There was a great Warren Zevon song from the 80s called Werewolves of London. It was one of those great songs that had a catchy opening chord progression hook that is instantly recognizable and pulls the listener into an otherwise silly little song about that “hairy handed gent who ran amok in Kent.” Interestingly, the chords (DCG) are the same as the chords from Sweet Home Alabama but are played on a piano, rather than a guitar, and with a very different syncopation. Still, great songs start alike, sort of, and the chorus of “Ah-oo werewolves of London…” is a fun howl. You can find it on Youtube and with only a little bit of messing with the phrasing, you can turn werewolves into curmudgeon and use it as the score to walking about town with a scowl. Now London is a great city with impressive sites and beautiful people. To a certain extent, living here (even for a short time) is a privilege. Still, it is congested, at times dirty, and not without its irritants that become curmudgeonly complaints. Here are a few in no particular order:
Gum on the streets – The streets of London are not paved in gold. They are paved in gum. In the busier parts of the city you literally cannot put a foot down on a sidewalk without stepping on a flattened disc that is now an integral part of the pavement from gum spat upon the street. I really cannot imagine that that many people chew gum and, really, that that many people just spit it upon the street. The evidence is right there, however, and it is obvious. Fortunately, it is usually dried and does not stick to your shoes, but it is there as a reminder of boorish behavior. Yuck!
Get that out of my face – In Houston, many intersections have people at them selling flowers, or washing windshields for money. In Anchorage, the mid-town intersections are frequented with people with signs that invariably say something compelling like “wounded vet,” “homeless and hungry,” or “God bless you,” and they walk up and down gazing into the windows of cars stopped at the traffic light attempting to make eye contact and elicit a charity. Those kinds of things occur a bit around London, but the pervasive and, I find, irritating thing is people giving away papers. There are a number of soft news publications that are distributed around town and given away free (or, in some cases, with an implied hint for a donation) at entrances to tube stations and other high foot traffic areas. These are basically flyers filled with advertisements around some modest stories masquerading as news.
So, I am used to Houston Press and Anchorage Press real estate offerings and other local news as being free give away rags available to the public. The difference here is that, rather than simply placing a stack on a stand and letting people take it, if they want, here they hire unfortunates to hand them out and apparently train them to be aggressive in how they do it. So, at the entrance to the underground, the exit from the underground, the top of the escalator at the office, every two blocks on the local high street someone is shoving something at you and saying something like Daily News(?). On weekends shopping sometimes you have to pass the same person 2-3 times and still they stick the damned thing in your face.
It is a really small thing and really no inconvenience, but to Mr. C. it feels like the drip drip of water torture of invasion of space and interruption. I try to signal, leave me alone, don't stick that crap in my face, I don't want it by refusing to acknowledge their existence. Still, they stick it out there and ruin my day.
Stroller warfare - I will admit to being a part of that generation that turned the pretense of parenthood into a noble enterprise, rather than something that just happened to us. We purchased and proudly displayed cautionary baby on board signs on our cars warning, and expecting, other drivers to take special care in proximity to our precious cargo.
Living in upscale Hampstead, however, the young parents, or their nannies, are seemingly everywhere taking up way more of their fair share of the sidewalks and commanding right of way, as if to scream, " I have a baby here, can't you see." So often, I have to stop or step aside to accommodate these baby benz's with their plastic rain covers and little platform on the back for older brother or sister to stand upon. I get it, hauling 1-2 kids around with you and dealing with all the crap is a pain. Still, that is not quite my problem and I am not a second class citizen, simply because I am not pushing a pram.
While on the subject, I also have a curmudgeonly grudge against pre-school scooters. Imagine the razors that were employed by adolescents in the early 2-thousands to jump curbs and skate around neighborhoods on a skateboard that had a handle. These scooters are like that but have two wheels on the front to increase stability to the point that they are used to give wings to British tykes in the 3-5 year range. These little s---s buzz around the sidewalks flying ahead of their calling parents and mindlessly tripping running old farts off the pavement. Of course these beautiful British children obediently stop at each street, so as not to be flattened by cars.
Attack of the mummies - privileged British children, especially girls, have perfected the act of calling for their mother's in a way that drips of superiority and selfishness. Mummy, I have done my homework. Mummy, may I have a pudding now. Mummy, MUMMY, MUMMY I demand your attention. Enough said....
Walking abreast - In the 60s there was a popular comic called doodles that took random quick scribbles and made something funny out of it. Imagine one large circle next to several small circles. That was a mother cannonball walking her bb's (ha ha ha). One of those doodles that caught my adolescent attention was one with two stick figures on either side of a large circle with a smaller circle at its center. This was two men walking a breast (snicker snicker).
That is not what I am talking about here. What gets my goat is groups of people walking down the street or corridors mindless to the fact that their preference for walking beside one another forces others to avoid, step aside, or stop altogether to avoid being run down. In my view, we must share the space that we collectively inhabit, and my right to hang with my buds should give way to free passage. To be honest, this is certainly not unique to London and well cultured Brits tend to be hyper vigilant and aware of their impact of those around them, issuing a "sorry" in place of what Americans would say "excuse me" for. London is, however, a city of many people and many cultures and not all are as aware, or, caring.
Connected and clueless - Okay, this is truly not a London only experience, but given the congestion of London streets and walkways, it becomes problematic. We have become a world of people who are connected electronically but disconnected personally to other people, or, our surroundings. We get on airplanes and trains, and collect in public places ignoring those around us, in favor of our handhelds flipping our way through cursory life. Now, in London, it is considered rude to intrude on others around you by gazing at them, or, listening in to their conversations. Everyone effects the thousand yard stare, so as not to intrude. So, what else to do with your eyes and mind, but to engage in on-line or electronic games, and yes, I use my kindle. It becomes an irritant, however, when people walking down the street are unaware that they are approaching someone and force them to take evasive action or stop completely, simply because they were selfishly clueless. I want to snatch their device and smash it to the ground while yelling, "get into your life."
Enough rants from a COF (cranky old fart). I do truly enjoy living in London. Congestion aside, it is quite the life experience. Ginger & I jumped on the Tube last sunday and were quickly at the Tower of London, strolled across the tower bridge and along the Thames to London bridge. Not bad.