Sweeter words there are not in the English language.
Heathrow can be ________. Umm, exhausting? Full of too many people that weren't my friend, Dan. I practically pulled a neck muscle looking for him. A nice chauffeur offered me use of his mobile phone as I fumbled with the coins necessary to call Dan. Maybe it's because he was Russian, and I was cursing a blue streak that he felt such an affinity with me?
Or perhaps it was my drinking. First of many I had at the equivalent Chicago time of 9 AM.
Funny Englishwoman Holly Walsh. Was introduced to her via current_.
From the country that brought you Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia.
And manners.
Okay, then.
I almost bought the coffee mug.
I wondered when he got a magazine. Then I really got excited cos there was a Guerrilla Girls interview inside. They're responsible for my introduction to radical feminism at a young junior high school age.
My friend, Dan, showed me how his Save-The-Frog campaign made it into a book about Daniel Johnston. I was not a participant in that campaign. Instead, I walked by grumpily after work, and told Dan to...
If I had a dollar for every time I was told to do this, I would have enough money to move to London, just as I am dreaming of doing.
The man of action, Dan, himself. Try not to get hit by a car!
Dan's better half, Kat, introduced us to shunt, this really amazing performance space/gallery/members only bar in the tunnels under London Bridge. It's the historic location of the medieval red light district. Easily my favorite time in London, but my best of London with Kat is when we were riding the tube and a mother and her small child got on board. Kid was cute. Cute like those boys in Me + You + Everyone we know. He was blowing up a balloon, and we just knew he was going to do something mischievous, but we were not prepared for what he did: released all the air in one burst into his mother's face. The woman's hair literally flew back. Couldn't stop laughing. Guess you had to be there.
Back to shunt: I knew it was the place for me when I realized the DJ was spinning an entire set of French music from the 20s! In some tunnels! Under London Bridge! With people drinking while sitting on old wooden furniture all around! I don't care if that sounds pretentious, it's true, I loved it!
It got kicked up a notch when these two English dudes, calling themselves Los Dos, did about a 6 song set of covers performed in vague South American accents. I couldn't explain to you the sheer geniusosity of two wankers introducing 'The Girl from Ipanema' as a song they wrote a few years back if I tried, so I won't. It was brilliant.
Kat and I went to the Tower of London. One of the rooms where they held prisoners had this carving from the late 16th century. On the left hand side, you see a tree with its roots wrapping a heart. On the right, the inscription: "MY HART IS YOURS TEL DETH." Sad.
Apparently, the wife of this particular duo did not inspire such feelings.
Yes, sometimes death is funny.
I think London taught me how to.
Dan and I left town for Manchester. I talked it up way too much. Everything was closed when we got there, and was nothing left to do but the purpose of our trip: to see The Mars Volta.
As Dan put it, you know you're getting old, when it's not punk rock anymore to put a bunch of kids and security guards in danger. And, man, remember being EXCITED? I envied those kids onstage their sheer joy, imagining how they would share the tale again and again on fan message boards. I got bored 30 minutes into a 3 hour wank session and went to the pub 'round back to read a paper alone.
My favorite meal in England, purchased from two different vendors at Borough Market. Soft ciabatta bap and "drunken cheese" (formaggio ubriaco). Hails from Italy, received its name from the red wine in which it is soaked. Legend has it that the Italians hid their cheese from the army in WWII in red wine vats or whatever you call them.
Afterwards, met up with my friend Neil. The person who took this photo is a certain gentleman who shall henceforth be referred to as...
...my colleague, Duckworth. I did not take this photo of Duckworth, but lordy, I wish I had.
We drank, we smoked, we went to see some jazz as performed by Jeff Parker from Chicago and some other dudes.
I continued my 12 hour day of drinking with my friend, Ikey. We tried to go to shunt, but I had a run-in with the chick at the door and we were not allowed admittance. I composed a limerick for her (okay, just the first line) that begins: "There was a cunt from shunt--" I made it up to Ikey by taking him to a ghetto South American bar smack dab across the street from London Bridge. It's like the bat cave. Only with white chicks rockin' thigh high gold sequined boots. You can see Ikey can't stop staring.
Suspicious. A whole cake, on the sidewalk. No one was around.
I explain how a camera works to Duckworth.
A book vending machine: it's like somebody was reading my DREAMS!
Good-bye, London!
Home, home again. I guess I like to be here when I can.
