London Calling

I’d love to have had an exciting couple of days in London, but I didnt. I’ll tell you something for nothing though, it’s not paved with gold. There was an attack by a big alien spacecraft – but I can’t be arsed writing about that at the moment. I kind of saved the world. No biggie. No thanks needed.

There are a lot of people on bikes in London. Like, I’m down with being environmental and shit but the cyclists here are like the cyclists everywhere – they’re fucking arseholes. The rule if you’re on a bike is you get to act like a pedestrian when that is what suits you and you get to pretend you’re a car when that suits you. Of course cyclists are neither car nor man, not something in between. [Note to self, breed man with car]. Cyclists are fucking douchebag queebs. A couple of them have even shouted at me to get out of the way…when I was just stood in a bike lane. Who knows they’re stood in a fucking bike lane? A bike lane is like a small road at the side of a proper road. You know what’s a bit like a small road at the side of a road? Yes a pavement, sorry sidewalk. I’m trying to appeal to the Americans.

I’ve done my usual fast living when I’m away with work – that’s right roooooooooooooom service and remembering what it’s like not to have Sky. So basically eating not very good food in about 1992. I did not like 1992 too much. [Shit, a car bred with a man is a transformer]. I did throw the universe a curveball though…honestly my actions were in danger of evoking the tooting horns the apocalypse..you wont believe this when I tell you…On the first night I was here, I ordered a steak sandwich. I know. There was a cheeseburger on the menu and I didn’t get it. And the world still turned. But what did happen? I was unsatisified, that’s what. It was a poor steak sandwich. Tonight (writing on Wednesday) I had the burger and chips, and it was just above adequate. Just the way I like it.

I would love to be able to comment on the adequacy of the breakfast at this place. Despite building a 20 minute window into my schedule for breakfast, before going to my meeting. I didn’t make it. Well the bathroom is full of windows (the reflective surfaces not the computer operating system) and I kind of got preoccupied with my own reflection. I took some ace snaps of myself so don’t worry I wasnt the only one who will benefit from how pretty I looked. Just so we’re clear, my Narcissus moment came after I’d showered and dressed. It wasn’t like kinky.

Also just the way I like it? The Apprentice. It ended with that man saying “you’re fired”. I love it when he says that. Every episode I think it’s not going to happen and then it’s always just at the end, then some queeb looks sad in the back of a taxi. One of the boys said “this is what I would do if I was a millionaire”. He was sat on a veranda at an, admittedly nice, appartment. I mean the appartment was the kind of place you might have if you were a millionaire. But he was just sitting in a chair (with some twattish men he had known a few hours). When I say silly things about being a millionaire they are things like taking all my friends around the world watching sport. They aren’t like sitting in a chair in the kind of place I would own if I was a millionaire. If I was a millionaire I would sit in an airport all day. Just sit in the airport.

I’ll tell you something else for nothing. The Holborn Grange Hotel in London doesn’t mind stiffing people wanting some internet. [Wait is it? A transformer is a robot in disguise. Maybe I'm ok...but a robot is a man meets a machine. Fuck it, I'm not breeding a man with a car]. First night – after much twatting about with cables – I get the internet. Just double click on the e thing and the internet (Homepage: BBC, if you were wondering). Today? It wants money. £5 for an hour, which is less than the minimum wage but it still less than the value I would get from being able to get beat by someone at Scrabble on Facebook and maybe posting this when I wrote it, rather than tomorrow. Because the fanbase can hold out that long.

Here’s a couple of my pictures.  I ended up putting 4 in after writing couple, there you go.  I only meant to take one and I took about 20.  So, in summary; me scrunching; me failing in doing a catalogue model shot (it would make more sense if you could see my pointing hand); doing my best zombie face (whilst not really getting where I was taking a picture of like the mongs who look and wave AT the bigscreen when they realise they’re on camera at a match); finally, sad because it’s the last picture and I have to go and be an ‘adult’ all day.

 

 

Me not having breakfast, in London

Failed attempt at a catalogue portfolio shot

On reflection

Unhappy face