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One Small Fraction Of The Main Attraction
01/29/2004 - 1:34 p.m.
I am in England. London, specifically. The girlf and I are here in the lovel English winter to enjoy ourselves and relax. She's a pretty good travelling companion, overall, though we both tend to get tense and snippy sometimes.
It is quite boss here. I could spend a lot of time here, just wandering around taking piccy snaps of everyone and everything. Some observations:
They do not know what winter means. To these people, cold is 40 degrees (Fahrenheit, goldurnit!), but it's a damp cold, so, you know, it really is cold. Like San Francisco. They rarely have snow, so last night when it snowed there were tons of women walking around in stiletto spiky sexy shoes who could not stand up on the slushy snowy ice, and they slipped and fell down a lot.
People do not like to make eye contact. At all.
They will give you directions very willingly, but don't trust them, because if they don't know, they will make them up.
Either that, or it's a national pastime to play tricks on the dumb Yankees.
Either is possible.
They're worried about bombs here, so there aren't many trash cans around. Oddly, there isn't that much trash on the streets. Cleaner than New York, at least the parts I've been in.
Cell phone usage is even worse than at home - the woman two seats away from me in this internet cafe is talking loudly enough so that everyone in the palce can hear her. Predictably, she is talking about nothing at all, and saying the same things over and over.
Luckily she just hung up, before I turned into my robot alter ego Redgantor and smashed her. She doesn't know how lucky she is.
People on the street act as if you're not there, but people in stores act as if they're actually glad to see you and WANT your money, unlike a certain country I live in.
A lot of people live here. In London, anyway.
If you go into a used record store, you'd think there was no music before 1988, and it all started with house music.
People's musical taste is truly odd. They think nothing of listening to some british boy band followed by Nick Cave followed by Norah Jones followed by som e wild Indian (from India) goth disco industrial choral number, followed by Francoise Hardy (the yeh yeh girl) followed by a bad cover of Pale Blue Eyes by some bane who seems to have heard of the Velvets, but never actually heard them. This is the soundtrack that has been playing in this internbet cafe as I have read my mail, all being played by the most suburban normal looking woman in the history of the world. Cool.
Oh yes - the woman standing in the doorway so she could get out of the cold wet snow, hanging up her cell phone and crying her eyes out was a very sad sight indeed.
Gads - now, it's "Toucha Toucha Touch Me" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show - in other words, it is now officially time to leave this place. Ta!
See what I did there? I went and moved my diaryring to a rings and reviews page!
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