This weekend was the first to be spent entirely in London. On Friday night, we went downtown and visited a local club known as the Hippadrome. After observing these funny foreign guys who would randomly walk up and grab the ass of some girl as the cigarette hung out of the corner of their mouths, we headed back home at about 4 am.
        After a late night, sleep was a priority, and we did not awake until 1 pm on the following day. When we finally got out of the house, we headed towards the Tower of London, an infamous castle dating back to 900 AD where the crown jewels are stored. I observed the world’s largest diamond at 538 karats as well as many other ridiculously shiny jewels which sit in glass cases all year round. For the most part, no one is allowed to wear any of them, and this is another reason why England’s “royal” tradition is nothing but a crock of shit. I think they should throw the stupid old queen on the street, strip her of her golden coach, and force her to take the smelly subway from place to place. They should then sell all of her jewels and actually put some of their money to good use, perhaps finding jobs or supporting the lazy bumbs who hang out near our subway station all day long.
        On Sunday, I actually awoke at 9 am, and finally took my dirty, rotten, smelly clothes to the laundromat for their first wash since May. During the first wash cycle, I think I saw visible subway dirt coming off of my favorite gray shirt which I had worn at least seven or eight times. (It was the only long sleeve shirt I had brought, and London is much colder than I naively thought while packing my bags in the US.) While trying to iron my first shirt ever back in our apartment, our roommate Danny entered and started telling me all his problems: how he needs money, a job, a color TV, and a girlfriend. As far as the girlfriend goes, I couldn’t sympathize for I know not what either he or I am missing by not having one. The complaining went on until finally I was hearing about he was forced to sell his precious guitar, and that whenever he heard music, he wanted to pick it up, strum it, and “feel” the music. I told Danny that he was pissing me way the hell off, and that the only thing he was going to “feel” was the back of my hand across his face.
        Later in the afternoon, we decided to run to the BUNAC picnic to get some much needed exercise. What we thought would be a short run actually turned into a 4 mile run when we realized that the picnic was in Hyde Park and not Regent Park. We ran both ways, for a total of about 7 or 8 miles, periodically screaming “bull” and darting as fast as we could for about 50 yards. We felt that this would prepare us for the running of the bulls in Spain which is only 2 short weeks away. While actually at the picnic, I played ultimate Frisbee for an hour or two with a bunch of people and then just hung out and talked to some friends.

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