Sunday, November 28, 2010

Covent Gardens and Saint Paul's Cathedral

This morning the news reported the following.
"London Underground subway workers will start a 24-hour strike over a plan to cut 800 jobs, disrupting travel for the city’s 3.5 million users of the network known as the Tube."

"1-ticket to London-Euston please."
"Would you like to add an Underground pass to that?"
"Aren't they striking and closing down the Underground?"
"No, that isn't until 7:00.  You should be fine if you're off by then."  How very civilized....

For $26 pounds I was able to take a train from Milton-Keynes to London-Euston with an unlimited Underground pass for all zones.  Pretty cost effective when you figure a cab from Heathrow to London is $45-75.

This time I actually made it to Covent Gardens.

 Breakfast: Pain au chocolate, crossaint and a coffee at Fuel in the Piazza. 

Coventry Garden Piazza Busker 

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.  The oldest (and only) genuine Victorian Pub in London.  Literally too small to take a picture.  Standing room only at a bar the size of my living room.  You'll have to look it up online.

The Royal Court of Justice 
St Pauls Cathedral, closed on Sundays except for services.  I didn't chance it.  I've spent far too much time within striking distance of churches.

"Young Lovers"

Busses were staged all over London presumably to handle the overflow when the Underground shuts down.  That sign isn't an LED board, they were professionally printed and placed on the busses.
I don't know what this little place was although I think that they still pour boiling oil on the peasants.

South London on the other side of the Thames.


I'm completely fagged.  Time to go back home.  (insert obligatory Underground sign)
In 8 hours I only saw a little bit of London and froze my ass off in the process.  Here are a few additional photos that I'll explain later.

This is the 2nd time I've seen horseshit in MK!

While I'm waiting for my video to upload; here's the shitty commentary of the day:  Everyone here eats these fucking parfaits for breakfast.  There is nothing more disgusting than the sound of the guy next to you on the train slurping and smacking one of these babies down.  It sounds like a finger poking around in an open wound.

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