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A Squeen In A Rage Is A Terrible Thing
The end of the weekend is nigh. Darkness is throughout the love nest. The lights on the wireless nexus thing, Marjorie's home, flicker in the night. The three of us sit in silence, engrossed in our separate virtual worlds.
All that being so, I thought I'd recap the weekend. Saturday did not go as planned, starting with the grim discovery that entrance to the Tower of London is sixteen of our English pounds. £16, people! What the fuck is that about, hmm? I mean, soak the tourists by all means, but come, Royal Palaces, give some thought to us poor sods who have to live here, and all of whose local attractions (excluding the free ones, of course, because I'm being indignant here and logic has no place) are mindblowingly expensive. Pah. So, we have graciously decided to postpone a visit to the Tower until we have a set of parentals onto whom we can shove the expense. Never say we're not financially canny here in the love nest.
So, the morning and, indeed, the afternoon, was spent in quiet, domestic pursuits. We watched Milo Ventimiglia and Hayden Panattiere on Richard and Judy (a beautiful, beautiful 'interview'). I finished off Watchmen (it was brilliant). Made some spaghetti carbonara with bacon and leeks and mushrooms. And then we walked into Richmond.
This, I am afraid to say, is where is all went horribly, horribly wrong. Our plan had been to go to the comic shop, get some tea, get me a travelcard for the upcoming week (you can't get oyster card things at Barnes station) and then head into London to go to the Globe, possibly stopping off at the National to get tickets for things. Comic shop would have been closed by the time we got there (my fault: I took ages to get ready), so we didn't bother. M&S was unsandwiched. Fucking Richmond fucking we're-not-a-tube-station-despite-the-quite-blatant-and-undisguised-presence-of-the-District-line-which-correct-me-if-I'm-wrong-is-definitely-a-part-of-the-fucking-tube Station REFUSED to sell me a zone 1-3 travelcard, because Richmond is in zone 4. WHAT. THE. FUCK? I cannot BELIEVE how crap they are at Richmond. WHAT FUCKING DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE? WHY CANNOT I BUY ANY DAMNED TRAVELCARD THAT TAKES MY FANCY? WHY, ENGLEBERT? Any, I was so angry that I didn't consider that instead of buying a ticket to Waterloo and buying my travelcard there, I might as well have bought the damned 1-4 travelcard. Anyway, got my ticket, sulked consistently all the way to Waterloo, where I had managed to LOSE my stupid ticket. Cue fifty hours on the platform whilst Katie and I went through my million and three random tickets (Staines to Zone 3 Boundary... Derby to Sheffield... Barnes to London Waterloo...) as there were ticket men at the platform entrance. Eventually found the wretched thing tucked into the side of my wallet with my oyster card. Ticket men were unduly suspicious. Bastards. I HATE SOUTH WEST TRAINS. I HATE LONDON. I HATE PUBLIC TRANSPORT. I HATE THE WORLD. GODDAMN YOU ALL.
I had, you may or may not have gathered, a raging case of pre-menstrual tension. Dammit.
Anyway, we went to M&S at Waterloo to get tea. I sulked some more. We walked along the South Bank to the Globe. I sulked consistently and with remarkable conviction, giving looks of DOOOOM to anyone unfortunate to cross my path. Generally behaved like me circa 1993. Not a good year for me. I do not quite remember at what point I stopped sulking (definitely still was going to the loo at the Globe), but was generally smilier by the time we were in the Yard.
We had gone to see Holding Fire!, which was about Chartism. Chartism, for those of you not fortunate enough to have studied it for GCSE History, was a popular movement in the 1830s and 40s which petitioned for electoral reform. Their Charter had six main points: universal suffrage (well, y'know, vote for all men over 21), secret ballot, annual parliaments, abolition of property requirements for MPs and salaries for MPs. Or I think those were the six things. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. It was a good play, anyway, and they really made fantastic use of the Globe stage and Yard - it was brilliant, though Katie and I did keep getting in the way. Thoroughly enjoyed it, and was no longer in a strop.
We came home via the National (well, as you have to, really, walking from the Globe to Waterloo), and they had some random 'End of the Pier' entertainment in their green square bit, so we stayed and watched this genius acrobatic couple - they were AMAZING. Great fun. I love the South Bank, it's brilliant. And then I bought my travelcard, and we came home.
Today has been fairly uneventful. I finished reading Dying For It, which was really good, and I will try and remember to lend it to Xanthe before she leaves, for I think she would enjoy it. Ooh, and yesterday Katie and I noted a particularly choice passage in Mike and Psmith which we intended to LJ - so keep an eye out for that forthcoming attraction on one of our journals. I played on the internet briefly. Read a bit. Went to Sheen to buy some stuff from Waitrose, as well as some nail varnish remover, razors, face wash, hair dye (semi-permanent), blank CDs, and peanut M&Ms. Came home. Did fuck all. Made spinach risotto (yum). Made garlic bread (double yum). Made pancake mixture (unused as yet). Had a bath. Shaved self all over (as due to hormonal imbalance am living embodiment of she-wolf-man). Took three hours at conservative estimate. Washed face. Am waiting to watch Dexter. Nothing further to report, really.
All that being so, I thought I'd recap the weekend. Saturday did not go as planned, starting with the grim discovery that entrance to the Tower of London is sixteen of our English pounds. £16, people! What the fuck is that about, hmm? I mean, soak the tourists by all means, but come, Royal Palaces, give some thought to us poor sods who have to live here, and all of whose local attractions (excluding the free ones, of course, because I'm being indignant here and logic has no place) are mindblowingly expensive. Pah. So, we have graciously decided to postpone a visit to the Tower until we have a set of parentals onto whom we can shove the expense. Never say we're not financially canny here in the love nest.
So, the morning and, indeed, the afternoon, was spent in quiet, domestic pursuits. We watched Milo Ventimiglia and Hayden Panattiere on Richard and Judy (a beautiful, beautiful 'interview'). I finished off Watchmen (it was brilliant). Made some spaghetti carbonara with bacon and leeks and mushrooms. And then we walked into Richmond.
This, I am afraid to say, is where is all went horribly, horribly wrong. Our plan had been to go to the comic shop, get some tea, get me a travelcard for the upcoming week (you can't get oyster card things at Barnes station) and then head into London to go to the Globe, possibly stopping off at the National to get tickets for things. Comic shop would have been closed by the time we got there (my fault: I took ages to get ready), so we didn't bother. M&S was unsandwiched. Fucking Richmond fucking we're-not-a-tube-station-despite-the-quite-blatant-and-undisguised-presence-of-the-District-line-which-correct-me-if-I'm-wrong-is-definitely-a-part-of-the-fucking-tube Station REFUSED to sell me a zone 1-3 travelcard, because Richmond is in zone 4. WHAT. THE. FUCK? I cannot BELIEVE how crap they are at Richmond. WHAT FUCKING DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE? WHY CANNOT I BUY ANY DAMNED TRAVELCARD THAT TAKES MY FANCY? WHY, ENGLEBERT? Any, I was so angry that I didn't consider that instead of buying a ticket to Waterloo and buying my travelcard there, I might as well have bought the damned 1-4 travelcard. Anyway, got my ticket, sulked consistently all the way to Waterloo, where I had managed to LOSE my stupid ticket. Cue fifty hours on the platform whilst Katie and I went through my million and three random tickets (Staines to Zone 3 Boundary... Derby to Sheffield... Barnes to London Waterloo...) as there were ticket men at the platform entrance. Eventually found the wretched thing tucked into the side of my wallet with my oyster card. Ticket men were unduly suspicious. Bastards. I HATE SOUTH WEST TRAINS. I HATE LONDON. I HATE PUBLIC TRANSPORT. I HATE THE WORLD. GODDAMN YOU ALL.
I had, you may or may not have gathered, a raging case of pre-menstrual tension. Dammit.
Anyway, we went to M&S at Waterloo to get tea. I sulked some more. We walked along the South Bank to the Globe. I sulked consistently and with remarkable conviction, giving looks of DOOOOM to anyone unfortunate to cross my path. Generally behaved like me circa 1993. Not a good year for me. I do not quite remember at what point I stopped sulking (definitely still was going to the loo at the Globe), but was generally smilier by the time we were in the Yard.
We had gone to see Holding Fire!, which was about Chartism. Chartism, for those of you not fortunate enough to have studied it for GCSE History, was a popular movement in the 1830s and 40s which petitioned for electoral reform. Their Charter had six main points: universal suffrage (well, y'know, vote for all men over 21), secret ballot, annual parliaments, abolition of property requirements for MPs and salaries for MPs. Or I think those were the six things. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. It was a good play, anyway, and they really made fantastic use of the Globe stage and Yard - it was brilliant, though Katie and I did keep getting in the way. Thoroughly enjoyed it, and was no longer in a strop.
We came home via the National (well, as you have to, really, walking from the Globe to Waterloo), and they had some random 'End of the Pier' entertainment in their green square bit, so we stayed and watched this genius acrobatic couple - they were AMAZING. Great fun. I love the South Bank, it's brilliant. And then I bought my travelcard, and we came home.
Today has been fairly uneventful. I finished reading Dying For It, which was really good, and I will try and remember to lend it to Xanthe before she leaves, for I think she would enjoy it. Ooh, and yesterday Katie and I noted a particularly choice passage in Mike and Psmith which we intended to LJ - so keep an eye out for that forthcoming attraction on one of our journals. I played on the internet briefly. Read a bit. Went to Sheen to buy some stuff from Waitrose, as well as some nail varnish remover, razors, face wash, hair dye (semi-permanent), blank CDs, and peanut M&Ms. Came home. Did fuck all. Made spinach risotto (yum). Made garlic bread (double yum). Made pancake mixture (unused as yet). Had a bath. Shaved self all over (as due to hormonal imbalance am living embodiment of she-wolf-man). Took three hours at conservative estimate. Washed face. Am waiting to watch Dexter. Nothing further to report, really.