At The White Hart
31 July 2009 at 8:09 am

I've always suspected this, but I'm starting to think I'm just not very much fun.

The girls I'm with are champs at meeting boys in pubs, which is great because then the boys pay for all our covers and drinks and taxis, even if they're married or not interested in us in the least. They're gentleman, and most of them are quite rich as well, which I guess you have to be to be here.

The boys here are nice, very nice, loads of fun, good conversationalists, but I Think that's because they're all loaded up on ale and coke all day long. I have a great interest in ale, but coke is almost as disgusting and dirty as meth. I get so disappointed that none of it is real that every interesting thing I might say floats away.

We saw Harry Potter on imax, and Avenue Q, and ate lunch at a Jamie Oliver joint. I went to Topshop or TopShop or Top Shop in Oxford Circus. Borough Market was delicious, but I liked Greenwich better. I got drenched in the rain at the 10pm Ceremony of the Keys, and I think my favorite part of the trip was the run I took at 5am through all the touristy bits, the London Eye, Hyde Park, Picadilly Circus, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, normally overrun with the one thing I truly hate about this world, apart from deliberate injustice: people being told how to have a good time.

I never was really very good at carrying on a decent conversation with a stranger, and I've gotten worse over time, because I'm less interested in having the same conversation over and over again and more interested in finding out the whys of people, but most people don't like to talk about why they do what they do, enjoy what they enjoy. They just like to do it and enjoy it, but I can't.

There was the Circle Line pub crawl, which ended a few pubs early when we met up with a group of London's finest, off-duty, obviously. They're taking us out again tonight, if we can find Sarah, who escaped home with an Englishman after a night of clubbing in Soho I hope never to repeat. I'll be dancing around to some truly horrific song when my brain catches up to me and I get caught up in the why, and then I want nothing more than to snuggle up next to the boy and giggle about what idiots we all are.


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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.