Fly me to the moon

That's not Frank

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon in the Imperial War Museum, which like all state run museums in London is free. At first, it was pretty cool, all those guns and planes and stories of heroism kept me busy snapping photos of the various exhibits. But there on the third floor was the Holocaust exhibit. It’s strange, I studied the Holocaust quite extensively in school, from various perspectives (anthropology, psychology, etc) and have read at least a dozen academic books detailing the atrocities committed by Europe. Yet, I had a very hard time not crying at several parts of the exhibit.

So, I don’t know about that museum. Why have a place that on the one hand celebrates war and in the very same hand shows you the very depths of madness that humanity is capable of — which has absolutely nothing to do with war? I really should have known better than to go there. My time would have been better spent in the National Portrait Gallery, or the cast room of the British Museum.

Afterwards, I did manage to find a great little pub called the Prince Alfred, just north of Paddington, where I had a great steak pie, with a “rocket” salad (it’s ARUGULA, God-damnit!) and some of the finest of whipped potatoes. Now I know wht you’re thinking… how good were those potates? Whipped with probably no less than an entire stick of butter and a quart of heavy cream, they were delicious.

There were all these little rooms in the bar, where you had to duck under a child-sized door and you’d get into a room that held maybe ten people. They called these rooms, “snugs” and you could reserve them for parties. Neat idea, I wonder where I’ve seen that in America?

Oh, and they had free wifi.

I left there feeling like I shook off a bit of the Imperial War Museum having had a couple pints and a great dinner and decided to end the night back at the Swan here near the hotel because I have blisters on my feet and cannot walk around much any more. That’s where I snapped the photo of the dude there at the top of the page. I don’t remember his name but he’s the owner of the Swan and he does this karaoke “tribute” thing to the Rat Pack. It was a bit wild, seeing this man and his side kick sing Rat Pack tunes. They weren’t half bad singers and by the end of the night they had a few of the older ladies dancing. After that I just went back to the hotel and crashed.

ZOMG! Google maps is so beyond cool… One of the overlays here in London is the tube routes. Very helpful if you’re ever wandering around London and you really need to know how far the next tube station is.

Anyway, the Arsenal thing. Uhh… Let’s see… have you heard any good jokes lately?  I have a doozy: Arsene Wenger is going to play Eboue today! Words fail me here, it’s just incredible the stuff that this player gets away with. Arsene is convinced that Eboue has learned his lesson after the red card at Tottenham. The only evidence his gives for this conviction is having spoken to the player and that he’s young. Wenger here is flying in the face of all reason and overwhelming evidence to the contrary. How could he forget Eboue’s retroactive red for “hitting” Wayne Bridge during the Carling Cup final 2 years ago? Or how about the straight red he garnered for the studs up karate kick on Evra? He didn’t learn his lesson after those two incidents, what makes Wenger think he’s learnt his lesson now? It’s preposterous, all evidence suggests that in a big match Eboue turns into a fucking retard and yet, Wenger is determined to give this man chance after chance. I’m not on some Eboue hate band wagon, I’ve had my doubts about the player for over a year.  I even had to intentionally stop commenting on the player because he was so maddening that all I could muster was a stream of invective and hatred. I think I’m going to have to go back to that self-imposed ban and not mention him any more because he’s driving me bat-shit crazy again.

How much you want to bet I have to mention him tomorrow? He’ll probably judo chop Alan Wiley on the neck and then do the whole prostrated beggar routine he always does when caught.


Wenger is going to start Eboue and leave Arshavin on the bench, is he trying to ruin my trip?

All right, well, I have to get to the Famous Cock and find a seat for the Chelsea/Villa crapfest. I also need some moleskin for my feet, a cuppa coffee, and a spanking new Arsenal away shirt.  Oh bythe way, I’ve changed my mind, I’m getting Eboue on the back — maybe the curse will see him off, lord knows Wenger sure won’t.

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