Quick, history: London Bridge, the. “Even London’s bridge has fallen down and moved to Arizona…” ([i]London Homesick Blues[/i], Gary P. Nunn.) Next oldest bridge? Westminster. Here’s the view. And I have no idea what it represents. The dome is St. Paul’s.
Devil’s beating his wife – Shaftsbury Avenue, Monday afternoon….
So there I was, trying to find a place that had a catchy name, it was specialty store, and I was looking for it, only, when I did find it, it turns out, their specialty? Skull rings. You know, skull and crossbones, skulls with ruby eyes, skulls with nothing but a grinning death mask?
While I found some of them rather fetching, I mean, I even tried on one ring that was almost perfect for me, I just don’t see that going with my usual attire. Of course, a grinning skull with ruby eyes would make such a darling bolo tie, too.
So I ambled back out into the afternoon, noting that there was sunlight, plus, a few drops of rain. Plus a downpour. Rain falling down through the sunlight, a fitting backdrop for Shaftsbury Ave. Only, I didn’t I have anyone to turn to, and comment, “Look, the Devil’s beating his girlfriend.”
I stood under a bus stop, but since I didn’t have a clue as to where I was going, or maybe, I didn’t know where the buses were going, I decided to stick to tried and true methods for getting around. It’s a short walk down the one avenue to a tube stop that I know will deliver me, in two stops or less, to where I was going.
[i]Midsummer Night’s Dream[/i] is always a favorite – one of those plays that gets lots of mileage, all the time. One last play, on the last night.
What an amazing performance by the Propeller Group. Abut a dozen males, doing all the parts, and the way they dealt with the verse itself, sheer magnificence.
It’s time to get on an airplane and head my self back home.
[i]No Zen classes
not held here
every other Thursday.[/i]