First Stop...London

Ah, London. What can I say about London? What can't I say about London? It's a big place, by British standards. Not that we have those anymore.

According to the typical American tourist, London is filled with red buses, black taxis, people who talk funny and "History". In actual fact, London is filled with buses that aren't red, taxis that aren't black, people who just don't talk at all and "Annoying Tourist Magnets". Yes, we've seen you, taking pictures of the bloody pigeons in Trafalgar Square. Do you think we want those birds shitting all over a national monument? But oh no, you still feed the bloody things.

And what about the Tower of London? "Hey look honey, it's a real live Beefeater!" They don't EAT beef! No-one does! We're a nation of vegetarian cow-lovers! Why do you think there are so many bloody cows in the countryside? Eah?

So, what else can I say about London? Ah yes, the prices. THEY'RE BLOODY EXPENSIVE! And do you know why? Do you? 'COS OF ALL THE FRICKIN' TOURISTS!! Why don't you all bugger off to Scotland, eah? They need your stinkin' travellers cheques.

Enough of central London now. Not that most of you realised there was any more to the place than the three miles around Charing Cross. Philistines. Further out, in the 'burbs, is where London gets a little more interesting. That's a lie. It's boring as hell. Row upon row of little red-brick council houses, interspersed with long leafy avenues where the rich folk live. One remarkable thing about London, and England in general, is that the working class and the middle class live quite close together. The reason for this isn't clear, but I suspect it has something to do with burglars not having to rely on public transport.

Which leads me nicely onto my next subject. Good old London Transport. With the emphasis on the "old" and a silent "good". Packed buses that don't run on time, bulging trains filled with fat sweaty office managers from Bexley, crowded tubes (can you say tube? Toob? TUBE!) full of american tourists. You know the drill. Some loud-mouthed Yank asked me to give up my seat so an old lady could sit down the other day. I told him to give up his so two could be seated. We argued; it escalated; but I have a nice new camera to compensate for it all.

So, London in a nutshell: kinda groovy, if you have the money for it. Which I don't. So I can't live there any more. But I'm not bitter. Bastards.

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