November 2003
39
R. Linda:
When we got to London Sunday night, we went straight to the hotel which was located in the east end. The place is refurbished and the reason to stay there was to experience it. It is next to the Liverpool Station and across the street is Whitechapel. The room was nicely appointed when you realise it was an old railway hotel opened in the late 1800s. It was supposed to be done in Victorian design, but I tend to disagree with whoever deemed it that. It looked like Linda Barker (Trading Places) had been through it and used whatever was lying about to redecorate. I thought it was horrible and said as much to me companions. Weasil had turned up his delicate nose at the room, and mind you we were paying in American dollars, over $200 a night for our individual rooms.
Weasil could have stayed at his father's elegant digs off Hyde Park but opted to stay with his "cronies" as he was referring to Jordie and I. Cronies indeed.
I stood in the middle of me room looking around at it thinking, Tonya would find a certain romance in a Victorian setting, but I do wonder what she'd think of this rather techno black and red decor. Me thoughts were washed away when there came Weasil knocking on me door asking me to go find a pub with him. I told him it was Sunday and the hour was getting on to 11, so we wouldn't be served if we could even find one open. However, I was hungry and I'd like to find a McDonald's for a quick burger. He rounded up Jordie and we headed to the station where there was a Mickey Ds. Weas suggested we go the Ten Bells Pub since he knew where it was and he'd show me the pub frequented by Jack the Ripper's victims. I was suddenly fascinated. The murder scenes weren't far from where we stood and, he said they still looked like they did in the 1800s. I was ready to go. I thought to meself, R. Linda would be game for this. That's when it hit me, you and Weasil would be one hell of a trip together.
Off we went, we crossed over Bishopgate and into the alleys and narrow cobble streets of east Whitechapel. As we made our way toward Spitalfields, I noticed the upscale cars and nicely appointed flat fronts. I made a mental note to start there with me holiday photos. London transformed through the years. Who'd think Whitechapel upscale?
As it was, I lost notice of what direction we were going in when I realised we were in the not refurbished part of Whitechapel, but the hard section of Spitalfields. I pulled Weasil aside and said to turn around or we'd be way off the mark. He insisted Christ Chruch was just up the road and took off. As Jordie and I followed, three men with dreds came from some cheesy club on the other side of the street. They saw us and began to cross the road. Not pass us as they should have, but come towards us with some menace in their step. The only saving grace was I knew they weren't Irish or we'd be in for it, but they didn't look friendly so it didn't matter, they seemed as bad as if they were me brethren.
You would have had a bird had you been there. Weasil smartened his pace, but I was gobsmacked and was about to meet one of the three head-on. Thank God Jordie had the presence of mind and stopped him asking for a fag and a light, which he produced and proceeded to hand over. The three were on us by that time and I could picture you running up the street screaming, "Help, help!" Jordie knew from experience to stand your ground and as he took the light for the fag I saw him squint at the first man and nodded. He said, "Thanks, hey Jack how's it going?" and kept moving. He took a drag and me elbow and moved me on. Weasil was by this time long gone and out of sight. I knew what they wanted and we'd be three poorer folk for it if we kept on walking (which would signal we were afraid of them). But one of us had street sense and knew what to do, and it wasn't me.
Weasil as you can imagine had taken his kilted arse up the street as if he were power-walking and into an alley where we met up with him. I tell you Linda, the lad is something else. But if you were among us, he'd have got you out of there and left Jordie to do the dirty I be sure. So much for Weasil's Ripper Tour.
When I returned to the hotel, I found out something else I didn't like about the place, but I'll give Weasil the credit for this because he came barging into me room to tell me about it. The pride of the place, is -- are you ready? The vacuum drainage system. Un-huh, of course, this would interest Weasil who has a fascination with bodily functions of the impolite type. The cistern uses less water than the conventional method. As a result, if you flush the toilet there is a great whoosh and then a suction sound. If you happen to run the tap, there is a great clanging of pipes which goes on and on even after you have turned the tap off. While you are in the shower with the water running the clanging chugs along until you turn the damn water off.
Well, seems Weasil went to use his toilet and was almost sucked away from the vacuum. Not only that, when he went to wash his hands (yes, the lad is fastidious), the continuing clanging after turning off the tab made him think he was waking up the whole hotel at 2 a.m. He came running to me to ask if he could check me sink and toilet. I asked him why and he held a finger up, flicked on the water closet light, and slipped inside. He then flushed the toilet to which a great racket ushered forth and he turned on the sink tap, to which the sound got louder and continued when it was turned off! I was somewhat horrified, but he was laughing the silly arse. He said all the toilets did such and were I to turn on the shower, I should stand firm because the water pressure was such it would blast me down the drain if I wasn't cautious.
That did it for me. I was out the next day leaving the lavatory sod to listen to the cistern symphony on his own. Jordie, unbeknownst to us, had left the night before for a friend's flat. I knew if you were there, you'd be up there with Weas turning the tap on and off and laughing yourself silly at the wonderful sound of clanging and chugging.
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
When we got to London Sunday night, we went straight to the hotel which was located in the east end. The place is refurbished and the reason to stay there was to experience it. It is next to the Liverpool Station and across the street is Whitechapel. The room was nicely appointed when you realise it was an old railway hotel opened in the late 1800s. It was supposed to be done in Victorian design, but I tend to disagree with whoever deemed it that. It looked like Linda Barker (Trading Places) had been through it and used whatever was lying about to redecorate. I thought it was horrible and said as much to me companions. Weasil had turned up his delicate nose at the room, and mind you we were paying in American dollars, over $200 a night for our individual rooms.
Weasil could have stayed at his father's elegant digs off Hyde Park but opted to stay with his "cronies" as he was referring to Jordie and I. Cronies indeed.
I stood in the middle of me room looking around at it thinking, Tonya would find a certain romance in a Victorian setting, but I do wonder what she'd think of this rather techno black and red decor. Me thoughts were washed away when there came Weasil knocking on me door asking me to go find a pub with him. I told him it was Sunday and the hour was getting on to 11, so we wouldn't be served if we could even find one open. However, I was hungry and I'd like to find a McDonald's for a quick burger. He rounded up Jordie and we headed to the station where there was a Mickey Ds. Weas suggested we go the Ten Bells Pub since he knew where it was and he'd show me the pub frequented by Jack the Ripper's victims. I was suddenly fascinated. The murder scenes weren't far from where we stood and, he said they still looked like they did in the 1800s. I was ready to go. I thought to meself, R. Linda would be game for this. That's when it hit me, you and Weasil would be one hell of a trip together.
Off we went, we crossed over Bishopgate and into the alleys and narrow cobble streets of east Whitechapel. As we made our way toward Spitalfields, I noticed the upscale cars and nicely appointed flat fronts. I made a mental note to start there with me holiday photos. London transformed through the years. Who'd think Whitechapel upscale?
As it was, I lost notice of what direction we were going in when I realised we were in the not refurbished part of Whitechapel, but the hard section of Spitalfields. I pulled Weasil aside and said to turn around or we'd be way off the mark. He insisted Christ Chruch was just up the road and took off. As Jordie and I followed, three men with dreds came from some cheesy club on the other side of the street. They saw us and began to cross the road. Not pass us as they should have, but come towards us with some menace in their step. The only saving grace was I knew they weren't Irish or we'd be in for it, but they didn't look friendly so it didn't matter, they seemed as bad as if they were me brethren.
You would have had a bird had you been there. Weasil smartened his pace, but I was gobsmacked and was about to meet one of the three head-on. Thank God Jordie had the presence of mind and stopped him asking for a fag and a light, which he produced and proceeded to hand over. The three were on us by that time and I could picture you running up the street screaming, "Help, help!" Jordie knew from experience to stand your ground and as he took the light for the fag I saw him squint at the first man and nodded. He said, "Thanks, hey Jack how's it going?" and kept moving. He took a drag and me elbow and moved me on. Weasil was by this time long gone and out of sight. I knew what they wanted and we'd be three poorer folk for it if we kept on walking (which would signal we were afraid of them). But one of us had street sense and knew what to do, and it wasn't me.
Weasil as you can imagine had taken his kilted arse up the street as if he were power-walking and into an alley where we met up with him. I tell you Linda, the lad is something else. But if you were among us, he'd have got you out of there and left Jordie to do the dirty I be sure. So much for Weasil's Ripper Tour.
When I returned to the hotel, I found out something else I didn't like about the place, but I'll give Weasil the credit for this because he came barging into me room to tell me about it. The pride of the place, is -- are you ready? The vacuum drainage system. Un-huh, of course, this would interest Weasil who has a fascination with bodily functions of the impolite type. The cistern uses less water than the conventional method. As a result, if you flush the toilet there is a great whoosh and then a suction sound. If you happen to run the tap, there is a great clanging of pipes which goes on and on even after you have turned the tap off. While you are in the shower with the water running the clanging chugs along until you turn the damn water off.
Well, seems Weasil went to use his toilet and was almost sucked away from the vacuum. Not only that, when he went to wash his hands (yes, the lad is fastidious), the continuing clanging after turning off the tab made him think he was waking up the whole hotel at 2 a.m. He came running to me to ask if he could check me sink and toilet. I asked him why and he held a finger up, flicked on the water closet light, and slipped inside. He then flushed the toilet to which a great racket ushered forth and he turned on the sink tap, to which the sound got louder and continued when it was turned off! I was somewhat horrified, but he was laughing the silly arse. He said all the toilets did such and were I to turn on the shower, I should stand firm because the water pressure was such it would blast me down the drain if I wasn't cautious.
That did it for me. I was out the next day leaving the lavatory sod to listen to the cistern symphony on his own. Jordie, unbeknownst to us, had left the night before for a friend's flat. I knew if you were there, you'd be up there with Weas turning the tap on and off and laughing yourself silly at the wonderful sound of clanging and chugging.
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
