A chronicle of movement aimed at synchronizing thoughts and keyboards with said movement.


Adventure One

We walked to Picadilly Circus/Trafalgar Square today. Over an hour hike. Brilliant.

The walk harkens back to Boston. We live a few blocks south of Kensington Gardens (where William and Mary once looked over from their palace while eating fish & chips and watching Ab-Fab on BBC2), which sits right next to Hyde Park, separated by a street, leading the mind toward comparisons between these parks and the Public Garden/Boston Common geography. And the street that serves as the top (North) border of the Garden/Park separates the well-maintained natural lands from equally well-maintained apartments and people who sip brandy while they eat fish & chips and watch Ab-Fab. Much like Beacon Street.

Anyway, the pictures have come!

This swan's neck was a snake that flowed from gaunt and limber shoulders. It later ate this woman.

Central London (and London cuisine in general) poses great danger to American pedestrians for manifold reasons, not the least of which is the direction of traffic (left side) and the pervading bloodthirst of those who compose the traffic. But secondly, and most importantly, its architecture rises in an alarming fashion:

In America, we have New York, Philly, Boston, Los Angeles, Des Moines. Buildings rocket skyward, almost beyond the realm of comprehension of humans. Tall buildings impress, but they also dizzy in a repetition benign. In London, the structures ascend along a surprising line. Something so ornate and positively kinda-modern should not stand as tall as it does. Yet, there they stand, awing like they have for more time than people have spent eating fish & chips and watching Ab-Fab.

Also, I have taken a football team! Its name is Wigan and it's really fantastic! It's No. 5 in the British Premier League this year, but it's this team of scumbags who get drunk and play soccer (football...bah) and just made it back to the Premier League this year after being banned or something for a while. They're so poor that not a single soccer store in London carries their t-shirts, according to our study that involved a sample size of one.

No one slipped.


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