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


The Meanest Time

Note: The camera has not accompanied me in the last two or three journeys because it has been a real bitch about reminding me.

Today was Thames River cruise day, the final in the very well-planned and confusingly executed orientation scheme of the Boston University London Internship Program. So, after imploring that we all go to Bunker Bar (this copy of a German beer club [or what the Brits would conceive it] with copies of American German-inspired beer) and giving us free drinks with our tickets, the sponsors took all 350 of us out on two river boats. The Thames is now even dirtier, though now it's full with American insides!

That was pleasant. But those of us with well-worn and hardened stomachs had the privilege of viewing the myriad of London landmarks, from Big Ben/Parliament to Tate Modern (an old power plant!), from places where a judge once sentenced criminals chained to the river bed to drown under three high tides to THE MIDDLE OF THE HEMISPHERES! Greenwich, England, home of the very aptly called Greenwich Mean Time. Aside from its very fortuitous geographical persuasion, the town also boasts an array of residences for the very rich and those whose blood courses through golden and aristocratic veins. It's quite a place.

All in all, another lovely day. I promise I'll have proof next time.


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