But in Bolton, Greater Manchester, up to 500 drunken football fans attacked police in a major disturbance.
Sigh. Yesterday England lost to Portugal, in the middle of a heat wave. I ended up watching it from a small cafe on Portobello Road. Pearly and I were going to wander around, following some yobs to see if we could witness any hooliganism, but instead we went shopping.
It's been hot. really hot. climbing steadily from 27 to 33 since last week. No humidity though, thank god.
Friday: Canada Day in Trafalgar Square (not even July 1st yet). Stopping by for 10 mins satisfied my taxpayer's curiosity, but since Matt used to work at Canada House, that's where we spent the evening. It was basically a reunion night for the Canadian population in London. I went to Oxford St. in mid-afternoon to check out Top Shop (a bit disappointing).
After Trafalgar Square, we wandered north up through Covent Garden, took the tube home and had a big pitcher of Pimm's in the garden; I've decided Pimm's is the English sangria, and I love it.
The tube ride home was most amusing; first we were befriended by some chivalrous Ukrainians (sweet but disappointed by Ukraine's loss that night). Matt ended up telling them to meet us at a very very rough pub in Mile End for the England game Saturday. He swears he was trying to tell them to keep away. I'm pretty sure that's the exact opposite of what they understood. (Even the bystander opposite us interjected his agreement with that statement.) I'm rifling through the papers now to find any reports of nice gentle Ukrainians slaughtered with beer bottles in East London.
Not to mention, the highlight of the night: 5 minutes after the departure of the Ukrainians, this happened.
Very very drunk young big guy in suit, sleeping on the shoulder of whoever took the seat beside him. His rather slender mate couldn't and didn't dare wake him up. He plugged his nose and pushed the big guy over twice, to no effect. (We were all sitting there oohing and keeping score.) Finally his mate gingerly pokes him into semi-consciousness near the right stop (ours). Getting the drunk one off the train is like trying to drive a bear. He staggers out to the platform and sets off for the wrong end of the platform; finally sat down on a bench where he probably stayed til dawn.
