London and its pigeons

I've just returned from another overseas work trip, this time to Europe. While I was in that part of the world I decided to fly over to London last weekend to fulfill a life-long dream of feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

You can imagine my disgust, though, when I did get there and discovered you were not allowed to feed the poor blighters. What a travesty!! There's one of the dispossessed of the Earth (at right), meek, mild...and unfed (you poor little thing, I know how you feel).

Frustrated that I unable to fulfill my aviary ambitions I decided to go running with London's Serpentine running club instead. I had a beaut time with the Serpies running their Three Parks run that takes in Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Green Park and St James Park.

You get to see the landmarks including Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, Marble Arch, and so on. On our run, as if on cue, Her Majesty's Horse Guards came clip, clop, clip, clop, clopping down the road at one point obviously off to guard horses somewhere. Strange place this England.

Anyway, the run was fun. A whole bunch of us started the run from Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park but for the most part I ran in a quartet: with a Brit, an Irishman living in London, and a young American living in London. There was me the Aussie marveling at the wonders of this world where I could be running over a Monopoly Board one week and then zooming around Canberra's outlying hills a week later.

It rained during the run - this was England after all - and my nipples got rather sore from rubbing against my wet shirt. So I caused a bit of shock and awe to the locals by taking off my top and running bare chested through central London.

Now I know they have had to put up with a lot over the years with the Blitz and all that but I distinctly heard some oohs and aaahs from some adoring natives when they saw my Herculean physique trundle around town. This was pleasing. Well, Hewitt had not won at Wimbledon again and someone had to do their bit for Australian masculinity! (That's me and my body from a few year's back - the hat? don't ask!).

Not so pleasing was the little episode with a mother and baby at Heathrow airport as I was trying to escape this lofty old town the next day. There I was sitting alone in Terminal Two, seeking solitude, wanting to be at one with the world, needing karma...and desperately trying to hold my head steady to relieve the effects of a grade ten hangover. I had had a great previous night at the South Bank area of the Thames with friends. I was accompanied by too, too much red wine, and a 'gay' dog called Hooper (or was it Hoover. Such was my alcohol induced fog from that evening, I can't remember for sure! Hoover is a strange name for a dog. Then again this is England.)

So there I was grieving the loss of clear headed innocence when a mother decided to change her baby's nappy right next to me. I couldn't believe this latest travesty - strange place this England! My grade ten hangover was matched by the force ten odor that emanated from that young thing. I almost brought up my own chemical warfare hazard to equalize the biological toxin that had emerged and was clearly visible next to me. Aren't there international treaties to guard against this sort of thing???

Ah, England! It was my third trip to the Old Dart and I did miss the place. It was good to be back. The pidgeons clearly had missed me too! (At right, London lights and sunset shortly before landing)

During the week back in Canberra I had the privilege of catching up for a cuppa with Owen, son of Cirque. We had a lovely night and this was one very impressive Cirquette (at left with glasses).