Friday night, Kim and Martin meet us in Covent Garden, where, despite the chilly gray skies, our spirits are sunny. We wander the Leicester Square area, stopping for hot coffees, cold beers (Martin has an alcoholic cider that smells heavenly), and, finally, really tasty Thai food.
Our chat covers a multitude of subjects, including my recent post on how religion saturates life, especially in the Southern U.S. (Even here, the idea of a bank flashing Scripture on its outdoor signage makes people shiver.)
Kim perks up and tells us an interesting story that casts the South in an entirely different light: a UK reality show recently sent folks on a cross-country drive from New York to New Orleans. Along the way, they passed through Alabama. "The producers thought it would be funny to see what would happen if, right before people drove their cars through Alabama, they pulled over and spray painted slogans on the sides of their vehicles … you know, things like ‘I am a Homosexual.’ The minute they pulled up at a gas station, the woman behind the counter placed a call, and within seconds, a mob of men in pickup trucks with guns appeared out of nowhere!"
Yep, I imagine so. Good old Alabama. That’s my home state, it is.
(Later, as Clyde and I wandered through Piccadilly Circus, I did wander how locals would react if we were wearing sandwich boards emblazoned with the phrase: "The Queen is a Slut!" Would that experiment say more about us … or them?)
Add comment