Wellington Twice

It’s always been my fantasy (and yours) to date twins, so imagine my surprise and excitement when to bump into both of the Duke of Wellington statues in a Shoreditch bar last night! I managed to strike up a conversation with them by admiring their boots and asking what they were called (duh!), but as we all know playing blonde is VERY helpful while attempting to pick up men. And my old pulling trick must’ve worked because they invited me to join them…

It was a bit boring at first as they generally caught up with each others news, apparently they don’t get together much what with being situated on opposite sides of London. They both griped intermittently about their current habitats; the City Wellington hates all the traffic around the Bank of England, and the Westminster Wellington hates that all he has to look at is Apsley House, “I mean I lived there for long enough” he yelped “I don’t see the need to stare at it for all eternity”. As you can imagine my ego was thoroughly bruised by their lack of attention, and I so sipped down a couple of bottles of wine to numb the pain.

A Horse walked into the bar, and the barman said “No horses allowed”. And then another horse walked into the bar, and the barman was outnumbered so he shut up. And so me Wellington and Wellington were joined by the Copenhagen’s. I had never heard of Copenhagen before, but before the evening was out I was sick of hearing about him “battle of Waterloo” this, “only animal to be given a full military battle” that. It was dull. So I did a few tequila shots to keep things interesting, but it just made things blurry. I couldn’t tell the difference between the two Wellingtons to begin with, and after a couple of hours, I couldn’t really tell them apart from the Copenhagen’s. I can’t even remember how I got home, although I did manage to get back to my own bed some how, and I woke up this morning feeling TERRIBLE and with a nasty metallic taste in my mouth. Fingers crossed my memory doesn’t come back…just in case it wasn’t Wellington.

Boudicca

Any Londoner will tell you that it is imperative to avoid Westminster late at night. It’s just not safe. After Big Ben has struck midnight a quieter, more sinister sound can be heard: The muttered vendettas and coarse oaths of Boudicca and her daughters.

I only ever cross the river at Blackfriars, giving old Boudicca a wide berth. We always seem to rub each other up the wrong way you see, especially when I am menstruating, which I am at the moment, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, last night, I needed to go to Big Ben (real name ‘the clock what is at the top of St Stephens Tower’) to tell the time. As I was craning my eyes upwards at the clock face (I always get too close) I politely turned deaf ears to Boudicca’s bitchy tirade. A nymph she called me. And then she said something about my looking like Nero’s mother, but I drew the line when she shouted “Claudius’ Whore!” in my direction.

“I know you are, I said you are, what am I?” I retorted (because I am good with hecklers).

This started quite a war of words. She told me I had all the personality of a faded mosaic, I countered that her fanny was like an aqueduct. It was harsh, but I was angry. She squealed that I stank like gladiator’s piss. I told her she should be ‘Iceni but not heard’ and this was both a great pun, and factually true her having been dead for near on 2000 years…she should shut the hell up. Unfortunately, this play on words was the last straw: Boudicca and her daughters flipped out and jumped off their carriage and started chasing me across Westminster Bridge. They are much bigger than me and I was scared so I did the only thing I could, I burnt all three of them down. Which was ironic.

I went home all ashy and hot handed and still not knowing what time it was. I had to go back to Westminster this morning and crane up at the massive clock once more. I realised I was late for work, but at least I was safe from that East Anglian cow…I turned around…the statues had GROWN BACK. They were back where they had always been. How weird is that?

Achilles

Hey, did I tell you about the time I went on a date with the Statue of Achilles? Well, you know the Statue of Achilles in Hyde Park? Well I was walking past him the other day and he came to life and stepped down onto the ground and put out his hand to me. I really liked him because he is really muscley and naked and 17 foot tall, so we tried to do it on the grass but he was too big so instead we went round the corner to The Hard Rock Café. I couldn’t eat anything there because I am a vegan, but he had a burger and a banana milkshake. He talked while he ate, but I didn’t mind because he is really clever because he’s from Ancient Greece. I didn’t think we would have much to talk about because he’s so much older than me (3000 years) but we still had loads in common like being sporty and loving our dads and being nearly immortal. But at the end of the meal Achilles yawned and said he better be off, I invited him back to mine (I am quite forward when I like someone) but he said there was no point because he was too big to do it to me. I suggested that we could just cuddle, but he said we could do that just as well at his, so we walked back to Hyde Park and he unanimated or re-ossified and I held on to his leg all night long because I loved him and I didn’t care that I looked like a bloody idiot.