We enjoyed a cultural weeked away, did Mrs P and I. There was something very Mexican and something very English in it for both of us. First stop, Shepherds Bush Empire to watch one of Mrs P’s favourite Mexican bands, Cafe Tacuba. Shepherds Bush is a part of west London that has yet to be gentrified, although the flashy new Westfield shopping mall is perhaps a first step in that direction. I quite like Shepherds Bush. It’s like a lot of the London I remember from my childhood. Edgy, alive and full of character.
The concert was, unsurprisingly, full of Mexicans. Which is a good thing. My lofty proportions meant that I had a fine view of the stage. And Mexicans are nice to be around. I find groups of Mexicans quite delightful in the UK. Groups of Brits abroad are notoriously drunk and obnoxious, Americans loud and brash, and Germans steal all the sunbeds. But Mexicans just get very excited about being Mexican. I know of Cafe Tacuba, and have had a beer in the bar of the same name in Mexico City. But I know only one song of theirs. Which I quite like. And which they no longer play, because it’s a bit rapey, apparently. Not in keeping the the #metoo mood.
The following day we did travel to Stratf’rd upon Avon to enjoyeth a day walking ’round this hist’ric town, behold in at the main Shakespearean sites, has’t a cream tea at the RSC’s rooftop restaurant and then partake in a leisurely cruise up and down the riv’r avon, which wast a most civilis’d and agreeable endeth to our journey.
The cream tea didst not involve a #metoo moment, but th’re wast still the opp’rtunity to causeth offence. Shouldst the cream wend on first or the jam? Get it wrong in some parts of the nation and thee’ll be fast eject’d for thy heathenry. I did play it safe and didst the first one way and then the oth’r scone the opposite. I hath left the establisment happily unmolest’d.