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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

Here's my account of a great weekend. ------ 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.

Okay okay, here's my
account of a great weekend.

Chris arrived into Brum International
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'?

Chris and I always seem to get into trouble whenever we go out to eat.
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'?

Did anyone feel the earthquake Friday night?  No?!?!  For once, it wasn't
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!

Saturday morning, we made our way to London on the train.  The return
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.

Nightfall.  Black Paint.  Apprehensively we approached the entrance to
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.)

Til the wee hours of the morning we stayed up, trading jokes and insults
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.

The topper to this fabulous weekend came when I opened my Saturday mail.
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.

As Chris was leaving for the airport Monday morning, I tried to get him to
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!

Our sincerest thanks to Caroline and Theresa for their super gracious

p.s.  Cars are pants!



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!)