We American Londoners celebrated the Fourth of July this Saturday. And were a little noisier than usual. For the previous eight years, we’ve been gathering quietly, almost apologetically, to celebrate our common nationality.
This year, we were…well, there is no other way to put this…loud Americans. Singing lustily, accompanied on a banjo.
‘Oh, God,’ I’m sure the Brits who shared the grassy knoll thought, ‘they’re back.’ It was easier on the ears when we slunk around, whispering, shamed by an embarrassing president.
It was a grand picnic. We had deviled eggs. I hadn’t had deviled eggs in….I can’t remember. And too much champagne. Though really can there ever be too much champagne?
We went swimming in the beautiful Hampstead Heath ponds.
We even sang Yankee Doodle Dandy.
We made more noise in one night than I think we’d made in the past decade.
So I apologize to those other nationalities at the boat pond on Saturday, trying to enjoy a peaceful summer evening.
It won’t happen again.
I think we got it out of our system.
photo by Mykl Roventine (flickr)