Below find my friend Robin's account
of my recent visit to England. Since he's the professional writer
we decided to build this page with his report. Scroll to the bottom
of the page to see the links to pictures we took while traveling around.
You can Email comments to me or directly
to Robin at robinc@motogp.com Okay okay, here's my Chris and I always seem to get into
trouble whenever we go out to eat.
Did anyone feel the earthquake Friday
night? No?!?! For once, it wasn't
Saturday morning, we made our way
to London on the train. The return
Nightfall. Black Paint.
Apprehensively we approached the entrance to
Til the wee hours of the morning
we stayed up, trading jokes and insults
The topper to this fabulous weekend
came when I opened my Saturday mail.
As Chris was leaving for the airport
Monday morning, I tried to get him to
Our sincerest thanks to Caroline
and Theresa for their super gracious
p.s. Cars are pants! -Robin
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Well, as you can tell we had a great
time.
PICTURES: (use the
back button on your browser to get back here after viewing the pictures!)
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Here's my account of a great weekend.
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An Idiot's Guide to Sex.
No, wait, actually that's the name of the feature
article I wrote for next week's Warwick Boar.
Laughing in London.
account of a great weekend.
on Friday morning. "London
Baby!" he shouted repeatedly, like Joey
Tribiani from Friends, to anyone
who would listen during the three hour
wait in the Arts Centre. "Uhh,
like, could you stop that?" I pleaded,
hoping no one recognized our association.
All kidding aside, our dear
friend Chris made a whirlwind stop
taking in the West Midlands, the West
End, Westminster and loads of wine.
How you doin'?
The last occasion nearly got us
arrested in Berkeley at the LongLife
Veggie House, when I managed to
save us with a Mulderesque bluff. I knew
we were in trouble when I chose
the spot. It was a very unremarkable
Indian restaurant whose name thankfully
escapes my memory. "It's empty."
Chris said. "It's early."
I naively replied. First warning sign. We
ordered food and when it arrived
late, we were surprised at its
ordinariness. I was clenching
my teeth, hoping Chris wouldn't cause
another scene. Having dodged
that bullet, we found ourselves at a local
pub, Mr. Woods, I think, which
was pleasant and noisy. Guinness on tap
helped soothe the troubled stomach
from the dinner. How YOU doin'?
Chris farting in his sleep, it
was actually Chris snoring. Yep. SNORING.
Poor Chris was so exhausted that
he rumbled louder than an 8.0 earthquake.
It was funny at first, but then
I couldn't find my ear plugs and I wasn't
laughing so much. I contemplated
rolling Chris over, but two things
stopped me: first, Chris
was snoring regardless of his sleeping position!
and second, I recalled that scene
from Friends when Chandler rolled his
naked snoring roommate. I
didn't want to go there. Fwoget about it!
ticket cost 28,000 pounds sterling
for Chris; 18 pounds for me. There are
advantages to being a student,
see? We decided to try one of those
open-top bus tours. For a
single ticket price, we had the option of
taking a bus along any of several
tour routes, getting on and off as we
pleased, during a 24-hour period.
This way, if you get tired during the
day, you can take a moving nap,
and wake up when it pleases you, sight see
some more, then get back on the
bus.
Blacks. When the doorman
answered wearing torn jeans, ripped T-shirt and
stubble, we were relieved.
We had thought the club would be a bit posh,
but it was also very bohemian and
welcoming. We, guests in London, joined
our two lovely and hospitable friends,
Caroline and Theresa, for a very
nice meal and lots of wine.
So much wine that our lips were stained a
curious gothic black, which was
amusing, but not as amusing as the bloke
who got caught on video at the
train station peeing. (Fwo'get 'bout it.
It wasn't Chris.)
with Theresa's brother Stephen
and his friends Chris and Sora; I defended
Bill Clinton's honor, Chris defended
Monica's. Continuing the British
national pastime of drinking, we
spent a late Sunday lunch with Caroline,
Theresa and her family at a local
pub near their stables. Dog-tired, we
took an early evening Sunday train
back from London to Coventry.
That gray vinyl cover discreetly
hid the contents of my favorite
right-handed ... throttle ... mag
-- Performance Bikes. I was stunned
when I opened it. You'll
have to buy the March 99 issue of PB to find out
why. Sunday night, was spent
shattering the idealistic visions of my
friends Jenny and Amanda, espousing
the necessary evils of legal gun
ownership; debating breast
implants, and the MTV Loveline psychology of
early childhood development.
buy one of the largish boxes of
Kleenex-for-men (TM). Failing to see the
global implications, he deftly
refused saying "Fwo-get a'bout i-t!" I
still can't figure out why!
hospitality!