The final days are upon us: Earth is selling out

Oh dear. 11 days to the end of the world. #theDilluminati

This is part of the world. A very small part, although it does not look like a very small part.
It is where I come from. In the left hand corner you can just about spot my parents' house. Should I
tell them about the Dilluminati?

Right, so bucket listing is top priority. Was there ever something that I really, really wanted to do, and could now not accomplish due to the pending invasion of the Dilluminati, who do that very Batmanish thing of switching the light off in London. Who knows, maybe they blow all the bridges, so that South Londoners can no longer go to Hackney on a Saturday morning to buy overpriced but very yummy bread and olives. Following the latest blogpost of the Professor, I am mildly concerned that, unlike any other invasion in the past (Daleks, Silence, etc.), I could not make it through this one. Yes, yes, yes, I have the constituency of a cockroach, but still, like the Silence, I fear that the Dilluminati are already everywhere, and the guy sitting opposite me in the coffee shop, in a leather trench (it’s 30°C today) looks suspiciously suspicious. Just saying.

I regret a bit that I did not pre-order this. I have since
acquired this piece of magnificence.

Bucket listing then. August 4^th is a bit tight to make a film, and my acting is not that brilliant. Founding my own company and making shit loads of money off it doesn’t really work either, does it? Sleeping my way up could be a pretty restless and knackering experience, although maybe not the worst. Just, where to start?

Eating in all of London’s best cake shops is something I have already accomplished, my thighs and waist are happy to witness, and I have seen all the new releases. I have always wanted to be famous, but, unless I burn myself on Leicester Square, 11 days are really, really short, despite and perhaps because of the age of the Internet. Anybody can be famous, so everybody is trying. Publishing a book is rather ambitious too in 11 days, considering that I haven’t written one, and considering that nobody is going to read it anyway, it would be a futile effort. I’ve always wanted to roast a whole pig, or at least a very large part of one, and have so far been kept from the enterprise due to a lack of eaters. And the lack of a spit roast big enough to roast a whole pig. Tesco doesn’t stock any disposable ones.

I can’t help but thinking about a song (German as it were), by a guy called Peter Fox – the one from Seeed, yes. ‘Der Letzte Tag’ is perfect for these last days of the earth, because, let’s face it, nobody wants to spend their last days alive with The Smiths and The Cure. You want to party like there is no tomorrow, because, errr, there really is no tomorrow. Fact.

I did not buy it, should I have?

‘Süsse mach’ dich schick, Ich hol’ dich in fünf Minuten ab, das Beste ist heut’ gut genug, denn heute ist der letzte Tag’. Suit up, is what Mr Fox is telling us here. And He’s bloody right. Ok, so dear non-existent readers, it’s time for the big WD. Wedding Dress that is. You want to spend your last day(s) wearing a meringue of a dress, who is going to judge you anyway? Your rioting ex-teacher? All the crying bodybuilders from the gym around the corner? Maybe your pizza-eating flatmate, who thinks that his Sonic Screwdriver from the Doctor Who Experience-gift shop will save him from the coming invasion? I don’t think so. So why not go for it? Face the Dilluminati in your best frock, and in those shoes you never wear because a. you can’t walk in them and b. they don’t ‘go with anything. You bought them for this occasion, only you didn’t know it.

‘Wolln’ wir Betten rocken im Ritz, die Präsidenten Suite nehmen, bis es qualmt und die Bett Pfosten in die Knie gehen’, yes, you want to get the President’s Suite at the Ritz, because your bank account will be reduced to ash after the Dilluminati have been here. (or maybe sink into eternal darkness – it’s rather unclear what is going to happen once they invade; there are voices that they don’t really know themselves, sort of ‘just winging it, mate’) So, if the Suite is still available (remember there might be a queue of bucket listers), have it, and order some fancy Champagne Afternoon Tea from downstairs, I can fairly recommend it. Their Cucumber Sandwiches are from another planet.

Furthermore, Mr. Fox sings about ‘Letzte Chance für einen Sprung in Acapulco, Ich schreib’ noch schnell ‘ne Oper, Babe, und stell’ mich ans Pult, ho.’ Here, I think, he’s a bit over-ambitious, as I have mentioned above, writing anything really is a waste of time, if you’re not quick enough. However, if you have an opera or two lying around, or an incredible talent, say, like Mozart, then feel free to knock out an opera, or two. And a play, and then fly to Acapulco, if you can get on a flight (again, bucket listers will be queuing), if you fancy. I personally do not like living through my last days with a sunburn, thus I just stay in the shadow.

‘Bald is alles egal, können die Sorgen vergessen, lass’ uns tonnenweise Torte fressen … und versuchen die Sterne mit Sektkorken zu treffen’. So Mr. Fox suggests to his Beloved to eat tons of pie (Torte is sort of between cake and pie, the German stuff with lots of cream filling – I don’t really like it, but if it gets him going, why not?), and forget all the worries. It is sort of what I am planning to do, but all the while, not trying to overeat – just imagine, spending your last day on earth feeling sick because you’ve had a whole chocolate cake. No, start with a nice bagel, and work from there. I also recommend Lucky Chip’s burgers on Netil Market, or at their residency at the Seebright Arms. Then you should also think about a Pizza at Pizza East, and maybe some of the Sourdough toast from the E5 Bakehouse. Plain, no butter. I guess then you would want to include the peanut butter chocolate cheesecake from Bea’s of Bloomsbury, and the scones from Albion Caff. And then you can go on to shoot Champagne corks at the stars, as Mr. Fox suggests. (you need a lot of Champagne for the end of the world, shooting at stars in more complicated than it sounds)

It is now time to go to that new coffee shop on Brick Lane where they serve cake the size of a toddler. It is an appropriate lunch, 11 days before the end of the world. There is just one more thing I need to say before it all ends. 

Just so you know. Not that it makes any sense after the end of the world.