I’ve been semi-internet-absent for the past few weeks – mostly as all of my friends are finding their way towards the UK for the great summer migration… pre-high-season and what-have-you. Holy Shit, I’ve gone hyphen-crazy.
Basically I have now turned into one of those asshole residents of a big city that has gotten over the “Omg I Can See Big Ben”-ness of it all and have turned into a massive bitchface (the only face to travel with) when commuting around the city. I don’t mean to be so mean. But it happens. Maybe you’re actually not aware of you being a big dumb touristy douche (it happens) because nobody’s toldyou. So. Here’s a handy hint-sheet you can print out and tuck into your foldable London Underground map to diffuse my ire.
- When traveling on an escalator, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT will make you a lot more popular with the 8,000 commuters behind you who actually could give a shit about the 55 posters for ‘LEND ME A TENOR’ and ‘GREASE’. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!
- When the escalator reaches its final destination, contrary to popular belief, this is NOT the best time to stop and stare blankly at the numerous wondrous things in front of you. Yes, there is a big long hallway, and I’m sure it’s hard to decide which way to go IN THE ONE DIRECTION EVERYONE IS WALKING, but seeing as moonwalking back DOWN the UP escalator is kinda dicey, maybe just pull over to the side while you figure out the difference between a 20p piece and a 5p to get that can of Tango you can’t get in the States.
- Arrived at the top of the stairs to street level at Oxford Circus? RE-READ RULE 2.
- You can’t seriously expect everyone in London to stop because you want a goddamn picture with Big Ben in the background, so don’t get all tongue clicky and teeth-kissy about it when people need to get by.
- Ask directions. Totally OK. However, don’t ask for directions, become overwhelmed, get taken over to a map where you can be shown where to go and then get all “oh well *IIIII could look at a MAP”. No, no, you couldn’t.
- The “pip-pip cheerio, ‘ave a spot of tea, guv’na?” is about as funny as being constantly asked of you say Aboot, or for my American friends “YALL have a NAHCE DAYYYYYY” or whatever. If you want to complain about how the French are dicks that look at you funny and the British presume you are a cunt then keep on truckin’ with that old ass hilarity.
- Your friends that live in London love it when you visit, but WHY THE FUCK do I want to go to goddamn TopShop in Oxford Circus in rush hour so you can debate for like 3 hours on a pair of shitty overpriced sunglasses that were coolhunted by 50-year-olds using their tween daughter’s BFF’s like culture-vultures? Barforama.
- The I heart London shirt with the sparkles on it? yeah, You’re gonna get mugged.
- Everything you want to buy in the form of Mini Big Bens, baby double decker buses et cetera are like 95 times cheaper off the main roads. just hold it down till you get to district 2, ok? and do you REALLY wanna be walking around the Tower of London carrying all that shit?
- Reread this list. Memorize it. THEN book your overpriced flight.
Many of you asked me what I did for the Royal Wedding, presuming that I would, of course, be ziplining onto the “kiss balcony” just in time to kick that crazy little girl out of the way and usurp her place of “this is so borrrrring” glory. (ps she was called a bridesmaid, is it just me or do you picture her playing the ‘zany best friend’ in every Wedding-themed RomCom until the of time?) I digress. Massively. I stayed in with a delectable hangover and watched like 100 hours of it on the telly – which saved me from tourist commute hellishness… Although I love dressing up in costume, there’s something about being in the vicinity of Union Jacked-up Baby Boomers, wasted on 15-minutes-of-fame and the constant lurking threat that they may well be photographed looking like a complete knob, with me, looking irate/sheepish/murderous in the background. So I blamed the terror threat and wrote non-wedding-related songs instead. (I know right? I expected better of myself.)