Day 423: I Spend The Afternoon In London And Learn Many Interesting Facts

It is quite extraordinary! Look what I have learnt in only one afternoon (and evening). It may be something to do with the fact that in London, English is the language that most people speak, and I am English so able to easily communicate with everyone.

Still, you have to admit. This is quite a tally:

Snack Food Is Good For You

Fuck me backwards and call me Delilah. Hula Hoops? Wholegrain Hula Hoops? They must be good for me, particularly as there is "55% less saturated fat" (55% less than what? A whale's arse?), and they are NEW. (And the packaging is brown-ish). I am weeping hot tears of joy.*



















Endymion Is Not Endymion

I thought it was pronounced Endymion. According to all cab drivers ever and all of the people in my street, it is "En-Dee-MY-on". After 9 years, no amount of cocking on about Keats is going to prove me right.

Cockney Is In Fact A Derigatory of Cocnai, spelt C.O.C.N.A.I.

I have no comment to make. I merely report, verbatim, what the cabbie said earlier.


I Must Have Children

I am at the dentist. My teeth have been cleaned by my gay-but-not dentist; the weird bleeding gum by my right canine (grr) has been treated with antibiotic gel; the broken filling has been mended (with no anaesthetic. No need. Truth.) I am paying.

The gay-but-not receptionist and I talk for a bit. Then he says something strange.

"A child would be proud to have you as a mother. You are full of energy and life, and slightly dangerous, like you will do anything at any time. You must have children."

This is an awfully nice thing to have said, despite being desperately embarrassing and weird. I buy some toothpaste and leave, feeling dangerous. Tonight, I shall floss thoroughly and use my new paste.

In Germany, They Search Your Handbags In Supermarkets

But apparently only in Heidelberg.

Astonishingly, And Despite What I Have Been Told All My Life, Ian Dury Was Not A Twat

I was given "I Believe" today. It is very good in a weird way (despite the moonshine sparkles in the hair and the painful bit of guitar). Fact.

Claire Sweeney And Paul Ross Are More Important Than The Prime Minister And Richard And Judy

I am confused by this as I definitely think that Richard and Judy are more important than Claire Sweeney, but according to the Indian restaurant near my friends in Kennington (who live in an air conditioning factory), that is not true.














I am not sure how Clare Sweeney (known as "Sweene-Oh" in some circles) knows about the regularity of her local Indian, but who I am to judge?

EDF Are Fools

Also a fact.

As Are British Gas

Another fact.

Foxtons The Estate Agents Are Fucking Awful, Inappropriately Over-Familiar, Over-Priced And Frankly Just Knobs

I defy you to argue.

Lists In Blog Posts Are Quite Boring

Also a fact.




* Thank you to LW for this kind gift.