Day 3 - Conversation at St Paul's

I next followed the signs to great St Paul's. London is very kind to tourists. Why do a bus tour or a walking tour when you can just follow the bloody signs, or look at the many street maps?

It was too late in the evening to get value for money and look inside the Cathedral so I contented myself (for now) with vistas of its opulent exterior. Adjacent to its pillars and signature dome many tents were parked. 

This is where the Occupy London movement are camped. A guy named Mick is part of this movement, chiefly because he's lost his passport and has to save for a new one. He's from Cornwall. Apparently Cornwallians are a bit reserved (euphemism) - some of them never even leave Cornwall.

I replied that this sounds a lot like Penrithians in Australia, or even Gladesvellians. I asked him whether he thought Jeremy Clarkson was a  c*nt. He replied to the effect that yes, he most probably is, but could be excused on the grounds that this is just the way he is - he's probably a good bloke in person. I assume Clarkson would be quite nice to me as I'm of Sri Lankan origin - not Indian - those backward dirty people (subject of Clarksons latest tirade). I inform Mick that we have our very own Jeremy Clarkson: Kyle Sandilands. Mike then showed me some tricks he could do with three twirling sticks - twirl em to the left, to the right .. even juggle em - simultaneously! I reward his dexterity with £2 67p (the 67 pence being loose change I want to get rid of). He placed it in his beanie supplicatingly proffered before me. When he recommences his travels, I hope he spreads the word that Jeremy Clarkson is, indeed, a c*nt, but a good bloke if you know him.

Day 2 - The Tube

My first experience of London is the tube. It is so easy to get anywhere from Heathrow by tube that it makes Sydney Airport and its “Airport Line”, with its “first class fares” and “tin can carriages” seem positively anal. Where my first thought on hopping on the tube at Heathrow is “wow”, I wouldn't be surprised if the first thought of a tourist purchasing a Sydney Airport Line ticket was “fuck”.

The tube trains look quite futuristic. They are not very high – slightly taller and wider than monorails – but they are fairly quick. Most of my trip to Paddington was above ground. London was drizzling, of course, but I like the gloom, especially after many years of Sydney’s relentlessly happy sun.

The train’s final destination is Cockfosters – a name the female robotic announcer reinforces at every stop without a single passenger flinching. I guess Cockfosters is nothing for a country that, until recently, had a street called Cunt Lane. The windows reveal oldish but charming houses, and also some grey tenements that weren’t so charming.

There are lots of subcontinentals in England and this is immediately evident. Some have British accents, others a more Indian twang. Where Australia has its Asians, London has its Indians. The glut of Asians in Sydney memorably caused Australia’s red-haired anti-immigration firebrand, Pauline Hanson, to flee Australia for Britain, only to discover Britain wasn’t the all-white paradise she had hoped for. Hopefully this will also make Jeremy Clarkson flee Britain.