There is a fine song of the gentlemen of the now defunct popular group Pavement. “Sensitive Euro Man,” it begins, “we’re so envious of your etiquette demands.” Truer words have been seldom spoken, dear friends. Inside of every Bud-swillin’ American loudmouth is the heart of a Lager-swillin’ Chav, or a Cider-swillin’ football hooligan and vice versa and again vice versa.
London is a fine place, and the English a delightful people. Every day I walk through the charter’d streets near where the charter’d Thames does flow, “And mark in every face I meet, marks of weakness, marks of woe.”
The English rain has relented, touch wood (as they say here), and I hope to dive into Bleak House tomorrow. I’ve met some charming ladies here in this weird space station of a student residence building who’ve suggested that I might take in the lovely lush greens of St. James Park and/or Regent’s Park, so I will give it a try. A sporting gentleman always does, you know.
Some lines of T.S. Eliot:
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
From Preludes
He might’ve been a fascist though, so watch out…
Amazonian: Hey-o!
PAVEMENT: “Sensitive Euro Man”
Pavement in the Amazon: byawh!
