Americans Going To London

London…London…London…look, visit the place by all means, but why bother going to pigeon-shit Trafalgar or walking through Marble Arch to nowhere. And please, forget the Queen’s over-rated glitter, mined by slaves, and held under lock and key in the raven-shit Tower, guarded by bellied men wearing gay costumes.

What’s more, no one in their right mind understands what Piccadilly Circus is — there isn’t a single road leading to elephant tricks or other noble animals being shamed for fun.

Do yourself a favor and head down Old Ford Road toward Bethnal Green and visit the Old York Hall, one of the great boxing venues where men fought for recognition and memory loss. Bethnal Green Tube Station is famous for housing up to 5000 bunks, with a further 4000 people accommodated sitting on the platforms in the train tunnels during the WW11 blitz. If that doesn’t move you, then maybe this will: during March 1943, an air raid siren sounded, and people, primarily east enders, scrambled for safety in the underground.

Photo by luce_ mars on Unsplash

At that same time, a woman at the top of the staircase, carrying a baby and a bundle, tripped and fell towards the bottom of the slippery, wet steps, causing a domino effect. People entering through the narrow doorway could not see what was happening in the dark below.

Within seconds, 300 or more people became wedged, five or six deep, between the bottom and the top of the landing — an area measuring approximately 15 x 11 feet. They could not move, pinned down by the weight of those above them, and soon they could not breathe. One hundred seventy-three people were dead. It has since become a forgotten disaster. The siren was a false alarm.

Okay, so from here you have your choice of destinations. Big fucking Ben, dressed in scaffolding, and twice a day with the correct time, or head over to Wapping. (Who called out, ‘I never heard of the place?’) I bet that was Jack! You know who you are, Spoon-nose! Just sit down, shaddup, and learn something. Gawd, you must be fucking hard work at home.

Wapping, famous for demonstrations and pissed-off printers. It was in Wapping that 6,000 members of the printers’ unions demonstrated to get better working conditions. Sure, it’s not Fleet Street, but these demonstrations led to strikes and then better pay. Take a walk down Pennington Street and not Regent Street, where you’ll be scammed $7 for a diet coke! Wapping now boasts flowery riverside pubs, a Victorian power station, and pavements lined with working women wearing short skirts and stocking tops, Munster boots, all willing to give a blow job for ten quid. You could spend ten times that in Soho!

While Jack might think Wapping is the highlight of the tour, there is still Canary Wharf. Well, I’ve never heard of a place where canaries woof! That’s right, Whye. You may be good-looking and have a waistline a woman would be proud of, but when you come to London you’ll need your whistle and flute, Suit! Damn, don’t be a melon head. (That’s dead!) Ah, The beauty of cockney rhyming slang wasted on the Petaluma native. I suspect all Whye knows is chickens! Anyway, sorry for the interruption.

Where was I? Ah, yes, Canary Wharf. The privately-owned dockland (apart from a patch owned by the London tube). Its borough, Tower Hamlets, has the worst levels of pay inequality in the whole city. Now, honestly, I’m probably getting above the average American mindset talking about equality for all. The reason I know this: I’m looking at Bridget and Dr. Metz, both asleep. They should probably alight at the next coffee shop and get a latte.

For you others, the next stop is the Old Bailey. Now, here’s a place I’m familiar with, having stood in the dock with a transgender judge lording it over me on a charge of piracy. ‘Acting outside of Maritime Law,’ he said. I ask you, how seriously can you take a fucking pensioner wearing a poorly made wig, dressed in a cloak five times too large, and sitting on the shit throne when he levels at you a fine of $25 million? Answer: Very seriously.

I feel sick; let’s move on.

Those waiting for news about The Tate Gallery. Fuck off. We are in the Docklands. There would be no incestuous palace inhabitants or ass licking politicians in Westminster without the London docks. The docks, and wipe your feet before you enter, was once full of decent, hardworking Cockneys — good men who never stole more than a wheelbarrow full of Polish or Russian whiskey on each shift. Crane men, shipbuilders, loaders, and loafers, all were working at Cross-harbour, where today you’ll be treated to the remnants of the old docks.

I promise you this, a coin given to any homeless person on this journey is appreciated. The Buckingham mobsters give decent homeless beggars a bad rap! Really? Do you want to pay hard-earned money to see how the incestuous royals live?

What is it with you Americans? You turn your heads away from the corner street beggar in San Francisco to pay $6000 for a decent seat on an airplane to donate entry money to see how the wealthiest family in England live? Strike me dead, and my cock is a carrot if I ever understand the American mindset.

Get a fucking life! Go to Bethnal Green.