. They mock, flirt with your retinas, and sometimes flicker mid-sentence—but that’s peak London energy.

Come on: this city’s about as bright as a wet sock. It rains sideways. Half the buildings look like they were inspired by tax returns. So when a overconfident pink sign says "Werk It" from inside a café you weren’t cool enough to know existed, it hits different. It’s hope. And no, it’s not just for the 'gram. Neon in London has history, mate. That fluorescent church in Walthamstow? Mad. If you haven’t been—take your retinas for a trip.

Bring sunglasses. And maybe a friend to keep you grounded, just in case. Neon is the shared hallucination. Hairdressers, vape lounges, even off-licenses are getting in on the action. Pop up a glowing "Vibes Not Mortgages" and suddenly your flat viewing feels like a music video with mould. And the phrases—oh the neon nonsense. "It Was All A Dream." It’s like being mocked lovingly by a motivational lava lamp. Yeah, a bit. But also comforting. Neon signs in London aren’t just bits of buzzing plastic.

They’re part existential meltdown, part mood, and fully proof we’ve all lost the plot a bit. They say: "Yes, the rent’s a joke, the bins are overflowing, and the air smells of vape and regret—but look at this glowing pink banana. Now go vibe." So next time one catches your eye—probably in a pub loo whispering "Smash It" as you reevaluate your last five decisions—just accept it. The sign believes in you.

Even if it’s buzzing like a wasp.

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