London Baby Yeah

There is something strange going on here. I feel like there is something growing out of me. Out of my hip and it's got hair. It speaks and it has unbelievable amount of opinions. It doesn't like this and that, and it complains quite a bit. It has a friend. The friend isn't really a museum person and doesn’t like looking at some old paintings because mother nature does so much better job than Van Gogh and Da Vinci ever did. Oh no, never mind. It’s just my mother and her fellow counselor friend who have permanently attached themselves to me. Make a mental note: Never go on a week long holiday with your neurotic mother and her unbelievably clingy friend without some kind of a back-up plan.

I like this place. I would like to live here. I think I will at some point.

I was sitting in a chair in some side street the other day while my mother was trying out a suede jacket way out of her budget. It looked good on her but this was the 10th jacket she tried on that day so I was just all jacket-shopped out and was paying no attention to my surroundings. Suddenly a huge slightly intoxicated Italian man stood right in front of me and spit out: You French? I told him no and said with pride Icelandic and smiled. Ah, I have a very good Icelandic friend, Gummi, maybe you know him. I call him now he said and pulled out his mobile. He dialed some numbers and then handed me the phone. Er... hello? It surely was Gummi on the other end, a middle aged man somewhere in Iceland, who seemed just as bewildered as me over this phone call. I explained what was going on and then Gummi told me that I should ask for his discount if I decided to buy something. Then he hung up and I handed the odd Italian, who was now busy coming on to some Spanish girl, his phone back and hurried out. My mum did not buy the jacket even though we could have got it with Gummi’s discount.