A London bbq

Oh, Britons are so weird!

Their classy and composed speaking, their messy and uneducated eating, their stone cold behaviour and aggressively drunk manners along with their unstable position in relationships – distant, indifferent, uninterested. Sometimes you wonder about what they feel like, if they feel something; how they handle their daily life, their BBC, their afternoon tea, and that thing they call ‘latte(y)’.

LATTE(y)???
Yeah, apparently they’ve discovered some evolution of cappuccino for us still unknown.

Speaking of which, our friends threw a bbq a couple of days ago to celebrate a mate’s bday.
With the rare fantastic weather being the perfect background – steaks, burgers, sausages and much more flipping on the grill, diffusing a drooling flavour that accompanied the entertaining tunes played through the Bluetooth speaker – 30ish people were swallowing cans of beer like they were nuts.
And sure thing, they were really nuts!

Among the number of countries that showed up on that day, I can recall Spain, Brazil, Austria, Germany, Peru, Slovakia, Italy and, well well well, England. Yes, one of the sophisticated Britons had honoured us with his presence. And whether it was for the alcohol making them sociable or the folks there just being naturally friendly, all went along with each other – judging by the loud Spanish-blasted laughter and the Italians-led group dancing.

You know London itself is practically a huge bbq – a place where different types of meats are cooked on the same irons creating a unique taste.

With a closer look though, I realised that we strangers were the ones who were grouping up per country/language, setting the others aside. The English dude instead was the only one who was ping-ponging from group to group to socialise with everybody.

Wait a minute.
We often talk about Brexit, about being left apart from a number of Britons who are segregating us for being immigrants. Whereas, sometimes I feel like it’s us who are exiting them – taking ownership of a space that doesn’t belong to us and we should appreciate more, and not being excluding individuals who are giving us the opportunity to remain.

So while I was totally zoned out having this random thought, I turned towards him and he was sitting there choking himself with a stripe of steak he hadn’t cut.

“Oh, dude, I can’t take you anywhere.”

Jim
The Britalian Post

Resolutions

Have you drawn your list of resolutions for the New Year yet? More importantly, how many items on that list have you started yet?

January has come (to an end). The New Year has come. And so have a number of resolutions, right? It’s always something about “I’m going to work on my career”, “I’m going to start a new hobby”, “I’m going to be a better person.” The more common: “I’m going to start a strict diet.” So you see everybody digging into soups, raw veggies, fruit; no more fats, gluten, chocolate or alcohol. You see them exercising, going to the gym regularly and cooking plain chicken breasts – which, if you buy at Sainsbury’s, I’m not sure of how much of real chicken is contained in those super pumped fillets. Well, better that crap than KFC, Mc Donald’s, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Papa John’s and…hey how about a beer at the pub and a double pepperoni with cheese-stuffed crust tonight?! Come on, we’re allowed dietary fails now and then, do you really want to be that strict?

One certainly has to be allowed dietary fails now and then, and there’s always going to be one thing, one weakness you can’t just give up, like a free day diving in chocolate. But for some strange reason, one has to be really strict with diet, as well as with any other resolution.

[Wow you should’ve seen the heroic sprint of the sixty-ish-year-old man who’s just literally thrown himself through the tube’s closing doors. I assume his resolution would be something like “I’ll no longer fucking miss a train.” Sure, welcome to London!]

All you have to do is to be firm and resolute; ask yourself, how seriously do I want to pursue it? How committed am I to win over my hunger raptus? 

Despite the nature of the resolution you choose to pursue, one has to simply be strong enough to say “No.”

Do you want a piece of chocolate? No!
Do you want pasta? No!
Do you want to go get a burger? No!
Do you want a beer? No!

Do you want to go out with me? No!

See, practically a resolution is some sort of desire that one decides to give up.
And the more you’re into giving up what you like, the more stubborn you become and, somehow, capable of predicting the consequences of your actions. So the resolution itself ends up turning into some future prediction, a set of “I will” or “I won’t” statements that draw a clear path to your personal success. And among the great number of “will’s” or “won’t’s”, even a normal person can become a prophet of truths.

That Russian girl was so good at it. A seer indeed. What was her name? Something like Tamara or Erika, I’m guessing. A lonesome and sporty girl, fit and good looking. An innocent face, a breathtaking smile. She would mostly be hiding in her room – afraid of the outside – but when she popped up, she certainly couldn’t pass unobserved.
On one day, she decided to turn up and their looks immediately crossed. Bam!
Few hours on a Sunday lunch with friends and they would find an intense but fuzzy connection. Both mentally and physically. A thunderbolt – a perfect match that didn’t come from Tinder, Bumble, Happn, or any other of the dating apps. Which basically was what she wanted: something real, not based on some pervert online chatting. Something that could last or, at least, be worth the moment. This was her resolution. In fact, one amongst the many. 

From the very beginning, she would be capable of predicting that the situation wouldn’t go the long way; that the moment couldn’t be lasting more than just a moment, that her path to success could be compromised and…you’re too late, pal! She had set her own resolutions. She was already saying “No” to most things, and you fall right in between. And the more she was saying “No”, the more stubborn she was becoming, the more capable of predicting the consequences.

Although, she had only one weakness, one thing she couldn’t easily give up: chocolate.

And in that very moment, while he was holding her tight, firmly looking into her eyes, sliding his finger over her cheek, gently, she realised she had run out of it…

…kiss me.

Jim
The Britalian Post

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