To be fair, I spent the whole summer quasi-Europe-hopping. London, to Amsterdam (I think — the whole trip was kind of hazy), to London, to Prague, and then back to London finally, just in time for the riots.
Now, I’m not saying I took part in the riots themselves. I’m not saying I didn’t. What I am saying (at least to the customs lady that insisted on breaking my balls when I tried to get back into the States) is that, yeah, I have a new 42-inch flat-screen television, sans the receipt, sans the original packaging.
Okay, maybe I’m making that part up. But I did see someone about half my age toting a new 42-inch flat-screen television, sans the receipt, sans the original packaging. (Maybe I’m making that part up too.)
I guess what I’m trying to say is, yeah I was in London in early August, but I didn’t see a damn thing. Seriously. Stop asking me if I saw the fucking riots.
Do you have any idea how big London is? Why don’t you ask me how London Tower was? Why don’t you ask me about how it felt to walk the cobblestoned streets along the Thames? Why don’t you ask me about Buckingham Palace, about that one guard who slipped in front of his outpost while doing his step-drill, twice? (He was probably new.) I think that’s infinitely more interesting than petrol bombs being launched into 200-year-old churches — right?
You’re not even paying attention anymore, are you?