The End Of The World

Ok, so. I went and visited Nick (and Debbie, hi Debbie!) in London the other day. We went to Camden to eat half priced food that the stalls were trying to get rid of (a filling meal for only 3 pounds!) and people watch.
English girls and I are WORLDS apart. I keep watching them (I hope not creepily) and trying to figure them out. They all seem to wear fashion uniforms. They make Americans seem very dull and almost puritanical by comparison with their up to the minute style. Which does not mean that many girls have GOOD style. It's true they are trendier than American girls but the theory seems to be that the more trendy items you can wear/carry the better you look, whether or not said items fit you or are flattering. I am calling this the Topshop Phenomena. Most stores of similiar prices and client-base and quality (H&M, Wet Seal to some extent etc.) Topshop does not release a "line" every season. Instead, it pelts the customer with clothing that changes weekly. Some women go every lunch break because if something comes in one week, it can be sold out the next and never be seen again. This means that trends can be weekly. This week: leggings and Uggs. Next week: minis and stilettos. And because it's pretty cheap, it's possible to buy things weekly and discard them lightly.

Back to Camden. Nick, Nick's friends Gloria (and later Debbie) and Carlos and I went to a pub called The End of the World. It's supposed to be a big punk club but there was nary a good mohawk in site. Instead it was filled with Topshoppers wearing the latest "punk" gear and heels and lots and lots of makeup. I was getting ready to feel out of place and slightly uncomfortable amid these birds in their fine feathers (yes, that cliche has been done to death, but it was like being in a park filled with parading peacocks) when Nick pointed out that I was wearing my septum jewelery which was as much makeup as I needed.
I like Nick.

We found a table near a fire, which was nice because the pub was cold. Some guy in a striped shirt (I am going to call him Striped Shirt) came up to the fire too, and sat kind of at our table at the corner that was closest to the fire. We ignored him because he was obviously drunk and a little creepy. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned over them, towards the fire. Every so often a security guard would walk by and tap him on the head and tell him that he couldn't sleep there. He'd prove that he was awake and they'd walk off. I went up to get a round for my party and the bartender warned me that if I was also buying a drink for Striped Shirt that they would kick us out when they kicked him out. I assured her that I wouldn't and she let me have my drinks. Since they cut him off at the bar, he was trying to get other people to buy him drinks but no one would do it.
At about 12 a guy walked up to our table and asked us if Striped Shirt was our friend. We chorused "NO!" And he said that he and his friends had been watching us for a little while and talking about what jerks we were for ignoring our clearly drunk friend who was about to pass out into the fire. We set him straight finally.
Damn. This story is hilarious when told. I am too tired right now to write it differently. So, it will have to stand as is. Maybe when I am less sleepy I will attempt to write it in a funnier way. Or I will lose interest.