Considering the fact that yesterday was the longest day known to man, I sleep in until about noon. Nick and I find out that the FA Cup final is at 2:30, so we grap some brunch (bagel with cream cheese and sun-dried tomatoes. Why have I never thought of this before???) and head for Fulham. The first pub we try is so packed that I end up straddling the door jam and not being able to see the match at all. Nick says the guy beside him smells. So we move on. A little ways down the street is a quieter bar that clearly converts to a half swanky, half sketch dance club at night. Katie meets us there and we watch the rest of the match. To the extreme joy of all of the blue-clad Chelsea fans, they snag the title and the streets fill with cheering.
Even the police officers record the moment because such fandom must be documented.
I can only equate it to SEC football in fan intensity. Try riding the tube after a match. Then you’ll see.
Later that evening we meet up with Ryan and Bree to tour Tate Modern which is having some sort of anniversary celebration and is therefore open late.
My favorite quote of the night is the moment Katie walks into the Andy Warhol Cow room
and says, “I suddenly remember why I hate modern art.” The place is pretty bizarre, but has some really cool stuff. Like a giant outlet plug.
Unfortunately my camera battery dies about a quarter of the way through, so pictures are minimal.
LONDON, WHAT?
In keeping with the modern art thing, we'll go with something postmodern looking.
Dear London. You tricked me. I thought this was a giant coffee mug. And then it wasn't. WHAT?
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