Day 434: I Say Goodbye To London In Preparation For My Imminent Departure For French Canadia

There was a bit of crying (and not just in our pants) in Charlotte Street, and some sticking of heads out of the back of a black cab shouting, "At least I'm ALLOWED to fucking hate it, it's MINE, I was BORN here", as we whipped over Westminster Bridge*. It was quite sad, but not that sad.

It looked a bit like this:





















And like this:


























A bit more water spurted out of my eyes uncontrollably (which I do not like; it is extremely annoying and makes my lips swell, for some reason), and then we came back and put this on and did bad dancing:




I think we woke up my cretinous upstairs neighbour Twatboy, so I felt better for a while. But I am tired now and want to be in Quebec, lying still and warm.


* I don't like Wordsworth. He annoys me. He had stupid hair and spent too much time wandering around the Lake District pointing things out (e.g. hosts of daffodils) with his walking stick whilst trying not to have inappropriate thoughts about his sister Dorothy.

Anyway, this poem about Westminster Bridge in the early morning. (If you go to the London Eye, they have it up on the wall but break it weirdly, so it doesn't make sense.) It is still exactly what it is like, and it goes like this:


Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

It would be pretty perfect if it wasn't for the "ne'er" and the exclamation marks. I hate that shit.