2003-01-11

Had a smashing time at the pub last night, and this morning (afternoon counts as morning if you�ve only just gotten up) the word �smashing� applies equally well to my condition, but with entirely different and much less fun connotations having to do with my head, and what it feels like someone is doing to it with a hammer.

I ran into a couple of Britons yesterday evening � literally, in fact, the bar being rather densely populated � so I took the opportunity to ask them for their advice on where I should go during my upcoming vacation to their native soil. One of them was rather frighteningly insistent that I visit Newquay and go surfing, despite my protestations that I am not only unwilling, but also completely unable to surf. �It�ll change your life,� he said. �Change your LIFE.� Yes, I�ve heard spinal cord injuries have a way of doing that.

He also suggested that I go to Wales. �I�m told it�s beautiful,� I said.

�Stupidest people on the planet,� he confided. (I think the Welsh tourism board should hire him on.)

�Is that so.�

�Stupidest fucking people you�ll ever fucking meet,� he affirmed cheerfully.

�Well,� I conceded, �they do seem to have some difficulty with vowels.� This glib trivialization of the immanent Welsh threat to the national grade point average didn�t amuse my new friend in the slightest, and he stared at me in a way that led me to suspect that, judging by his own criteria, he was perhaps of Welsh descent. I thanked him for the travel tips, and we parted ways. He continued to represent his country in fine form throughout the evening, hitting on, among others, my sister and some hapless woman in tight leather pants who was slouched on her bar stool in an attitude that suggested that her hold on consciousness was tenuous at best. I do hope that everyone in Britain is JUST like that guy, although I possess some reliable evidence to the contrary.