London Calling

Cheerio! I'm back from charming Old Blighty with a pocketful of memories and a skullful of dead brain cells, and I'm itching to spill the details. Before commencing the travelogue, though, a bit of housekeeping: it seems that I have been nominated for the 2004 Weblog Awards in the Humor Blog category. This is quite an honor, as the Weblog Awards are the internet equivalent of the Academy Awards, and the Weblog Humor Award is the internet equivalent of those other Academy Awards, the ones for the ugly special effects people they tape at the LAX Hyatt a couple of days before the real Oscar TV show, and hosted by Minnie Driver. Still, I considered asking Kevin Aylward at Whizbang to withdraw my name from consideration. First, I want this blog to retain its cult status and attendant low bandwidth cost. Second, I burned a couple of big-ass cig holes in the velvet lapel of my tuxedo. Third, I'm currently running an embarrassing 5th in the voting. But then I read where lefties are now doing what comes naturally: stuffing the ballot box. So rather than go all Woody Allen on you, I encourage you to vote for iowahawk. If I win, I promise to abdicate my throne and bestow the title of Funniest Blog on its rightful owner: Daily Kos. Now on with the gripping travel tales!

Ye Olde Petrol Flames

With its majestic historical sites and quaint countryside, Britain has always been one of my favorite travel destinations. This is especially true during the Yule season, when all of England glows with tradition and the warmth of holiday spirit. And so it was on Wednesday, when I joined some friends for a bracing cup of mulled wine and dish of hasty pudding, and then to roast chestnuts on the headers of their blown big block nitro fuelers. Here are some pictures.

Later on, there was wassailing.

...And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

- William Blake (1804)

Damn straight, Willie!

Pastry People Pub Pint Party

The McMuffins

Thursday night my ladyfriend and I stumbled to the Robert Browning pub in almost-fashionable Maida Vale for cocktails with the debonaire duo Mr. and Mrs. McMuffin. Normally I'm shy about meeting other bloggers, or as I call them, "filthy BlogAd revenue thieves." I think it stems back to the time I was viciously assaulted by Tim Blair's pet wallabee. As it turns out though, the McMuffins were as witty and charming in person as they are on their eponymous weblog. Regular readers of their site know that they are not fond of their jobs, and for good reason as I can now attest. Though they are too modest to mention it in their description of events, midway through our tenth or eleventh pint of Smith's Best we were attacked by a team of black-clad assassins from E.V.I.L., which Mr. McMuffin would later explain is a some sort of diabolical international crime organization. Luckily, dashing Mr. McMuffin fended off several attackers with his smoke-spewing umbrella and razor-edged bowler, while his lovely wife felled them with deft judo-chops. One of our assailants managed to exit the pub and steal off in the McMuffins' supermod paisley Bentley, but his escape was foiled when Mrs. McMuffin pushed the ejector-seat button on a secret remote control. He shot through the Union Jack on the Bentley's roof and into the custody of the MI5, who bought us an additional round for our trouble. Despite the brief row, I'd like to thank them for all the beer. And also the bitchin' jetpack rides.

Toga, Toga, Toga

Did you know that Oxford, Ohio and Oxford, Mississippi are not the only college towns with that name? Turns out there is actually a "University of Oxford" right smack dab in the middle of Oxford, England! On Friday I traveled there to see if I could crash a few frat smokers. Verdict: while I doubt their football squad could compete in the MAC -- let alone with the Rebs of Ol' Miss -- the Fightin' Dons of Oxford U throw down with enough par-tay crunk to put Florida State to shame. Don't believe me? Ask former OU dropout Bill Clinton, who chose to chase coochie in Oxford rather than the famously persuadable hillbilly coeds of Fayetteville, Arkansas. You don't have to be a Rhodes Scholar to see that Oxford has been perfecting the art of the college party since 1236 -- nary stopping for the occasional Norman conquest or black plague. To get a taste of the 'Dons Gone Wild' life in Oxford, I recommend the Eagle and Child, where it is said that Einstein, C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkein would blow off exams to play quarters during 50 Pence Pitcher Nite. Nice place, but it turns out they don't even stock Jagermeister.

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That's all for now, I'm off to take some Oxycontin for the jetlag. Back soon with more ribald tales from across the Pond. Until then, I leave you with the words of England's favorite son, Bill Shakepeare:

This royal throne of jug-eared kings, this Page 3 girl,
This candy kiosk of majesty, with bars of Mars,
And Nestle and Cadbury, and Toblerone,
This fortress built by Nature for herself,
In case the French ever decide to attack (ha ha),
This happy breed of men, this cheerful little pub,
With a Ladbrokes next door to bet on the dogs,
This mighty wall of incompatible electrical outlets,
As a moat defensive to electric razors,
Against the 110 plugs of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Comments

[Steve Skubinna]

Oh yeah, Lucas, AKA Prince of Darkness. I had a '64 Sunbeam Alpine in college, a friend had a '64 MGB, and we used to compete to see how few electrical devices we could turn on before our cars stalled. You basically could run the wipers, the radio, or the headlights, but not all at the same time. God help you if you were driving at night in the rain and came across one of those traffic information radio signs. The car had a cigarette lighter but I never pushed it in. Smokers who drive British roadsters probably don't actually drive them, just sit and smoke. Or maybe they use Bics.

Fortunately this was Southern California, where it never rains. Good thing too, because whatever the soft tops of British roadsters were designed to do, keeping rain out was not it.

That car had by far the worst "time driven/time spent maintaining it" ratio of any vehicle I have ever owned or operated. It also is, by far, my favorite car and I desperately dream of finding one again sometime.

[Rhod]

GoesTo11:

The answer to that conundrum is to have the electricals in the Coke machines manufactured by Lucas Ltd. That was at least the old saw about warm beer in England. The refrigerators were made by Lucas.

I had a similar problem with my 1962 TR-4, which had all the advantages of a stationary woodstove and none of an automobile.

That being said, I travelled about in the UK for thirty-five years, even considering expatting myself in 1972. Never did, and am glad about it today. Blairistan is not to my liking any more.

[GoesTo11]

You don't see many Coke machines in London b/c they're designed to keep their beverages COLD until consumption, and that just won't do.

[Jim Treacher]

Damn red states!

[iowahawk]

Hey, don't blame me for your failure to connect with the lowest common denominator, Treacher. I voted for you.

[Jim Treacher]

You think FIFTH place is embarrassing? Blogga please.

[song_and_dance_man]

Why are Americans the chunkies of the world with power cords that fit like yesteryears trousers?

The Brits should be the huskie ones, but the teeth do match the fare of the Bard.

[Andy]

I was in South Africa back in January 03, and once you get out in the rural areas, pretty much all they drink is Coke. Apparently, its more plentiful than water, and generally more sanitary as well.

Probably doesn't help that PepsiCo was a financial contributor of the old apartheid regime. We had to get ours smuggled across the border from Botswana. (And by smuggled, I mean, they stroll on in, cuz it's desert and no one really cares.)

[iowahawk]

Oh yeah, thanks for the vote.

[iowahawk]

Yeah, Toblerone is Swiss, but you can't swing a cat in London without hitting some kiosk that sells 800 varieties of chocolate bars; and that doesn't count the Cadbury vendo machines every three feet in Underground stations. Odd thing is, you seldom see a Coke machine.

[Andy]

I thought Toblerone was Swiss?

Anyways just wanted to say that I cast my futile vote for you on the weblog awards...