Southern Belles, Posh English Schoolboys, A Welshman And Some Big-Hearted Northern Balladeers

I have Americans staying with me. I always find that visitors (of whatever nationality but, for some reason, especially Americans) refresh my view of little England and, temporarily at least, subdue all my fear and loathing.

The night before last, in their jet-lagged state, I forced them to a party... while, yesterday, in my ever-so-slightly hungover state, I returned unto myself the favour by forcing the three of us out to Windsor for a day trip. In truth, despite a bit of moaning in the morning when I had to wake up (oh yes, I forget to mention, I was sleeping on the wooden floor of my little backroom downstairs), I think I may have enjoyed the day just a little bit more than they did. Now that I'm twenty-one, and about to complete my flimsy little degree- education almost over and my destiny decided, I can gaze at picturesque but snobby places like Eton sans seething jealousy. In fact, all I had was a sense of reverence for the vast amount of history that, in embryonic state at least, got underway within those walls; it's a similar feeling to the one that one gets in a thousand-year old cathedral, all that prayer and for so long, irrespective of whether or not there is a God, makes the place a holy one...

Windsor Castle is a feat in architecture of almost fairytale proportions but as usual with English tourist attractions, we could not gain access as it was prohibitively expensive. Meanwhile, further adding to our distress, they were done with the changing of the guard by the time we got there. Still, I am firmly of the belief that in this country you make your own fun. We messed about for a bit taking pictures and I showed them the crooked house and the town hall with the pillars which, in defiance of the laws of physics, do not support the ceiling as they don't quite reach it... It looks like the kind of building I would design if I were an architect: resolutely, dangerously imperfect.

For lunch, my guests wanted to go to 'Gourmet Burger Kitchen' (Weatherspoons was apparently no good because... er... they have THOSE everywhere), I granted them permission to do as they wished but, in a nod to the weekly budget, which is so out of the window this week that I think it's about to hit the pavement and run off down the street, I, too, dashed down the high street and got myself a 'Donalds. I was then told off by the manager of 'Gourmet Burger Kitchen' for returning with said 'Donalds and trying to consume it on a table outside her establishment. I can understand why as my three cheeseburgers, chips and massive coke did put the- no doubt superior, although much smaller- 'Gourmet' delicacies to shame.

We left Windsor about mid-afternoon and, after more breathless running and some swapping of shirts and keys, the Americans went off to meet an old friend and I went to see Elbow at Wembley. It was the last day with G-, he has appeared on the blog before but will probably not do so again, as he is going back to Wales for good! It was a sad but tender moment, united in our love for a bunch of big-hearted, middle-aged northerners; me largely because of all their catholic-esque angst. I even felt a couple of grimy tears trickle down my stony cheeks during the encore but this is categorically because I like the song as it reminds me of my family NOT because I'm going to miss my friend... which I am. No, on second thoughts, the bastard is making me pay for my ticket- I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS- so I'm not really going to miss him at all. Only joking, I'll try and get that twenty pound in the post as soon as I have it, oh tight-fisted one! REMEMBER DUKE SPECIAL!!!

I'm off to see the Americans in a bit, they left my house early this morning so that they could go to church, Speakers Corner and to some more desirable accomodation, away from these god-forsaken suburbs...

I only wish I could do the same. I console myself, paraphrasing Eliot:

Wales, North London, Vienna...
Aldershot, Surbiton,
Unreal