Lums o the North
I've had the horrendous misfortune to catch BBC breakfast television more than once these past few weeks, mainly because the flats digi-box remote doesn't work and there are no contingency buttons to fall back on. That Sian Williams is without doubt, the single most condescending presenter I have ever heard, I find her totally unwatchable, which means of course, I have to leave the room when shes on, because you will remember, I cant turn over. So despite paying a rent that would get me, oh, I dunno, Stirling Castle to live in at home, its me that has to leave when she arrives in the living room , preaching to me as if I were 5 and needed help with my laces. Plus, her head is far to big for her scrawny shoulders, she looks like a Thunderbirds puppet with strings that are too long. The way it lolls about on that skinny collar, its obviously the weight of it, her head belongs on a planet with less gravity than Earth, I wouldn't mind my TV licence fee going towards getting it there.
I had to take a train journey a few weeks ago from Nottingham to Crewe, right across Central England. It was fraught with risk and danger, i had to change twice, trains that is , not my pants and each connection only had minutes to spare, but it all worked as it should to my huge relief. I have to say, England, between the parts with people in, is very nice and has a gentle charm about it. But I did pass through what I think may be the biggest toilet town I have ever seen, and that is saying something. Around about Stoke there is a town called Longton that the train stops at, though not for long in case its gets stolen and melted down for jewellery or something. It was a pit of biblical proportions. Most towns don't look great approaching in a train, so this means it must have been extra shite for me to notice. It was around here a famous old name came back to me, like recalling an old friend that did you a big favour once. Armitage Shanks, yes, it was a toilet factory, in toilet town. But it was worse than that because Armitage Shanks's place was getting demolished. What happened there? Who makes toilets now?
I've settled in to my new place, I've got my home comforts in my room, well, a big TV and my PS3, what else do you need? Lewisham is just down the road and its a bit of a gangstas paradise. Apparently the most famous residents are Donald Ducks distant nephews Stabby, Shooty and Stampy. They are a busy threesome, always up to some high jinks around here. Look at them in the CCTV still at the top of the page, robbing that mans car.
I reckon the secret is to look as big and knowing as you can without actually meeting anyones eye. If you act like a victim, you'll be a victim, good advice that. Well its worked so far anyway.
The weekends are a bit slow right enough, though the weather has been brilliant, too brilliant actually as I totally burned my baldy head a couple of weeks ago and virtually invited some melanomas over for a stay.
I walked along the South Bank of the Thames which was really quite nice, you go past some right old docks, the replica of The Golden Hind is in there, its smaller than you think it should be. Then you go past The Globe Theatre, then you come to Tate Modern. I had to go in, not to look at the "art" but for something to eat, I was starving and all I wanted was a bacon roll. Silly me, they might have had one on display as some kind of abstract installation, but they never had, or have ever had I'll wager, one in the restaurant, which called itself a cafe to justify the limited menu, but acted like a restaurant to justify the prices.
No, I had to have a buffalo mozzarella, pesto and cherry vine tomato bruschetta. I mean that had as much chance of hitting the spot as a half hearted Kamikaze pilot. Oh, and says I, "A diet coke too please". Guess what, I found the only place , in the world, remember I've had the privilege of travelling around Central Africa, that doesn't sell coke or Pepsi, but instead sells something called Fentimanns Curiosity Cola, and at £3 a pop, It certainly made me curious.
I couldn't visit Tate Modern "Art" Gallery without going and looking at some art so got busy looking for the pictures on the wall. There are none. Instead I was invited to look at a frumpily dressed thin woman eating a pizza, in front of a big screen which was showing the same woman eating pizza in famous places all around the world. There was a crowd around her taking pictures.
Then I was treated to, well, a power point presentation of the same 5 words being shown over and over again with a grunting soundtrack. That was nice, but not as nice as the stepladder with a big pile of A4 paper at the bottom of it.
I thought about climbing to the top of them and hanging myself from the rafters here but my twitching jerking body and blue face might have won a prize or something as best art of the day. To me, it all looked like a mad jumble sale for the LSD generation.
Further along the South Bank there is an area where the urban youth, in there cool gear and tattoos and that do there thing with skateboards. At the risk of looking like some old Paed I thought I'd watch them for a bit because I am genuinely impressed by all that stuff. But these guys were utter shite. They were trying the simplest of little jumps and flips and coming off and skateboards were flying all over the place with no-one on them. Theres looking the part, and being the part, these little kid ons were looking the part and that was it.
London Transport is amazing, especially when you come from the sticks and could expect to wait 40 minutes for the next bus or train, here, if I'm waiting 2 minutes I'm huffing and tutting like an old boiler. But apparently, buses don't have to follow there advertised routes if the driver is in a bit of hurry, and they don't even have to stop and pick you up either if the driver is also in a little rush, or doesnt like the look of you or something. Even if you are standing waving your arms in the air as if you are trying to attract the attention of a passing ocean liner from a makeshift raft
The pit-bull count is quite high around here I've noticed, there was even one on the bus the other day. I reckon there are so many that if pit-bulls were volcanic ash from Iceland, we would actually see them in the air. There all very nice apparently and wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm glad the flies are safe, its the babies they like to eat I'm more worried about.
That me Lums for another night. The weekend looms and I don't know what to do with myself tomorrow. Funny, London is one of the most exciting cities in the world but I still cant find anything to do.
One thing for you to think about though. I heard of this thing that mad me laugh, Typo movie titles, when you replace one letter in a movie title to create somthing else. Like, Top Nun, about the elite papal academy where only the best of the best of the best Nuns go to learn how to be the best rosary rattlers there are.
Lang may yer lum reek.
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