As I enter the southbound Northern Line platform at Tottenham Court Road, I hear an eerie, unmistakable sound: weeping. Not mere crying, not muffled sobs, but genuine, wretched, uncontrollable weeping.

People often ask what things I miss most about the United States. The first thing is always the friends and family members who live there. The second thing is always living in a country whose fate my vote can govern. The third thing varies from day to day, but right now, it’s “Survivor: All Stars.”

In the wake of the Iraqi torture scandal, and in the face of steadily decaying public support for his role in the Iraq war, Tony Blair is now facing calls from within the Labour Party to resign.
Whether or not he does, it seems unlikely that the Labour Party’s two main rivals–the Tories and the Liberal Democrats–will be able to find make much hay from Blair’s troubles, unless they can find a viable alternative to present to the public. Such an alternative candidate for Prime Minister would have to be charismatic and witty. He would have to be a seasoned politician, as comfortable making backroom deals as winning the hearts of the hoi polloi. He would need a keen mind to grapple with domestic policy, and enough gravitas to provide international credibility.
It sounds like a tall order–but such a man does exist, and fortunately for the Lib Dems, he is both a Democrat and a liberal. His name is William Jefferson Clinton, and ever since he stopped being president of the United States, he’s had plenty of time on his hands.

Apologies for the lateness of this week’s Something Interesting. We were in Edinburgh for the weekend, and I’m trying to catch up.
Lauren and I recently spent an afternoon in Highgate Cemetery, in North London. Like most cemeteries, it’s a wonderfully photogenic place. For proof, click here

A few brief additions to my prior column on the UK’s drinking culture:

Lauren and I went to a concert recently at the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. (As a side note, I was always under the impression that it was St. Martin who was in the fields, not the Academy. In my original version of this entry, I stated that as a fact, only to be corrected by alert reader James Maysonett. It turns out that St. Martin lived on an island, not amongst the fields, whereas the church in his honor was erected in the midst of fields in 1222. I blame my mistake on the unclear way the Academy has chosen to hyphenate its name. It ought to be the Academy-of-St-Martin In The Fields.)
In any case, the concert was good, but what impressed me most was something I saw, not something I heard.

Today’s something interesting is a new website I’ve put together: Londonfilter. It’s still in Beta, meaning I’m still looking for bugs. It should be pretty
self-explanatory; it’s a place where people can post and discuss links to
interesting London-related links and articles. Take a look at it–or, even
better, sign in and start posting:
Londonfilter

Today, Lauren and I are driving from London to Cambridge. This will be our first time driving on the left side of the road, but how hard can it be? In fact, as a southpaw, I might even find it more natural than driving on the right. We’ve spoken to some American friends of ours who have driven in the UK before, and they advise that, whenever we make a right turn, we should both loudly say “Wide right turns,” to make sure we don’t end up driving into oncoming traffic. Other than that, they are sure we’ll find it easy.

Our flat is being visited today by a professional visitor. This is actually how she signs her letters: “Susan Watson, Visitor.” I would like to imagine that, before landing the job, she had to undertake intensive studies in tea sipping, biscuit consumption, and mantelpiece-photograph commenting. Sadly, the truth of the matter is that her workday consists of visiting flats on behalf of their owners, to ensure that the roof is not in danger of collapse and the walls are not covered with mold.

Particularly for an American, London is a breathtakingly old city, packed with history. Lest you forget this fact, the city is filled with buildings adorned with plaques that tell you when Samuel Pepys lived there, or which novels Charles Dickens wrote while residing at that address. There are plaques not just for obvious London suspects like Gilbert & Sullivan and Winston Churchill, but for foreigners like Frederic Chopin (who gave his last public performance at #4 St. James Place) and Karl Marx(who lived at 28 Dean Street while writing Das Kapital). George Frederick Handel has a plaque at 25 Brook Street, and next door at 23 Brook Street is a plaque to Jimi Hendrix–as if some cosmic force has ensured that musicians in London are arranged in strictly alphabetical order.
Even amongst this distinguished company, there is one plaque in London that is unequelled for the pleasure it gives to all who behold it. It is a tribute to a great American patriot, and it cannot help but stir the noblest feelings in all those of my countrymen who have the privilege of gazing upon it.