The Antisocial Socialist

 Critical support for the head of lettuce.

I'm so sorry. It seems like everywhere you look, where there's ostensibly democracy, people make the worst possible choice and elect some vicious buffoon who just wants to watch the world burn. I don't want to talk about it—there are a lot of Very Smart People in the UK who can analyze these things better than I can from over here—and I'm sure that you don't want to dwell on it. Go get drunk.

As you're drinking, I want to share a little anecdote from this side of the pond in the hopes that it might cheer you up. This happened earlier as you guys were at the polls.

My co-worker burst into my class. "Andrew Scheer resigned!" We did some happy flaily arms and went back to teaching.

Between classes, I checked my phone. Then I went into her classroom.

"Do you know why he resigned?" She normally sees news before I do, so obviously she didn't or she'd have mentioned it.

"Because he lost the election?"

This is a reasonable thing to assume. See, the Canadian voting public also makes really poor decisions, and Scheer, part of the worldwide ascendant fash, failed to beat a vacuous born-to-rule scandal ridden liar who'd failed to deliver on any of his election promises and had been photographed blacking up on too many occasions to count.

But it was so much better than that.

"He was caught siphoning Conservative Party funds to pay for his children's private school."

Readers, I got to tell someone this on her birthday.

The lesson in this is that while we are, across the world, largely governed by bad actors who have learned that they are well and truly above the law, eventually they will piss off their own people and eat each other's faces. You are going to outlive Trump. You'll outlive Bolsonaro. You'll outlive Boris. Even Putin. You have to. And eventually you will live to see them go down in flames. They will eventually do something so beyond the pale that even their own side can't excuse it, and then the knives will come out.

Until then, stay strong, keep fighting, and remember that the workplace and the streets will always be more important battlegrounds than the voting booths.

BoJo has done the thing. The Queen allowed it because the monarchy is not, in fact, the progressive last defence of democracy that its advocates claim it to be.

Here's a roundup of protests.

Here is a petition that you can sign if you're in the UK.

UK friends: I love you all; good luck and solidarity.

Non-UK friends: Signal-boost for your UK followers.

Second verse, same as the first.

( cut )

Last day in London. Unless something goes horribly wrong (I did mention that I’m paranoid about travel logistics), I fly out at Arse O’Clock tomorrow.

I met pofflewomp and we wandered various squares, visited the adorable October Gallery, saw Jeremy Bentham’s waxy corpse, then met up with smhwpf and did more blue-plaque-themed wanders and Indian food (are you sensing a theme?). I’m currently ensconced in an AirB&B (yes. I know.) that is actually as good as it sounds and is close to the airport.

London was like hot soup today so that was good in the sense that while I adore this city, a thing that I really, really love is not having the skin melt off my skeleton. Just one sleep until I get to see my kitties and my air-conditioned home.

( photos )

I met up with notasupervillain at, of course, Platform 9 3/4 (and was pleased to discover that it’s an Ingress portal, naturally). We heard a rumour that the worst people in the country were electing the worst possible person to lead the country, so a fun thing to do would be to head down to Westminster and see what was going on.

Well, we expected some big protests, or something, but there was really only one guy in a Boris mask and a clown suit, some pro-Remain people with EU flags, and some pro-Leave people with very large signs.



And then we heard it.

( photos )

“If a chap can’t compose an epic poem while he’s weaving a tapestry, he had better shut up, he’ll never do any good at all.” — William Morris

THAT’S RIGHT EVERYONE there is a William Morris museum in his old house.

Okay so William Morris is the most relatable historical figure. He was bougie as anything and wrote utopian science fiction and did LARP before it was called that, and loved pretty things, and also he was a hardcore socialist and published books on the Paris Commune and Kropotkin. And also was just the most brilliant artist, which I am not, but he basically sits at the intersection of all of my interests.





Then we took a long walk and met some boat cats, which apparently belong to people on the boats and I can’t take them home with me, no matter how much they clearly wanted to come home with me. There were even baby swans (less friendly).







Apparently there is a Canadian bar here. It looks like the worst thing ever and has a fuckzillion types of poutine. I am embarrassed for my country.

I heard it from reliable sources that when in London, you shouldn’t spend all your time in London, so we went to Brighton. It was rainy and gloomy, perfect seaside weather for someone who still, shamefully, loves the Smiths.

Brighton is gorgeous and twee. The Royal Pavilion is extra. The museum and art gallery is idiosyncratic but legit good and had an exhibit on trans identity and one on nature photography. There are lots of exciting coffee shops. Probably exciting pubs too, but given the hangover, I had a sober day.

Some photos:

So much walking up hills. So worth it.

First up: Hampstead Heath. For someone who walked up multiple mountains last year, I am awful at hills. But I am going to be so fit when I get back home, omg.

Then Bucket List Item #1: Highgate Cemetery.

If I had to come up with the names of two men who are among the reasons I turned out this way, you would find both of those people buried here.



Note: No other gravestone has a lot number. Someone just put it there.

Douglas Adams sparked my love of sci-fi and British humour and as a wee tiny child of 8, I had most of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy memorized, even though at 8 there was no way I could have gotten all the references. But it was my favourite book for years and years.



I left a pen on his grave. It’s my only pen, so I guess I’ll have to get another one on the way home.

And of course, the big man himself, and I imagine I don’t need to explain why visiting his grave was the top thing I wanted to see in London:



(I have many other photos; I am sparing you b/c I am nice.)



Bonus Malcolm McLaren as he’s there too:



Then we went on a Hidden London tour of the abandoned station at Highgate. It was meant to be a Big Deal but war and economics interfered, and it was decommissioned. Now nature is reclaiming it and the city has decided to just leave it alone and let it be a sanctuary for endangered bats.



I have a lot of other pictures of it too, but for some reason Flickr isn’t allowing me to upload anything horizontal, so you’ll have to wait to see those after I edit them.

Then we went to Manuelita, a play about Manuela Saenz, a Latin American revolutionary and lover of Simón Bolívar, which was excellent and surprisingly entertaining.

Now I am off to bed.

Today we did All the Things: Went to Soho, wandered around bookstores and had excellent Chinese food, took the riverboat to the Tate Modern and saw the Natalia Goncharova exhibit, went to Camden, had the best vegan pies ever, and explored a few of the local pubs, including the famous World’s End.

( “photos!” )