Loony London

London is the craziest city I’ve ever been to. I don’t mean arty-crazy, I mean crazy-crazy. Like insane. Interestingly, there are lot more mad drunken women, screaming “Hey, Gov’nor!” than men.

Does England drive women crazy?

No mad man (nor an art director from Madison Avenue) has ever told me that Jesus loves me. Only women. So often, that I’m starting to think that I must look like a person Jesus loves. I can truly understand that I’m adorable.

But it is maybe because I don’t forget my trousers or skirt when I wear leggings. I am always decently dressed. A lot of women (all ages) seem to forget that they are not fully dressed when going outside. Living in London is so stressful that you easily forget that. And tights too. Hopefully not both at the same time. I’m not that curious to know if English women wear underwear. Do they? I hope Thatcher doesn’t forget her clothes.

There is something that is wrong with women here. They don’t seem to feel temperatures. Ballerinas and rain. Frost and denim jackets. Am I so ‘continental’ that I am a cissy when it comes to right clothes for the weather? I am used to much colder weather, but looking at these women dressed in summer skirts lets my body temperature sink immediately. Maybe for some it lets it increase, but not for me. Even thinking about them makes me shiver. They will all get a bladder infection.

Now, in this Christmas time, I’m asking myself where all these crazy women will stay. I got an email from tfl today to say that the transport system will close down on Christmas Day. People are forced to stay at home and try to get out of any family trouble or not even get to their families.

I have a brilliant and humanitarian idea for solving the crazy women and transport problem. Why not let the lunatics earn a bit of money for honest and important work? Let’s get them all together and brief them to be bus drivers on Christmas Day. As I experienced, bus drivers are not quite right in the head anyway. (see Routes? Where we're going, we don't need routes!)
“Gov’nors! Next stop Canary Wharf. Get me some dosh from the cab rank!”

“St. Mary’s Church. Jesus loves you, darlings! This is the end of the world!”

I would love a bus ride with them.