Done and Done, London Edition

My friend Abby and her boyfriend Pete were just the perfect hosts.

They gave suggestions without being tour Nazi’s and allowed “me time” while they ground out a living during working hours.

Maps and specific directions were left, day passes bought.

Abigail---that’s the name everyone other than me refers to her by---was even kind enough to prepare a fabulous basket for my room chock full of goodies. Let me tell you that the bottled water came in particularly handy when I had a bad case of dry mouth one night.

All in all a collective hoot and a holler.

But I can’t end my tales of London without giving a snippet of Abby’s beloved, Peter.

I had the pleasure to meet Peter about two years ago when he first came over with Abby. He’s quite everything you’d imagine a Brit to be except taller and more striking. I have to admit, the Brits I’d seen in person up to that point weren’t very physically impressive.

Wan and slightly malnourished may have been the look those kids were going for.

Then of course “heroin chic” might have been all the rage at that time.

Personally, I wanted to feed those bastards a meal and give them a blood transfusion.

Thank god Peter put all of those misconceptions to rest.

During my visit to London, Peter and I had a give and take about current goings on, American foreign policy and how to drink proper ale.

He is the one who branded me a heathen for liking all of my beer cold.

While I’m sure it’s easy to bait most people in a heated discussion, Peter simply didn’t know me well enough to get me on my soap box.

The ensuing conversations were nothing but agreement after agreement. Lots and lots of head nodding in the affirmative.

When we did disagree about something i.e. banning organized religion how to drink a beer and de-clawing cats I just looked at him and gave him my opinion.

There was no backing down on either side but then of course there wasn’t a knock down drag out either.

I’m so used to having people in my life whose opinions and choices I don’t agree with, it doesn’t even faze me anymore.

Unfortunately respecting the right to dissent in these trouble times usually reads as disloyal.

Whether your dissent is in the political, religious or our constitutional spectrum if you don’t tow the party line then you’re not a true believer.

I mean I’m not going to go up and nail 95 issues on the church door but I think we can all show basic respect when opinion collides.

Peter was no different. Plus Abby wouldn’t let us “discuss” anything controversial at length.

That Abby, always trying to put out a fire before it starts.

Then of course I never argue with people when I know I’m right. It simply leads to wrinkles.

I will say this about Mr. Pete---I suspect that there’s a bit of a temper under there. I just haven’t seen it off the leash yet.

As I stated previously he’s a thinking Brit through and through. Tall, tweedy and terrific.

Anyone who breaks out Port after a night of drinking truly has much more to offer than they’re letting on.

Nonetheless I feel that kid would throw some R’s and L’s on you if you pissed him off.

The barely perceptible ghetto side of his personality may come out if you fall on the wrong side of his temper.

Due to this (and plus it just sounds so fly), I’ve re-christened him Petey Pablo.

Plus the initial irony is just too delicious.

A Brit and a southern rapper? Honestly who could (or would) put it together?

Both Abby and Peter are a hoot. I can’t wait til they come back my way.

The Loo

As you kind folks may be able to tell, I’m enthralled with most things having to do with London.

Save for one---their toilets.

It seems that the handle to flush is on the other side of the tank. Now that wouldn’t usually be a problem but when you’re in a public bathroom performing a modified iron cross so your ass doesn’t touch the seat and you’re trying to flush, I can tell you from experience that you may fail miserably.

It’s kind of like a person who puts their toilet paper on under the roll and has suddenly takes up residence with someone who put their tp on over the roll.

The classic under roller vs. over roller conflict.

It’s the same level of dismay when you discover that the handle is on the “wrong side” of the tank.

Ditto that for the “courtesy flush.”

I’m not quite sure how the Brits pull it off but I just gave up and began traveling with a pack of matches.

It’s not worth dislocating my shoulder to spare me a few moments of embarrassment. After all I did say that my shit does stink.

The P-Word

I just wasn’t searching for Slick Rick during my scant time in London town.

I also learned some of the local customs.

For example, pants aren’t pants---pants are underwear. Trousers are pants. When I kept on referring to what the British know as trousers as my pants, boy were people ever confused.

The looks were priceless.

By the way, I’m a heathen because I like my beer cold.

Cold---not cool. Ale, lager, bitters---it makes me no never mind. Just chill that bad boy down and put it in a frosted mug if you please.

Pissed does not equal mad but drunk.

Giving a backwards “peace” sign is the British equivalent of flipping the bird. Apparently popular American rappers would not do well in this culture.

But the most important thing I learned is what not to call someone of Pakistani descent. For the love of all that’s holy do not ever in your life refer to a Pakistani as a “Paki.”

Holy shit, you would of thought I had just shot the Queen.

As we sat and drank champagne, Abby and I were having our one and only serious discussion about life and things. Naturally the conversation rolled around to the multi cultural institutions that are now so ingrained in British life.

I told her that someone mentioned to me that I would start to wonder where all the white people had gone.

As she giggled, I stated in a low voice that there sure are a lot of Paki’s in London.

That sure killed the conversation---especially when we were literally surrounded by many people of Pakistani origin.

Well apparently my voice wasn’t too low and the P-word is not something that is said to a person of Pakistani background.

As I got the hairy eyeball, Abby explained that the P-word is the equivalent to the N-word.

I was appalled.

I mean who wants to go over to another country and give offense to fellow people of color? Not me, that’s for sure.

It seems that the large group of Pakistani Brits heard Abby’s explanation, sized me up as a clueless American and went back to their respective conversations.

Don’t we have enough people who don’t like Americans already? I’m sure I don’t need to create yet another international incident.

In Search of Slick Rick

Only I would fly across an ocean to look for a man who immigrated to the United States 27 years ago.

Well I didn’t specifically go there to look for the infamous rapper Slick Rick but it couldn’t hurt to poke my nose around while I was there.

Note: When in the ‘hoods of Richmond and Sheen you will get a lot of funny looks when to ask if anyone knows the whereabouts of Rick.

Imagine my surprise when no one knew who he was. Not so much on rap tip, those saucy southwesterners.

Nonetheless here a partial list of places I asked about Rick when I was on the town:

The American Bar at The Savoy
Portobello Road
Oxo Tower Bar
The Lobby Bar at The One Aldwych Hotel
The Hare and Hounds

No dice, nothing, nadda, nope. No sightings---No Rick.

When I did a little research and found out he actually lives in the Bronx, I pondered all of this over pasta and wine at the Harrod’s Terrace Bar.

Who knew?

I Believe It’s Time For Me To Fly

So off I went to Merry Old England for a few days of well deserved fun and frolic.

Aside from seeing Jodeci on the theatre marquee, one of the first things I noticed when the tube came to the surface was the scruffy neighborhood we were passing through.

I whispered to Abby to ask her if we were in the middle of the projects.

She replied, “There not called projects here but council houses.”

I couldn’t help but thinking that the ‘hood is the ‘hood no matter what the country or the language.

Everything was practically the same, the Jenkins Boys was hanging out on the corner---you know; Rayshawn, Pookie and them---the Jenkins’. Even if you don’t have someone name Jenkins in your neighborhood you still have a Jenkinsesq crew somewhere in the immediate area.

Don’t pretend like you don’t.

Hell, I’ve seen Jenkins’ in Lake Forest. They just happen to be holding lacrosse sticks and wear L.L. Bean.

I know those Jenkins boys when I see them.

Nonetheless, the Jenkins’ were hanging out like wet clothes, graffiti and trash were quite abundant.

The train scooted through a few more neighborhoods with similar characteristics. The only differences were the complexion of the people.

Imagine if you will putting a neighborhood of Boston Southies next to some peeps from the Ida B’s?

Quite frankly I would imagine all hell would break out but there everything seemed normal. Honestly, I wasn't there long enough to find out and quite frankly wouldn’t have wondered through with my bright pink and green luggage to find out the answer.

Now that would have been interesting.

Eventually, the tube took Abby and I to our connecting station (my Jodeci spotting not withstanding) where we caught the bus and eventually arrived at our destination.

Jodeci

I knew that London was going to be far more interesting than I first thought when I saw Jodeci’s name on a theatre marquee.

Americans go to London to reinvent themselves and return to the states even stronger. Jody Watley and Tina Turner both had major career resurgences that started in Britain so I thought I’d jump on the trend.

I’ve been struggling with my role as owner and board member in our association lately.

Caustic being a pain in the ass as well as a new emerging system of communication between board members has given me pause about my contributions to the association.

For example, at our board only meeting we all agreed that the association would get a post office box for all of our mailings. Since everyone is short on time and I had a day off prior to my trip, I went ahead and rented a mailbox on the association's behalf.

When I sent an e-mail to the rest of the board informing them of my actions, I was told that two of our members had discussed the abandonment of the mailbox idea.

It would have been nice if the issue had been discussed with the rest of the board.

It especially would have been nice so I wouldn’t have spent the money for six months rental on a post office box.

I mean this is such a little thing---you pick your battles right? But the foreshadowing is enormous. I already know what’s coming down the road.

So it was with a weary but optimistic spirit I boarded a plane to see Abby and Peter in London.