Monday

Monday was essentially work from 8:00 a.m. till 9:00 p.m. I did get to enjoy a traditional English breakfast of fried eggs, toast, and sausage (both regular and blood). Blood sausage was o.k., but I wouldn't go out of my way to get it.

Loyds Bar

To finish the conversation with Richard:

He suggested I try fish and chips and drink a Marsten Pedigree. I asked "Can I buy a beer on Sunday?"

He looked at me hard for the first time (he was driving) and said in a raised voice "Can I buy a beer on Sunday? Is that a real question?"

"In Georgia we can't buy beer or liquor on Sunday"

"Yeah we've heard about that, some religious thing right? Do you really think you can affect people's souls by not letting them get a beer on Sunday?"

I'd never given it that thought. Another example of something becoming so esconced in our being that it is not questioned.

"What should I eat for breakfast?"

"Oh, fried eggs, blood sausage, and tomatoes"

So, after checking in, washing up and getting a quick power nap I head out in search of Loyds. It was 80 degrees, so by the time I got there I was ready for a beer. I went through a rapid learning curve on British Pubs/restauraunts in that you sit yourself, decide what you want, then go back to the bar and order. The bartender was very helpful. I ordered beer-battered fish and chips.

"Course or fine chips?"

I assume that's steak fries vs shoestring fries

"Course"

"Green peas or mushy peas?"

"Um, what are mushy peas?"

"What are mushy peas?" (I've notice people hereabouts tend to repeat your question before answering) "Mushy peas are green peas that are mushed like potatoes, then they add cream, herbs, and...... um other shit they have in the kitchen."

"O.K. I'll try mushy peas. May I ask how you eat fish and chips here, I mean how do you dress it up?"

"How do you eat it? Malt vinegar on the fish, English mustard on the chips"

The Marsten Pedigree was a good beer, kinda like a Killian's Red (my favorite beer) but less so.

When the 'lass' brought my food out with the vinegar and mustard I dug in.

I just have to say, the person who told me you can't get good food in Birmnghm is crazy. I am so getting Rootietoot to make mushy peas when I get home.

A private tour of Birmnghm

So, coming out of "Baggage reclaim" and going to the taxi area, there's a man with a sign reading 'Mr. Daddio.'

I put my hand out and say "Hi, I'm Sweet Daddio. I guess you're here to give me a ride"

Small shock at the offer of a handshake, but he gives me a good strong grip "Pleased to meet you Mr. Daddio. I'm Richard"
"Please call me Sweet"
"Alright, this all your bags?"
"Yes- I need to get some local currency". 2 minutes later, after a stop at an international ATM, we are walking through the lot to his "car." He is not a taxi, but more what we would a limo. It's a 4 door sedan. Bags go in the trunk then he opens the back door. I ask "Am I required to ride in back? Or can I ride up front and see where we are going?"
"Please do, if that's what you want. Come ahead."

Let me say, the 'Midlands' British accent is very understandable.

It was a most enjoyable ride. I learn that Birmnghm is England's answer to Detroit, with all British car making being done in the immediate area. We rode by Rover and Jaguar factories.

Directly he asks "I'm being paid flat rate to drive you, and you're my only fare today. Would you like to see Birmnghm?"

Of course I did. I comment on the number of Mosques, complete with prayer towers. This sets him on a rant, the gist of which is that the Turks are hard working, the Pakistanis are so-so, and that for some reason there are a large number who call themselves Palastinians and that they are gangsters who do not work and live off government assistance.

I ask about local food, and mention that the area has a poor reputation regarding food.

"No No No- we are breakfast eaters in this region. All our creative efforts go into breakfast, but you can get a good meal at tea as well. You up to walking this evening? Go 5 blocks south and 1 block west from your hotel and go to Loyds Bar."

Pub review coming up.

So, how does a guy....

get ot be just a little bit "dangerous?"

all my adult life people, especially women, have judged me to be "safe." Whenever we are out (the beach, NY city, etc) people ask me to take their picture with their cameras because I look "safe" or "trustworthy." Complete strangers have even trusted me with their kids for a few moments. I guess I'm all... somebody (Ward Cleaver, maybe?) and not the least bit Hugh Jackman.

Today on the flight from Amsterdam to Birmingham (pronounced Birmnghm) I was seated next to a lady with a midlands English accent who was my age, maybe a year or 2 younger. We talked prior to take-off, but me being 6'3" and 265 lbs, and her having a Reubinesque figure we were a little tight against the arm rest between us. After we were airborn she folded the armrest up then shifted her weight to her right hip, which pressed her left hip fully against me. She must have felt me tense up because she turned and said "It's alright love- I'm safe and so are you."

I replied "Oh no, I might be dangerous and one of those men your mother warned you about."

"No, you're quite harmless. Your eyes give you away" and with that she turned back around again pressed against me with her left side.

So, how do I lose the Ward Cleaver and get a little Wolverine going?