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On London
There is something special about being in London. Just being here and taking in the air, no matter how grimy. The people, the streets and stations of the Monopoly Board, double decker buses and black cabs, the West End and winter sales. Most of all, the underground, you really know you have arrived when back riding the tubes. As has been said, when you are tired of London, you are tired of living.
Some things have changed. Ye Old Surgeon, our pub in Tottenham Court Road, has disappeared without trace and the area now congested with Starbuck s and Subway stores. But although Ye Old Surgeon has gone, we did find scampi and chips, this time with mushy peas, the pub advising that its meat is well hung and traces of nuts to be found in some dishes. Vileness of this nature should be reported to the authorities.
While here we intend doing our bit for the recession. Yesterday’s pub lunch, offering free the remainder of the bottle on the purchases of two glasses of red wine, prompted Kaelene to order ten glasses. Such is her stamina shopping was only temporarily slowed.
The big Tower Records store in Piccadilly has changed its name and last night’s news announced it is to be being placed in administration, their term for receivership. CDs and DVDs are being discounted at ridiculous prices and we will be off early today to exploit their misfortune.
On the other side, I notice that we seem to be double-handedly saving the banks from their recessional woes. Not only has the dollar continued its collapse against the euro, it is losing ground against the pound, which in itself is failing, and changing money now costs more than $NZ20 a pop comprising about three separate charges. We’ve decided to let our own receivers move in.