The Cavalry Has Arrived

After meeting my College Proffessor for afternoon coffee at the British Library the other day, I decided to take a ramble through Kensington Gardens. Of course, this involved actually walking to Queensway from Kings Cross, which took a few hours, but I was adamant (for reasons I cannot actually recall!) to walk through Kensington Gardens that day, so I made the trek.

By the time I got there, I was absolutely knackered, and secretly hoped someone would give me a lift in their car as they saw me trudging through the streets of Queensway, or that someone would let me have their bicycle out of pity. It was at this point I heard a slow march behind me. I thought to myself, 'who on earth would be marching in this scorching heat?' Then I turned, and it was truly a magnificent sight. At least 50 soldiers were marching right behind me, all monotonously, step after step, putting my little preamble to shame. I asked one of them. 'are you guys Territorial Army, Royal Marines, or the Commandos?'

He answered in a very manly voice: '...no....we're the Cavalry!'

The cavalry!! I couldn't match them for physical strenth, no matter how much I tensed my shoulders. These guys were made of pure British beef, so I thought I would provide them with a comment on the act of marching, for reflection. I said, 'yes, it is indeed a fine thing, walking, isn't it? It is such an interesting endeavour, as humans, we even invent other ways in which to do it, like marching.' The soldier gave me a 'one more word and I'll thump the life out of you' look, and said, 'yeah, whatever you say.'; Charming, but then, we never associated any charm with the cavalry!

Aslom In The White House

The other day, whilst researching for my dissertation on walking, I decided some 'fieldwork' was necessary and, as it was swelteringly hot, I headed for Regents Park. Unfortunately for me, so did everyone else, which meant it was packed with sunbathers and the like, with no transquility being bestowed by the park upon the walker. I walked the outskirts until I had completed nearly the whole park, and felt I had taken a long enough walk. It was at this point that I realised I had forgotten my wallet...and I was thirsty. I could not just walk up to somebody and ask for a drink, and yet I was incredibly thirsty.

I heard a lot of loud music coming from outside the park itself. I therefore climbed out, and found myself in front of one of the many huge Regent's Park mansions, one of which is owned by Mick Jagger, I believe. One of these walk holding a private garden party. I needed a drink. I untucked my shirt, rolled up the sleeves, put on my shades, and headed in. I waved hello to a few of the refined, posh women who were in the hallway, and apologised to them for being late. Late? I know, I wasn't even invited, but I couldn't blow my cover. They were a bit tipsy and, giving me the once over, said I was right on time, and should head out into the garden. I did, and it was the most magnificent garden I had ever seen. The lawn was beautifully maintained, there was a huge barbecue, a set of swings. I turned around, and saw the huge white mansion I had walked into. It was like being in the White House! I ,mingled, got my drink, had some salad, and five minutes had passed without anyone noticing that actually, nobody was acquainted with me! I decided I should leave before someone did, and had me arrested! I said my farwells, and walked out, right out the front door!

THAT was a stunt I aim never to pull again. I'm only young once though, and know that I will never be on any sort of salary to be able to affor such a place, so I needed to see what it was like. Why did nobody throw me out? Well, it seems that there are certain rules of sociability which are unwritten and, therefore, can be worked within by individuals. I had the apparel, the behaviour, the sophisticated talk of the other posh party-goers, and they therefore mentally accepted that either I was one of them, or was crazy enough to walk into a psoh party uninvited. Though the latter was true (minus the thing about being crazy, or not!), they believed the former was the case, due to its being more probable.

Maybe Its Because I'm a Londoner...

I finished work today and decided that the best course of action I should take, to prepare myself for my MA Dissertation on walking the street is, well, to walk home (central London's Edgware Road), from Whitechapel, in East London. Crazy? I didn't think so, after all, its only 45 minutes drive.

It started pleasantly enough: 10 minutes of walking took me from the slummish area of East London where my College is, to the busy heart of Liverpool street. Men in suits, women in black shits and white shirts, all looking immaculate. What was most peculiar was that I was walking home at 5.30pm- a time which, I have seen today, is when the capital decides to 'down a few pints'. Everywhere I looked, the men and women were out in the chairs located outside the pubs, drinking, smiling, and relaxing. In Liverpool street especially, there are whole arcades dedicated to inviting drinkers to gather, and gather they certainly do. I decided to walk through one such arcade, and came out feeling as if I had knocked back a few pints myself! Such is the atmosphere. I mention this at the length I have because I had always 'connoted' (a new word I had taught my students today) Liverpool street and the City with the high end of society. 'THIS is civility', I would tell my friends as we drove past Liverpool street. I believed everything else was just the normal, the vulgar. I have seen from my walk today, however, that these 'high end' civilains are as alcohol crazed as any other people, if not more. They can afford to drink to the excessive levels they do. I have of late been trying to locate the source of the current rise in teenage binge drinking and alcoholism, and I think I have found it. I am not at all saying that the wonderful men and women in suits in Liverpool street are to blame-well, at least not entirely. The blame is on us (well, 'us' in the sense of the entire British society-I myself do not drink), the British public of adults. As we sink to new levels of depravity and excess, we can not expect much from our younger generations who look up to us. If we want to sink to such levels, we can only expeecrt as much from our younger teenagers. We need to be more responsible in terms of the role models we portray on a societal level. It is easy to act as if we are youngsters, perhaps in a vain hope not to accept that we are getting old, and that we need to set an example. If we did so, I believe we would see an improvement in the younger generation. Until we do so, we can not expect anything more from the youngers aspect of society. If we are worried about the levels of depravity and excess they are falling into on a general level, we need only to look in a mirror. We have come out the way we have due to our parentage, whose 'old fashioned' techniques, rules, and requirements which remind us of the 60s and 70s made us who we are today. What sorts of rules do we support, follow, and uphold?

I feel I have spoken enough. This was just something which became apparent to me today. I also ended up walking for 3 hours, realising that one of the better things about London (aside from the above) is that its people are so diverse. I noted the change in behaviour, clothing, even the mannerisims of people as I walked from Whitechapel, Aldgate, Liverpool street, Old Street, Islington, KIng's Cross, Marylebone, and Edgware Road.

When I have rested a while, I hope to relate my findings on the peoples from the above locations, as well as the usefulness of John Gay's poem Trivia: Or, The Art of Walking The Street-I followed its rules today, but here must I retire to my bed.