2004-07-28

Greetings from Camden. I'm killing time until my bus leaves, in a noodle bar that doubles as an internet cafe. I love London. Where else could you eat chow mein and check your hotmail account all at the same place, until 1 AM? My life has been much the poorer hitherto for the lack of this service, I am convinced.

Yes, I love London, and London loves me. It has now officially become a yearly tradition to receive a marriage proposal at the Elephant's Head pub on Camden Road. Last year, when I was here on vacation, I got to chatting with a friendly gentleman who, upon hearing of my plans to marry a British citizen for a green card, kindly offered his services in that regard. Monday night, at the same pub, I had the same conversation with another gentleman (a magnate in the mannequin manufacturing industry, I gather) who again made an altruistic offer of matrimony. I was even sitting in the same bar stool as last time, or pretty close. Next year, around this time, I hope to come back and find Paul Bettany sitting in the stool next to mine, diamond ring in tow. Third time's the charm, right?

Part of the fun of being in London is hating the Tube. You can't really experience London without hating the Tube, and as such, I love hating the tube. Fuck the Tube! Nuts to the poxy Northern line! 'Station closure due to a suspicious package' my ass: the bastard ticket agent wanted a fucking nap, I'll wager. And, my god, do they deliberately pipe in that smell to cut down on overcrowding? Because it is repulsive. It's like being smothered by an armpit.

That said, I'll miss hating the Tube. Back in Manchester, they've changed the one direct bus service from my neighborhood to the city centre, so it now takes ONE HOUR instead of thirty-five minutes. Oh, public transport does try my patience so! The only thing for it is to enjoy some sobe noodles, I think. Farewell.