it’s not all gumballs and fruit juice.
last week we arrived in picadilly circus at 5:20 for a 4 o’clock movie.
last night we went to a new poetry venue to read. it was closed. so we wandered thru the london alleyways to a previous place we’d read. closed. learned that a “bank holiday” shuts everything down. took fotos of the dead london streets instead.
this morning went back to the heaths to meet the bird watcher people. got there at scheduled meeting time of 10. no one there. asked the proprietor and he said oh, they start wandering in around 11. what can one expect from folk who pronounce skedyul shed-yool?
i’d thot bird watching was looking at young english ladies. when kathy stripped me of that fantasy, i figured maybe i could at least catch a feathered bird or two to eat… maybe ask the birders which ones were edible, how long to cook them. kathy said i’d be tarred & feathered if i did.
enroute home, the underground speaker lady cheerfully announced again & again “due to a person under a train, there is no service in either direction.”
dead movie. dead words. dead streets. dead birds. dead person. dead service.
