London pt.10 - Armani, Martin Clunes & Cornish Pasty

In the habit of sending tele-pathetic messages to cute British businessmen on the tube to sit next to me. Got squeezed up against one reading a Charles Dickens book the other day. The train delayed and I was stuck there for an infinite amount of time intoxicating myself on the scent of Armani and absolute perfection.
Slow news week. The story of the British backpacker who got lost in the Australian bush is constantly being rotated with paranoid pregnant women over Swine Flu and Buzz Aldrin saying it would've been cooler to land on Mars.
London is starting to get suffocating. The narrow walkways made to fit half a person, the crowds of people to share them with and poking someone's eye out every time you pull out your umbrella eventually gets to you. You start out with excuse me's and patience but at the end of the day elbowing, aggression and the occasional body slam is the only way to survive in this city. It's like netball all over again.
It's been over a month. Needing a haircut and colour desperately. My hair behaves differently in the northern hemisphere. It frizzes constantly with the looming rain and looks shorter too.
Amanda hired a car and we started our road trip down to Cornwall and back. Getting out of London and into the English countryside I was expecting it to feel liberating but it was anything but. When we weren't walking the narrow cobbled lanes we were bundling in our small little Ford Focus to escape the rain. It was still a great weekend. The southern coastline has spectacular scenery. If it wasn't for the castles and cornish pasty's along the way I would've kept thinking I was in New Zealand.
Visited the town of Chard and Amanda and I agreed on it being the main reason our family got on the boat to Australia that day.
On our first night we stayed in a B&B that sat on the coast across from St. Michael's.
The place was ultra christian with a mosaic of tiles proclaiming "Christ is our Lord" on reception as you entered. The not-so-subtle attempt of conversion didn't stop there, with a range of Godly literature lining the shelves in the bathroom and psalms embedded into the bedside tables.
Amanda said she'd like to stay here with Jon but she doubted they'd take in couples.
England programs The Simpson's on at 6 o'clock every day just like back home. Suspecting it's a universal thing. Only in England they show the unfunny middle seasons which I'm thinking is on purpose. Noticing the English are paranoid about becoming Americanized and go to every effort to show anything from that continent in a bad light.
The local church, All Saints, had a clever idea. Instead of the traditional naming of after one saint it decided to cover all bases.
Still can't decide whether I'm more annoyed being a pedestrian being pushed aside by a car or a driver trying to get through a crowd of people. All I know for sure is that cyclists need to pick one or the other.
Didn't take long to discover Cornwall is England's Florida. Old people. Everywhere.
Listening on Radio 1 people debating whether the Welsh language should continue to exist. The Welsh guy kept bringing up the word island as his only argument on how stupid the english language is. I think for the Welsh to have a case justifying their language, they need to add some vowels to it first.
Visited Port Isaac because it was the location of my favourite show, Doc Martin. Never did I expect to walk onto set while they were filming it. Walked up some random street and there they were acting out a scene. Mouthed I love you to Martin Clunes as I walked passed him. The sun was shining, the doc was in town. Couldn't believe my luck.