Oh happy day. Not only did my new package of Buffy love come in the mail (Matthew and Jess, I love you guys!!!), but we’re living in a new place. That’s right, we’ve done away with the fatlady, and replaced her and her shitty home with a nice landlord and some kickass digs. Oh, and the best part? I never ever ever have to take that wretched 63 bus ever again!! Now it only takes me 30 minutes to get to work. How sweet is that?
Okay, so about the new place: it’s a one-bedroom flat in a converted Victorian house. We live on the top floor; there are two other flats in the house. We all have separate entrances, apart from the main foyer we share (where our mail ends up). Our room is huge, we have a nice lounge (where you can see Alexandra Palace if you look out the windows), a bathroom and a kitchen with a washing machine. Our landlord not only left us a nice big TV when we moved in, but also a nice big bottle of champagne. Pretty sweet. So basically, we now have room for you when you visit, and thanks to Shane’s little shopping trip last Tuesday, we also have an air mattress for visitors. You’re welcome.
Moving day was interesting… the day we chose to move, there was a multiple homicide in Peckham (our then neighbourhood). So, there was police everywhere, and lots of traffic as all the roads leading out of the shithole had been blocked off. We of course had no clue what was going on as we tended to keep to ourselves in that place. Anyway, when our estate car (ie. cab with a boot, otherwise known as a trunk) arrived at 1 pm, we were packed and ready to go. Now, most of you don’t know this, since you weren’t at the airport with us, but we brought a shitload of stuff to London. So much stuff in fact that we weren’t allowed to bring it all with us. What we did manage to bring was three bags each. Yes, that’s right. So, right off the bat, we had six bags. And, seeing that we live in a consumer-driven society, we’ve made purchases since we moved here. So, we also had a fairly large plastic bin, three stackable plastic boxes, and some pillows and a duvet. Bill, our cab driver, packed all but one bag into his little station wagon for the move. Our stuff was stacked up to the roof. It was pretty funny.
The drive to Hornsey (not Horney, as some of you – ahem – may have thought) in North London took about an hour. And Bill talked throughout the entire trip. Bill, a burly man from East London, had some interesting opinions, let me tell you. For example, "those Africans’ll rob ya blind, so I rip ‘em off first." There we were, trapped in the cab, while this guy spewed racial epithets. Then, he pulled up his sweatshirt and showed Shane this 20-inch scar on his stomach. Apparently, someone tried to gut him in a robbery. The most disturbing thing was his description of it all: "You don’t feel nothing. It just feels warm. It only starts to hurt when your guts fall out." YUCK!!
One thing I have neglected to mention – until now, that is – is the Blockbuster situation here. In Peckham, we would go to the local Blockbuster, which was a five-minute walk from the House That Satan built. Anyway, so there we were, perusing the "new" releases (which were new releases in North America way back in August), and then we saw it, on the shelf right beside K-Pax: K-Sex. But wait, there was more. Right beside Planet of the Apes was Playmate of the Apes, and beside Legally Blonde was Illegally Buxom Blonde. There were dozens of these pornos, sitting on the shelves mixed in with the regular movies. Hello! This was Blockbuster, and I was shocked. For a company that always passes itself off as a "family establishment", I’m pretty sure stocking porn isn’t part of the mandate. I asked my boss about it, and he was just as surprised as I was. So, from here on in, Blockbuster in England will be known as Cockbuster.
In other news, I have finally finished Christmas shopping. Thank the good Lord, because the stores are getting worse. We went to Harrods on Friday night after work, and I thought Shane was going to punch someone in the face. I don’t know what it is, but I find everyone here extremely rude in crowd settings. I hate crowds too, but I don’t push people or walk right into them without saying "Excuse me" at the very least, even though I usually feel like saying "Get out of my way assclown!" or "Watch it, you sonofabitch!" These fucking Brits drive me absolutely bonkers, I tell you. Sometimes I just feel like yelling at them, and letting them think I’m being rude because I’m American. He he. No one here can tell the difference between an American accent and a Canadian one, so they all just assume we’re from the States. We always have to correct them, and then they apologize profusely. At least they understand that we find the mistake offensive. If someone wants to get me the greatest Christmas present in the world, get me a stun gun. Seriously.
On a final note, I just found out today that another one of friends is getting married (Congratulations Danielle!). Total number of my friends who have gotten engaged since I moved to England: THREE. So, I’m officially taking bets on who’s next. If you want to join the pool, send me an email. Hahahaha.
Talk to you soon,
S.
