London is where it's at baby, as James Coburn may well have said (probably did at one time). I haven't met a cockney for years, but it doesn't hurt if you speak Russian these days. But I have to admit that what's left of my family moved out to the south east coast (Dorset) a few years back, & say they're never coming back.
No offence to the cockney Earl of Poncey - London's a shithole.
I was away for a few days, and I spent a few nights in London. One of my conquests after a night's rave was a certain young dark-skinned beauty who seduced me in her rooftop apartment. It was little more than a loft, but it turned out that she'd bought it (BOUGHT it!) for 48 million pounds! For a loft! She didn't even live there! She told me that she was waiting for the price to go up so she could sell it for a profit! Then she said that she came over from Qatar EVERY WEEEKEND in a plane, just to go to the raves and meet people like me!!! And that she drove around in a gold-plated Rolls-Royce (one of eighteen) which she BROUGHT OVER EVERY FRIDAY ON THE PLANE!!!!!!!!
Being polite, in that "morning after" way, I asked her name. "Vanessa von Shufty-Mufty, great-granddaughter of the current Emir." I nodded of course, saying I had heard of him, but I had no idea.
Then, looking around, I muttered, "Jeez, London's a shit-hole isn't it?", and I could see a little teardrop beginning to form in the corner of her good eye. "Yes", she sniffed. "Yes my darling, I suppose you're right." And she looked meaningfully off into nothingness.
It was the only moment of true humanity she ever showed, and in its own small way, deeply touching.
I really did enjoy London, honest. Great food, museums, and even the weather was pretty swell that August of 2010.
The only two mildly-irritating things involved the Underground. The first being the daft Martha Jones wannabe bitch who rammed her shoulder into my wife's shoulder as the former was rushing down the steps.
The second was some junior exec jerkoff who missed a train by thismuch and reacted to this slightest of slights by angrily slamming his briefcase against the doors. C'mon Old Stick, there'll be another train in what, five minutes?!? Sheesh.
Other than those moments of merriment and mirth, I had a swell time. Except when London's FSMers scattered like comletist rats on the Sinking Ship of Horner when I arrived at Heathrow.
Thank you all for letting this old man reminisce; all I have are my memories...
Jim Phelps, a true English exec would have trumped his umbrella point into the concrete and said "Dash It". Modern execs do think they have to over-emphasise their agony at not being crushed up like sardines and complain about it.
I attended a boys finishing school in the 1960s. More on proper courtesy later.