Kilburn
We moved to Kilburn, which is in Northwest London. Because my roommate heard the words "Mile End" and "pisshole" used in the same sentence too many times. So the place we now have is £140/week, which is fine with me because I told him I'll pay at most £65/week on my end. He agreed.
It's a nicer, cleaner place--in a nicer area. However, I can hear the girls upstairs walking around (and I know them and they're relatively nice) and occasionally I can hear them when the cuter of the two girls, named Whitney, has roiling sex with a South African she met a few weeks ago. It drives me bats because it makes it hard for me to concentrate and so I just put on my headphones and turn the volume way up. But batteries are expensive and finite and I prefer to use them up when I'm on the tube or working on the job.
I work now in an art school around Soho called Central St. Martins. They're known for their fashion school. Stella McCartney came from here. Also, drama. Paul "I'm a cheap Jude Law" Bettany, Pierce "Bond. James Bond." Brosnan, and Colin "Oh he's so charming!" Firth.
I also got my taxes back from the Temp agency I'd previously signed with. I know why this is. I filled out a form telling them I was exempt from taxes, which at the time I believed though now I realize I'm not (lots of legal and economic mumbo-jumbo here. Very boring too. You want to know about this as much as you want to know about archiving HP pension plans, seriously). So with this new job at the college, I've stopped defrauding the British government because I could potentially get in a bit of trouble next time I try to enter the country.
My roommate and I went to York with this trip organized by the company that provided me with my visa. Stayed in a castle in the Yorkshire Dales--rolling green countryland with stone walls and lots of sheep with orange markings on their butts--that had been built around 1500. I think.
Most of the castle's towers had been demolished during the English Civil War, but one remained standing. That's the one we were allowed to use.
Slept in Mary Queen of Scots's social room, which was really rather cold and drafty, but the experience was nice. Huge, gaping room of cold stone slabs--basically a pitch-dark cell since it was without any furniture or tapestries or peasant girl slaves feeding me roast mutton and grapes. It looks like a stage set in photos...which will be posted someday. I slept with four other people because we could see our breath in the room and it was cold.
The girls farted way more than the guys, which was surprising and really shattered a lot of nice illusions I'd previously harbored.
We got to York via two vans with, I'd say, 13 people per. The boys in our van consisted of me and my roommate Richard.
This would have been nice except all of the girls were PMSing in a major way and they all hated each other--viciously hated each other. The girls divided themselves up into two warring factions and battled over the seats in the vans, each group wanting to establish complete and total hegemony over the entire vehicle. There was no screaming. It was very passive-aggressive. I felt myself being caught up in the wave (that horrendous Red Wave of Suffering!) and had to force myself to remain detached. My roommate and I split a bottle of Jack with the driver of the van/tour guide (after we'd stopped for the evening) because our driver/guide had a vicious cold and was simply unable to function without his whiskey.
York, by the way, was pleasant. That's mostly it. It's pretty touristy and there aren't as many cool things in the city itself as there are in Bath, which is also pretty touristy. I think the things that Bath has going for it are that crescent of uber-expensive apartments, the historical Roman baths, and the fact that Jane Austen
hated the city and created her villains, to the extent that her novels had villains, based on people she knew during her tenure there.
York mostly has a wall and a cool barbican. You can walk along the wall and there aren't any railings on one side, which is neat because if you look down, you get vertigo. But it's unwise to do that too much because if you do get vertigo and fall off, you'll probably end up breaking something in your body that you need and that you don't have two of.
Also, York has cheaper food than London, but that's no big surprise.
By the by, if you were wondering why the sheep in the Yorkshire dales have painted asses, it's because the rams go crazy and procreate with as many ewes as possible and so, in order to keep track, the farmers have this device around the ram's unmentionables that essentially stamps the female every time he mounts her.
I'm sure it's only a matter of time before someone out there decides to manufacture one for humans.
~~~
And next time, I will definitely get to ugly British girls with railroad-accident teeth. The many British youths who want to be black--and not just black, American Urban Ghetto Black--with their twisted conflation of Queen's English with Ebonics. The fact that the security of your higher education admissions is left to dipshits like me. A breast-fondling motif. Dealing with Eastern Europeans, possibly considered to be the guttertrash of the various caucasian nationalities. The Black Lion.
Also, the tale of a beautiful girl taking a massive shit in a small toilet.
It's a nicer, cleaner place--in a nicer area. However, I can hear the girls upstairs walking around (and I know them and they're relatively nice) and occasionally I can hear them when the cuter of the two girls, named Whitney, has roiling sex with a South African she met a few weeks ago. It drives me bats because it makes it hard for me to concentrate and so I just put on my headphones and turn the volume way up. But batteries are expensive and finite and I prefer to use them up when I'm on the tube or working on the job.
I work now in an art school around Soho called Central St. Martins. They're known for their fashion school. Stella McCartney came from here. Also, drama. Paul "I'm a cheap Jude Law" Bettany, Pierce "Bond. James Bond." Brosnan, and Colin "Oh he's so charming!" Firth.
I also got my taxes back from the Temp agency I'd previously signed with. I know why this is. I filled out a form telling them I was exempt from taxes, which at the time I believed though now I realize I'm not (lots of legal and economic mumbo-jumbo here. Very boring too. You want to know about this as much as you want to know about archiving HP pension plans, seriously). So with this new job at the college, I've stopped defrauding the British government because I could potentially get in a bit of trouble next time I try to enter the country.
My roommate and I went to York with this trip organized by the company that provided me with my visa. Stayed in a castle in the Yorkshire Dales--rolling green countryland with stone walls and lots of sheep with orange markings on their butts--that had been built around 1500. I think.
Most of the castle's towers had been demolished during the English Civil War, but one remained standing. That's the one we were allowed to use.
Slept in Mary Queen of Scots's social room, which was really rather cold and drafty, but the experience was nice. Huge, gaping room of cold stone slabs--basically a pitch-dark cell since it was without any furniture or tapestries or peasant girl slaves feeding me roast mutton and grapes. It looks like a stage set in photos...which will be posted someday. I slept with four other people because we could see our breath in the room and it was cold.
The girls farted way more than the guys, which was surprising and really shattered a lot of nice illusions I'd previously harbored.
We got to York via two vans with, I'd say, 13 people per. The boys in our van consisted of me and my roommate Richard.
This would have been nice except all of the girls were PMSing in a major way and they all hated each other--viciously hated each other. The girls divided themselves up into two warring factions and battled over the seats in the vans, each group wanting to establish complete and total hegemony over the entire vehicle. There was no screaming. It was very passive-aggressive. I felt myself being caught up in the wave (that horrendous Red Wave of Suffering!) and had to force myself to remain detached. My roommate and I split a bottle of Jack with the driver of the van/tour guide (after we'd stopped for the evening) because our driver/guide had a vicious cold and was simply unable to function without his whiskey.
York, by the way, was pleasant. That's mostly it. It's pretty touristy and there aren't as many cool things in the city itself as there are in Bath, which is also pretty touristy. I think the things that Bath has going for it are that crescent of uber-expensive apartments, the historical Roman baths, and the fact that Jane Austen
hated the city and created her villains, to the extent that her novels had villains, based on people she knew during her tenure there.
York mostly has a wall and a cool barbican. You can walk along the wall and there aren't any railings on one side, which is neat because if you look down, you get vertigo. But it's unwise to do that too much because if you do get vertigo and fall off, you'll probably end up breaking something in your body that you need and that you don't have two of.
Also, York has cheaper food than London, but that's no big surprise.
By the by, if you were wondering why the sheep in the Yorkshire dales have painted asses, it's because the rams go crazy and procreate with as many ewes as possible and so, in order to keep track, the farmers have this device around the ram's unmentionables that essentially stamps the female every time he mounts her.
I'm sure it's only a matter of time before someone out there decides to manufacture one for humans.
~~~
And next time, I will definitely get to ugly British girls with railroad-accident teeth. The many British youths who want to be black--and not just black, American Urban Ghetto Black--with their twisted conflation of Queen's English with Ebonics. The fact that the security of your higher education admissions is left to dipshits like me. A breast-fondling motif. Dealing with Eastern Europeans, possibly considered to be the guttertrash of the various caucasian nationalities. The Black Lion.
Also, the tale of a beautiful girl taking a massive shit in a small toilet.
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