Last weekend was our second time watching the Super Bowl from London. It still felt weird to bring the snacks out at 11:30 p.m. Even though Stephen and I are both trying to work out and eat better, we let that go for one night, because there’s something in American blood that requires you to pig out while watching the Super Bowl, even if the Super Bowl airs at 11:30 at night. We had to watch it on BBC 1 which meant no commercials and an annoying NFL journalist and BBC broadcaster discussing the game during each break. That was probably the weirdest part — not the staying up until 3 a.m. to finish the game, but actually finishing the game and paying attention to it because there’s nothing else to watch. Luckily it was actually a good game. They kept talking about the previous Super Bowl match up between the Giants and Patriots which for some reason I couldn’t remember watching… until I remembered my roommates and I watched it in an attempt to make the Superbowl a “girl’s night” and we spent most of the night in a food coma from the obscene amount of snacks we made (which included candy sushi). Fun times…
Sadly because the Super Bowl ran until 3 a.m., I was not able to get up in time to attend the King’s Troop farewell on the high street the next morning. I admit it was only a few weeks ago that I learned the proper name was “King’s Troop.” I had just called them “the horses.” Every other day or so the horses would process down the street, occasionally waking me up. Last year I took this photo of them from my bedroom window:
For the longest time I didn’t know who they were or where they were going, but I got used to the clacking of horse hooves and occasionally stepping over mounds of horse poo on my walk to the grocery store. It was only when I took a different route home from Sainsbury’s once that I discovered the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery barracks and suddenly the horse processionals made sense. But now there will be no more hoof clacking or poo piles because the troops are moving from their St. John’s Wood barracks, which will be demolished and turned into either a real estate agency storefront or a dry cleaner’s, because that’s what makes up 80% of St. John’s Wood (I kid. It will be turned into luxury housing. Seriously. But there really are way too many real estate agencies and dry cleaners in my neighborhood and not enough restaurants. I just noticed one of the few restaurants on the high street has closed and will be replaced with a real estate agency, which will probably have a killer break room with a full kitchen.)
What I’m trying to say is that I will miss “the horses” and I’m a little sad I didn’t make it to their proper sendoff, which judging by the pictures in the paper, was quite grand. Had I gone I wanted to stop at Tesco afterwards, which seems like it would have been as likely as just popping into Wal-Mart on Black Friday.
This is what I missed:
Photo courtesy Ham & High, where you can read more about the troops and the grand farewell I slept through.
I did make it to Tesco the next day, where I got to see the street still decorated with British flags and the occasional pile of poo.
“Look, Mum, horse poop!” I heard a little girl shout in the most excited tone possible for horse poop. It made me feel a little sad inside…
…until I realized I was feeling sad about horse poop. And that made me sadder.