For us, the day got off to a good start.
The sun blazed down from on high and we rolled and rattled along on the Hammersmith and City line to Hammersmith, on our way to Brentford, where way back in 1642, during the civil war, the parliamentary forces fought like devils against the royalist cavalry of Prince Rupert. Our boys - parliament - were eventually beaten back, but no matter, as the royalist fops were thrashed the next day at Turnham Green and democracy won in the end.
How different it all is now.
Back then, muskets, pikes, cannon and swords were weapons that mangled us at close quarter.
Now, the mighty US of A sends its Drones across the skies to search and destroy, firing their missiles down on houses far below in hapless Pakistan, without knowing who is within.
Yesterday it was reported that a Drone had killed seven ' suspected' militants in a house in Waziristan.
'Suspected' but not certain. Why is there no outcry from us, from Cameron or Clegg or Miliband?
Nobody cares that's why. There are no votes in it. These men are not statesmen. They are pastry chefs, serving up delicacies to their overweight people - it was Aristotle who characterised democratic politicians thus. We're beginning to think he had a point.
Meanwhile, and before the Drones from Iran or somewhere arrive over our usually cloudy skies, life must go on, and life is better with a good sausage roll, and there is none better than Patrice Lardon's.
Patrice is as French as French can be - straight out of central casting : jolly, happy and helpful, he makes the best sausage rolls in London, and a range of other pastry type delicacies. Check him out on Facebook under Lardon's Catering.
Later, we take refuge from Obama's foreign policy at The Star and Garter, the best pub in Soho, a fine and proper London boozer, no grub, no cocktails, no waitresses, just good beer and spirits.
Out friends let us smoke their unusual home made cigarettes.
We experience pleasant feelings of a vaguely out of body type and float home like a pair of drunken drones.
The sun blazed down from on high and we rolled and rattled along on the Hammersmith and City line to Hammersmith, on our way to Brentford, where way back in 1642, during the civil war, the parliamentary forces fought like devils against the royalist cavalry of Prince Rupert. Our boys - parliament - were eventually beaten back, but no matter, as the royalist fops were thrashed the next day at Turnham Green and democracy won in the end.
How different it all is now.
Back then, muskets, pikes, cannon and swords were weapons that mangled us at close quarter.
Now, the mighty US of A sends its Drones across the skies to search and destroy, firing their missiles down on houses far below in hapless Pakistan, without knowing who is within.
Yesterday it was reported that a Drone had killed seven ' suspected' militants in a house in Waziristan.
'Suspected' but not certain. Why is there no outcry from us, from Cameron or Clegg or Miliband?
Nobody cares that's why. There are no votes in it. These men are not statesmen. They are pastry chefs, serving up delicacies to their overweight people - it was Aristotle who characterised democratic politicians thus. We're beginning to think he had a point.
Meanwhile, and before the Drones from Iran or somewhere arrive over our usually cloudy skies, life must go on, and life is better with a good sausage roll, and there is none better than Patrice Lardon's.
Patrice is as French as French can be - straight out of central casting : jolly, happy and helpful, he makes the best sausage rolls in London, and a range of other pastry type delicacies. Check him out on Facebook under Lardon's Catering.
Later, we take refuge from Obama's foreign policy at The Star and Garter, the best pub in Soho, a fine and proper London boozer, no grub, no cocktails, no waitresses, just good beer and spirits.
Out friends let us smoke their unusual home made cigarettes.
We experience pleasant feelings of a vaguely out of body type and float home like a pair of drunken drones.
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