Day 18: London is BURNING!

Tubing Music: The Pretenders - Break up the Concrete/Snow Patrol - Final Straw

Okay, so on November 5, 1605 there was this event they call the Gunpowder Plot. A bunch of Catholic conspirators, led by Guy Fawkes, attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London. Apparently they were upset when they were told the real ingredients in Black Pudding, and there was some revenge a'comin'! (Actually, I have no idea why they wanted to do it, but I'm pretty sure there was an assassination of a King involved.)

So anyway, the plot was foiled when Guy Fawkes was discovered in the basement of Parliament with 36 barrels of gunpowder, which was, even in those times, considered 'highly suspicious'.


"I swear, m'lord, these barrels of gunpowder aren't mine, I was just watching them for somebody!"

Guy Fawkes was summarily tortured and executed for his attempted crime.

Ever since (think about this... for the last Four Hundred and Three Years), on November 5th the people of England celebrate the attempted burning of London by... well, by burning London. Makes perfect sense.

Tonight as I walked home it felt like a war zone. England has by FAR the loudest, most annoying fireworks known to man. Roman candles, sparkly things, and flat out small bombs have been going off all around my flat tonight. Frankly, I'm staying away from windows and sitting a little further back from the TV for fear of shrapnel. Oh, and to top it off, they also celebrate by burning "Guy's" in effigy (ladies...that's enough clapping).

Oddly enough, as I researched Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night on the web, it's still celebrated in a lot of countries, including one town in Rhode Island. Tonight I fear for the dogs of London, who are no doubt peeing in the corner at this very moment.

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That said, I had a couple more interesting moments today. First of all, I nearly missed EVERY train and subway car I took today (there are four in total). Before today I hadn't had to break a sweat to catch a ride, but today I had to sprint to make them. I'm really feeling the burn, oh yeah.

I stopped for dinner at the Bayswater Arms tonight, and inside I got my first taste of Hooliganism. Five sloshingly drunk guys were sitting at a table talking in voices that could have spanned a football field, having arm-wrestling contests, calling their 'mates' and telling them that if they didn't come have a pint they'd "poonch 'em en der fookin' faces" (I'm not sure if that's considered swearing, but there you go). The Bartender had had enough after a while and asked them to leave, which seemed completely opposite their previous plan of trashing the joint. I moved my laptop bag under the table and watched the fireworks inside as fireworks were going off outside. No 'poonches' were thrown, though. I would have bet a tenner that there would be. Oh well.

A few quaint "British-isms":

There are NO trash cans here. Seriously. I carried a small plastic bag of trash from Slough all the way to outside my hotel where there's a dumpster. The train and tube stations simply don't accept trash. Frankly, I think it's a great idea. And oddly enough, everything is clean.

In Britain a flashlight is called a 'torch'. This immediately makes me wonder what they call a burning stick.

The newspapers have two pages devoted to tonight's TV Guide. Think about that for a second. They have so few channels here that they can fit them all on just two pages - with pictures of highlighted shows. If this were the US, the newspapers would weigh 12 pounds and cost seven dollars.

Enough for now. Oh, wait, just one more thing:

Tonight, I am especially proud to be an American.