The American Invasion

So, I've been in London since the beginning of June: I know, I get around.

Obviously I was meant to be a gypsy of some sort.

I am not the biggest fan of London. In my head, it was the place of Holmes and Wimsey and Wilde. I suppose, somehow, I expected it to be stuck in the late 1800's/early 1900's.

This, my friends, is not the case.

London is chaotic. Always busy. Kinda smelly. Quite muggy. And full of incredibly unfriendly people.

Or perhaps it is just the famous British reserve.

It is a bizarre thing to be in a completely packed tube station.....and to hear nothing but clicking heels and rustling news papers. No one talks to each other. No one makes eye contact. Strangers don't strike up conversation.

Sometimes I just want to moan really loudly, or shriek some swear words, and then step back and see what happens.

I bet you everyone would pretend not to notice.

A few days ago, a rowdy American jumped on a packed train car and yelled, "Who here is from the U.S.?"

*Cheers*

"What about from the UK?"

*Silence*

Talk about complete and total inhibition.

What with the Olympics, London is suffering under the influx of the rest of Europe, as well as an invasion of Americans.

I am here to inform you that there is absolutely nothing in the world like watching an American abroad.

For one thing, they dress horrendously. Like, you kind of want to walk up to them and vomit on their fanny packs and polo shirts. I am pretty darn sure that it would help.

For another, they are so loud. SO. LOUD. Foghorn voices.

Also: they can't pronounce anything.

"Hey darlin, what you say we go to Pret ay Mayn Ger and grab something?"

In case you were wondering: "Pret a Manger."

"Ok, our stop is the Glock es ter one."

Gloucester (Admittedly: tricky. But, it's fun to watch the Brits try not to smirk.)

And get this: they are always eating. Always.

Sandwiches. Chocolate Bars. Chips. Cookies.

Crumbs down the polo, nestling on the fanny pack.

Hawt.

Attractive.

Yummy.

I really think there should be a reality show, in which Americans are followed around as they travel.

Purpose. YOU NEED PURPOSE, BLOG.

By my calculations, I have not written on this blog for about 3.2 Million years.

Or, almost five months.

One or the other.

I have never been good at math, but that's kinda sorta the same thing, yes?

You know how sometimes life gets in the way, and somethings gotta give? Well, this blog gave. I know there has been weeping and gnashing of teeth at my absence in the blogosphere.

And I'm sorry. Truly. Because weeping is awful, and gnashing....well, your dentist won't be happy.

Here's the thing:

I have this love hate relationship with bloggers and blogging. When it comes right down to it, what's the point? Ok, if you have a food blog you post yummy recipes which make people drool into their key boards. Speaking of which: try wiping spit out the little crevices between the keys. It's a pain the ass.

I'm just guessing here. I don't actually have first hand experience.

Or, I suppose if you have a design blog, you post amazing pictures of clothes, or houses, or rooms, or whatever your particular design fetish happens to be, which can occasionally make people sit in the darkest corner of their closets, moaning in despair at the complete lack of beauty or hipster-coolness in their lives: "WHERE IS THE TURQUOISE? WHERE IS THE LEMON YELLOW? WHY DO I ONLY HAVE FIFTY SHADES OF GREY?" (Actual grey, not the book.)

I'm just guessing here. I don't actually have first hand experience.

So, yes. A blog can have a purpose. Food. Art. Clothing. Animals. Ornithology (??!). Stamps. Religion.

But...say you have a blog written by someone who may or may not be lying in her bed, listening to a high school "Battle of the Bands" filtering in through her window, and all she really wants to do is hang out in heels, get covered in diamonds and eat chocolate for the rest of her life? (It's possible. I swear!)  (Not that I have thought about it for any extensive length of time.) What then? What's the point of her blog?

Because here's the thing: a blog needs to fit into a specific niche which gives it purpose.

Why?

Because you are human, damn it. And so, given a platform at which you believe the eyes of the world are directed, and from which you can spout absolutely anything because you are your blog's own boss and the centre of its universe....

you run the risk of becoming a whiny, namby pamby, self centred, egotistical, fake self deprecating, narcissistic piece of....work....

who should really just fly to Africa and dig a well and gain some perspective outside of your belly button.

I'm talking to you, girl lying on the bed in her underwear who really needs to pee but is too lazy to move. (Where is a catheter when you need one?)

Anyway: YOU IN THE BED! Does your blog have a purpose?

Oh. Whoops. We'll have to wait until next time for the answer to that, because no longer can she pretend that, if she delays thirty more seconds,  she won't end up peeing in her pants.

Until next time:

Thank  you, and goodnight.