Slumming it in South Africa

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Dispatches

Yeah, it's been a while. Apologies to all BlueFans everywhere.

London is just wonderful. I was there a week ago. Every corner you turn, there's something that leaves you gobsmacked. For example, I get out of the Tube at Charing Cross, turn right, walk a bit and there's this HUGE phallic symbol with a bloke in a frock on top. Looks vaguely familiar; Nelson's Column. Well, we all know about him, DON'T we? 'Kiss me, Hardy!' Yeah, right.
Turn another corner and there's a plaque on the wall of some beautifully preserved terraced houses; 'Herman Melville (and a date..) the author, lived here and whilst in residence wrote Moby Dick.' (Or words to that effect. Where is my bloody camera?)
Well!
Samuel Pepys, did his diaristic thing at Seething Gardens right next to the hotel.
Gosh!

Floating down the Thames on a wonderful jaunt with the famous and gorgeous photographer to Greenwich. HMS Albion moored on the banks; tour commentator yells (think camp, falsetto, Cockney accent) 'Hello Sailor!'I swear one blew a kiss. What is it with these jolly Jack Tars? Perhaps the heat?

Greenwich--as you know--is one site on the Prime Meridian. So there stood Blue, one foot in the West, one in the East and the nethers suspended in no-man's land. It was life-changing.

But. On the back of an omnibus in Woking, Surrey, a sign;

'Bus Driving Opportunities.
Call 123 465 789'

Which made me think. Imagine walking in and saying, 'I'd like the opportunity to drive a bus, please.' Do people scour the papers, looking for the 'opportunity' to drive a bus? As a career? Or is it just a job? An noble one, certainly, but right up there with an 'opportunity' to be a dustman or abbatoir operative? As for Blue, he'd like the opportunity to be a Porn Star (a la Love Actually)

Sitting on the bridge from the Shell Centre to the Thames Embankment, a woman, a down-at-heel woman, not badly dressed, certainly not a derelict, crying her eyes out, with hordes of tourists walking by, gaily snapping the Eye, Big Ben, the river, their shoes, cigarette butts, pigeon shit, yakking away in broad North Dakota or Mandarin or German--anything but acknowledging her. Why was she crying?

Blue recommendations for the day;

Movie; Lost in Translation
Song; I Hope You Dance (Lee Ann Womack or Ronan Keating. Follow your nose to watch videos and so forth. You'll need to endure a warning on pot to see Ms Womack. Just say nah.)

in a heartbeat..

I?

..am inconsolable. Bereft. Grief-stricken.
Out of the World Cup? Beaten? By PORTUGAL?
Woe is me.
However, my sorrow was somewhat mollified by seeing 'March of the Penguins' last Saturday. I was a tiny bit distracted by the big one that sounded--on the voice over--like a waddly Inspector Clouseau, but even so, most enjoyable.
And you thought YOU had it tough...
Go 'Les Bleus'!
Blue (geddit?)