Bombs v. Scones: the Gender Divide in Hatton Garden

Our oldest mutual friend -- by which I mean the one we have known the longest, because he actually
introduced us -- is visiting. He discovered that Phil was teaching a course on World War I, and this happened to coincide with his current enthusiasm for that historical event. It was a timely if unlikely coincidence, and it immediately became clear that he must come to London and experience the city's centenary exhibits and displays.

David and Phil (and Dave's sidekick, Flat David) spent a


Churchill's lunch table (he
breakfasted in bed on cereal,
bacon and eggs, and a cutlet)

remarkable amount of time at the Imperial War Museum. A few days later, they took four hours to go through the Churchill Rooms, a labyrinthine underground bunker where the Prime Minister sheltered during the Blitz, directing the government and the war effort while eating three meals and taking two baths daily. It features some of his more memorable quotes:

While Churchill was visiting in Arabia, the king apologized for the lack of wine, explaining that his religion demanded that he drink no alcohol. Churchill replied, "My own religion requires me to drink alcohol three times a day."

When asked why he continued to serve in Parliament at the age of 90, Churchill responded, "I've always liked staying in the pub till closing time."

A man after our own hearts.

World War I pilot

Today Phil and David are off to the Air Force Museum, which surely no other tourists have ever visited. They'll go 45 minutes by tube to see planes and bombs and aviator gear, with special exhibits for both world wars.  I will be remaining at home, baking scones and binge-watching the entire BBC 20th anniversary showing of Pride and Prejudice (yes, the good one with Colin Firth. I feel your envy). My half hour in the World War I gallery at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich gave me enough war for my entire stay here.

As a result, I have begun to wonder: is this a gender thing? As males, are Phil and David genetically programmed to enjoy looking at guns and reading about battles, as an essentialist might claim? Or is this a cultural construct, started in infancy and reinforced through visits to Toys r Us and automatic recommendations on Amazon and Netflix?

And then I realized what I've done by even venturing to pose this question on the Internet.

The door is now locked, the electronic curtains drawn. I await the trolls. My only hope is that since nobody reads this blog, my daring to suggest that men like mortar shells and women like pastry shells, whether by inclination or inculcation, will go unnoticed.

And really, I'm pretty sure it's just that the two of them are obsessive nutcases.*

Our pub this weekend is a repeat: the Lady Ottoline. Though testosterone leaked

from the Rugby World Cup game playing in the corner, the genteel surroundings

and strong IPAs managed to feminize the atmosphere.

Flat David prefers cider

 *In case you're either an essentialist or a cultural constructionist, you should know that at this moment, Phil is cooking a lovely lamb stew for dinner, and David is all a-flutter to watch Downton Abbey tomorrow night.