Where our hero comes to terms with the British system of power

I must say that today was a rather interesting insight into British culture. I seem to have cracked the power system buried within their traditions and cultural collections. The silly hat rules all.

For instance, here is a meagre officer within the Silly Hat Brigade, Mounted Division. 

What you don’t know is that he had just been promoted to a field commander of the Silly Hat Brigade, but his position is so incredibly serious that he couldn’t even let the faintest hint of a smile break through that veneer of utter dedication. Not one slip. With such an incredulously important position, the smallest sign of vulnerability or mercy could spell death on the front lines of London’s tourist sidewalks.

We were told to stick around, given it was almost 11:00 and that’s when a true spectacle begins in the palace courtyard. So we paused a few minutes until the bells of Westminster all broke the serenity that is central London with their synchronous chimes. A dozen mounted men clopped into the courtyard of St. James Palace like wound clockwork on the hour, lining themselves along one side of the large ring that was cordoned off in the centre.

And they stood there. Fairly still, surely, but nothing overbearing on our cognitive load. Just…standing. After a while I was worried The Silly Hat Brigade had let me down, but just at that point another dozen mounted men clomped in from the opposite side of the courtyard, their hats even more ridiculous and extravagant. I could only assume these were the grandmasters of the Silly Hat Brigade, as the regular Inane Bonnet Contingent members were showing them only the utmost of sincere respect.

The Grand Helmets lined themselves opposite the mere lower officers of the SHB, and began glaring them down in what I can only assume was such a historically terrific representation of what a group of virginal cavalry mounted ponces would do were it 200 years ago.

         Though, after another significant amount of time passed, I was wondering if there wasn’t something else at work. Perhaps the gold topknots that had just entered were in fact a neighbouring posse, dissing all over the red topknots turf? What if we had just haphazardly stumbled upon the simmering pot of an ancient gang war, in the vein of Crips vs. Bloods, Montague vs. Capulet?

If it was, I’m glad for it, given that they had obviously previously decided that it was a conflict best decided by a group staring contest between the two parties, making for the tamest of mob battles in recent history. Nonetheless, we decided that it was probably in our best interests if we moved on. A woman cautioned us that there was a second chime to come, when the display would begin in proper, though we were sure it would be of equal utter insignificance and so made our way.

Keeping with the traditional tourist theme of the day, we got on a bus tour of London which was hopeless. It was a live tour, which would have been absolutely lovely if the speaker had used a microphone. He was only on the top level of the double-decker bus, leaving all the passengers stuck below left well out of the loop despite the drivers bellowing calls of reconcile. No, it’s not fine. I paid you 6 times the going rate for a bus ride to hear nothing but the muffled yells of a man being completely drowned out by a poorly maintained double decker bus.

Adjourning ourselves from the grumbling mess of a machine, we found ourselves on Oxford Street; the bustling shopping district of London. Well, at least for the tourists. Every second shop was an extravaganza of cheaply made semi-London related souvenirs probably made by foreign industries to satiate the bare demand of ugly travellers. Every store that wasn’t spruiking the latest in diamond coated iPhone cases sporting a sparkly Union Jack seemed to be cheap department stores, the worst being Mark’s and Spencer’s.

We quickly decided to depart the tourist metropolis that was Oxford Street and wound our way through the backstreets of the City of Westminster. Suddenly, all my cynicism over the day previous washed away with every fantastically English shop corner. I understood what this city was about, the winding alleyways and small back streets. Dining at a local Indian Restaurant for an early lunch left me with a suddenly renewed way of thinking, and we spurred ourselves forth into more of London’s great icons.

Which, after rushing past Westminster Abbey, Parliament House, London Bridge and Tower Bridge, really only left the Tower of London. It’s fascinating that what is basically a huge castle can co-exist right next to bustling metropolis such as London. Equally fascinating, though, was the complete validation in my theory of Silly Hats and their role to play in British hierarchy.

Beefeaters are quite possibly the most ridiculous looking chaps ever to walk the earth. I’m sure they are highly trained, well deserving of their position that seems to be revered in the community…but seriously, just look at this one.

I mean, who could possibly feel intimidated by that? It’s ridiculous. It’s like putting Daffy Duck in a position of Authority.

            I did have a conclusion to put here, but trust me it would make less sense than the rest of this entry given how incredibly exhausted I’m feeling at the moment. Jetlag is weighing down on me at the moment like two Volkswagens being tied to my earlobes. I’ll keep in touch.
Josh