Sometimes you have too much time on your hands. Bank holiday weekend, lovely sunny day, ahhhhhh.
So yesterday I played tennis; oh what a joy, then after lunch mowed the lawn, walked over to Kenwood to get ice creams (about an hour, round trip) but there were about 200 people there with kind’a the same idea, and the ice cream’s not that great, but its charged as if it is, so we came home and drove up to a fab ice cream place in North Finchley. Or, The Land Time Forgot. We got fantastic ice creams from Chix Chox, little Italian restaurant with the best ice cream machine in London, who’ve been there since the Romans invaded Britain in 374 AD, or 762 BC or whenever it was. In fact Chix Chox may be run by those very invaders, they are very old in there. We sat across the road where Costa have placed some chairs in the sunshine. To watch the world go by. And what a world it is. Filled with strange, exotic and very drunk peple (5 in the afternoon), weirdos, freaks, Poles and oddities. Not so much like being in another country (3 miles from home), more like being on another planet. So we returned to the genitility and peace of home. And I watched tv with Rachie. Something I seldom do during daylight hours.

And there’s was little on, after I saw Athletico Madrid lose their football match. So we watched a real fave of mine (even though I’ve only seen it about 3 times), American Guns. The place where ‘the right to bear arms’ is taken beyond any known extreme. The place where Charlton Heston is probably buried. This store, in Colorado, not only sells guns, but makes them, customises them, turns them into nuclear devices, whatever you would or could want in a gun they will oblige. They buy guns too. And in yesterday’s show the shop owner visited a guy to buy some of his ‘collection’. The guy, who didn’t appear particularly bright, could have been from North Finchley, was very rich. And opened a sealed vault of 3 rooms to show what was basically a gun shop of his own. Rows and rows, racks and racks, cabinet after cabinet filled with weaponry. An army would be proud of his collection, but may find it a little excessive in quantitiy. Richie (the good ole boy store owner) was interested in some machine guns. Like, fully automatic, proper, 30 shots a second killing machines. And this guy had dozens. Literally. Putin would have been envious.

Then a guy came into the store to get an ‘old family heirloom’ (probably means one of his grand-daddies used it to shoot up a school in 1937) converted into a ‘weapon for household protection’. And he knew what he wanted, how aggressive it had to be, how powerful, with a light on it (burglars come at night) and what colour he wanted it. And this guy was a pastor. A fucking priest. Who wants to flaunt the 5th (or maybe sixth or seventh, depending on biblical convention chosen) commandment and get hisself an ultimate killin’ machine. In Colorado no-one could see any irony is this at all. There again G-d herself (always politically correct, to a fault) did some flaunting with Sodom & Gomorrah, with the Red Sea closing and a zillion other ‘acts of God’ that resulted in mass murder of one kind or another. But this isn’t a biblical debate; THIS IS GUNSSSSSS. BIG FUCKING GUNS FIRING BIG FUCKING BULLETS AND LOTS OF ‘EM.

I caught the end of the amazing Real Madrid match in which they were losing at home until the 92nd minute when Ronaldo (who else?) scored yet another remarkable goal. But really remarkable.

I’m glad I’m Spanish; English football is shit, whereas ‘ours’ is wonderful and we’re all set for an incredible finale.

Happy Bank Holiday Monday

A xxxx