The English Bulldog. Strong, yet ugly. Proud yet slobbering. Tenacious yet ridiculous. Not unlike Brits. I have actually become prouder of my heritage since moving here and yet have no desire to go home. Why? Well, actually NY is home. London is a place that I owe a lot to but can't see myself living in at this time and maybe never again. The two and a half years refer to the time since I moved here and also is a reference to the length of time since I was last in England. I just came back last week from a visit to check on my property there and the news is not good.
Back in 2004 I endured break in which led to a fight with the burgular who I disturbed in the act. The burgular stabbed me with a knife and this plus other unpleasant occurences made me feel it was time to get out. Matters were made worse the following month when I disturbed another potential burgular at my other property on Camberwell Church St. Then the basement got flooded.
So, what was so bad about this current visit?
Well nothing really if you don't mind reading the ubiquitous yellow signs that act as a substitute for real policing. Sexual Assault - Can you help? Shooting - Can you help? Assault with a knife - Can you help? Not content with terrifying both populace and visitors alike with these hopeless and alarming signs Britain seeks to create a total climate of fear by sticking very imposing black poles with cameras on top at every turn, every cross roads, shopping center, bus. In fact, they are everywhere. Britain has morphed into the creeping totalitarian world of 1984. King Ken is ruling London and he has decreed that we shall all be televised.
And there is nothing revolutionary about it.
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