The Doom That Came to Cowtown

Short version: Had a damn good trip.

It started with an interesting flight from Calgary to London. On the bright side, the flight was less than half full, so service was quick, and most people got a bank of seats to themselves. Including me, though it almost didn’t happen. I walked onto the plane and my seat mate tells me that his wife is in the seat behind him, and could I switch seats with her. I ended up in an aisle seat instead of my chosen window seat. My new seat mate needed to go to the bathroom every hour due to ETB, and after two iterations of this, she ended up switching to an empty row. Score!

After dinner I took a sleeping pill and tried to sleep. I don’t know if they just weren’t powerful enough to overwhelm my being such a light sleeper, but my sleep, such as it was, was patchy and not really restful. And for about a half hour before dawn, the plane went through the worst turbulence I’ve ever encountered. The sort where you start wondering if the plane is going to shake apart. Aside: I heard once that turbulence bad enough to damage the plane will be well past the level where it will knock out the passengers, so if you’re still conscious, the plane will be fine. The turbulence ended with just enough zero-G to notice you were falling (resulting in audible gasps from around the plane), and then it ended abruptly. I suspect the pilots dropped below whatever was causing all the hassle.

All the stuff between the plane landing and getting to my hotel was handled smoothly and professionally. The hotel room was small (and from a look at the floor plan/fire exit map, I had the smallest room in the hotel) – just a wee bit larger than the bed itself. That suited me fine since I wasn’t planning on entertaining in bed. Alas.

I met up with Rosie in Leicester square and we went to see The Murder At Haversham Mansion. And as murders go, it was spectacularly funny. It was basically two solid hours of really good slap-stick.

And then I had my one and only major screw up of the trip. I went to bed and failed to set my alarm. Given I went to bed at midnight, and had no where I had to be until two in the afternoon the next day, I didn’t think it was needed. There was no way I was going to sleep for fourteen hours.

Three points:

• 2PM in London is 7AM in Calgary.
• I normally get up between 6AM and 7AM.
• I slept fourteen hours.

So I wake up and my alarm reads 2PM, and I have a tour to go on, with Rosie, at 2PM. Part of my brain was thinking, “you must have set this clock wrong, there is no way it’s actually 2PM”. And another part of my brain was going “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...”. I turned my phone on to get an accurate reading of the time, had a one minute shower, threw my clothing on, and sprinted out the door. My phone had ten thousand texts from Rosie, basically saying she hoped I’d make it to the tour, and that we would be at the first pub (it was a walking tour of four or five historical London pubs, depending on the tour guide’s mood – apparently his record is eleven, on the day his girlfriend left him). I can tell you, you can get from Russell Square to St John’s Cathedral in 25 minutes if you're motivated.

The tour, which I participated in 85% of, was very good, and I highly recommend it. We went to the Cockpit Tavern (named because it was a cock fighting den), The Black Friar, Ye Old Cheshire Cheese, and The Old Bank of England. There was at least one more, but I was getting pretty dizzy by this point. Learned about Fleet Street (newspapers, then bankers, but never Sweeny Todd). Found out our tour guide has been banned from one of the pubs (“Why”, I asked. “For walking in with thirty people on tour”, he said). Found out that the guy who designed a bunch of the big buildings (like St. John’s Cathedral) would always take a job, and build a pub next to the site, so that he could get back all the money he paid in wages. Work smarter, not harder. Also, people nowadays are often shorter than me, and in the past it was even more so. I had a tough time navigating a few of those pub’s hallways.






For dinner, we went to Burger & Lobster. Can you guess what's on the menu?  We ate bugs - delicious bugs of the sea.

The next day, I got my British Museum fix on. I find that the lustre has really gone off the British Museum for me. Too much history. Oh, I like history just fine, but the sheer mass of it become oppressive after a while.

When I realized I wasn't really enjoying the British Museum, I decided to go to the Science Museum. I basically geeked out there until they closed, and only managed the first floor. The first floor was devoted to Steam power and James Watt, as well as space exploration.

I had an invite from Rosie to join her and some of her UK friends to watch an awful musical, so I hiked up to North London to catch the P. T. Barnum biopic, The Greatest Showman. It was better than I expected. It’s still bad though. However, if you’re like me, and you like cheesy-yet-sincere musicals (you know, like Christina Aguilera’s Burlesque), you’ll like this. It’s deliciously bad.

Did you know you can buy sweet or salty popcorn in London, but not buttered popcorn?  What the hell?

Afterwards, we (Rosie, Emoni, and I) went to a corporation’s idea of what a traditional British pub should be and dissected the movie. This was fun. And when it was over, they went back to Emoni’s house and I went to catch the tube back to Central London. Except we discovered (via Google Maps, and not just by showing up) that the tube stopped running for the night. Thankfully London has extensive night buses, and there was one that would take me, literally, from the pub to the front steps of my hotel. And it was one of those iconic double-decker busses! I got on and immediately went to the front seat of the top level.

You know that scene in The Prisoner of Azkaban, where Harry has to take the Knight Bus, and it careens recklessly through narrow London streets risking death and chaos to everyone onboard and nearby? That scene is not an exaggeration. Oh, I never saw Lenny Henry’s shrunken head, but if I had, I wouldn’t be the least surprised. Let’s just say being above traffic, with an unobstructed view of what the driver was attempting, made for an exhilarating ride.

But that was just the warm up! I also got a show inside the bus! Let me set the stage: I’m in the front seat. No one is terribly close to me, but there are a cluster of people on the top floor, around the middle of the bus. Maybe half a dozen people on this level in total. Two women are quietly chatting with each other. Some old guy (and he might not have been that old, maybe just a little older than me, but somewhat more weatherbeaten) gets on.

“It’s a rather warm night out,” he says.
“I’m actually freezing,” says one of the ladies.
“You think it’s cold? How can you think that?”
“I just do.”
“Well, I’m going to open a window, it’s so warm in here.” “Don’t do that, it’s fucking freezing out!”

Note, it’s a little after midnight, it’s dry out, but the temperature is roughly 5C. Cold to a Londoner, this Canadian hadn’t really noticed, because I had a heavy sweater on. Anyways, the old guy’s demeanour changes to you’re-not-the-boss-of-me.

“You shouldn’t use that kind of language!”
“You’re not my fucking father; you’re not my fucking husband; you’re not my fucking son; My language shouldn’t matter one bit.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Dude, I’m sure you swear a blue streak all the time, you just want somethin to object to with this chick.” I don’t say that though. Violence hasn’t occurred yet, and as long as this stays about the environment, it’s not my problem.

“I don’t care if you’re cold – I want some fresh air so I’m going to open a window.”
“You’re wearing five layers! Just take off your jacket if you’re warm – or go sit by that guy up at the front of the bus with the open window."

Huh, I thought I was the only guy at the front of the bus. Oh look, the window beside me is open. Canadian. Hadn’t noticed. I shut the window, because I don’t want to be rude. Note, I’m pretty much entirely on the women’s side at this point. It’s a full-on shouting match. The driver decides to get involved. He stops the bus and an intercom comes on.

"Is there a problem up there?"
“NO!”, shouts the guy.
“YES!”, shouts the women.

And he comes upstairs.

“We’re cold and he’s trying to open a fucking window!”
“She shouldn’t swear, and I can open a window if I like.”
“Everyone but you thinks it’s cold up here, just leave the window closed”, said the driver.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be, eh?”

This was the first time I actually turned around to really look at everyone. Relevant for later, old guy was white, and the two women were black. Anyway, the old guy makes an appeal to his inalienable right to open windows, but the driver tells him to knock it off, with the “or you’re waiting 30 minutes for the next bus” implied with tone of voice. He goes back down the stairs and we continue on our way. The argument continues, less heated, with the women suggesting that he can still take off his heavy coat, and him objecting to their blue language.

“You shouldn’t swear so much. I can’t swear at you...”

And... I think he was going to continue with something like “I can’t swear at you because people will think I’m racist”, but he caught himself. Just something about his tone, and the suddenness of hm slamming his mouth shut. I think the women knew it too, but they didn’t respond that way.

“Why do I care if you swear – I’m not your mother/wife/daughter. It’s nothing to me if you say ‘fuck’”.

At this point he just piped down, and glowered for the rest of his trip. Without anyone to argue with, the women eventually switched to another topic and talked amongst themselves, and everything went fine. He did flip them the bird when he got off the bus though, to their amusement.

My entertaining north London, post-midnight, double-decker bus ride came to an end right in front of my hotel. Would ride again.

The next day, I went back to the Science museum, spending two hours going through the some, but not all of, the other floors.

The actual Difference Engine #1, made by Charles Babbage

Difference Engine #2. Babbage would be proud. Or more likely he would nit-pick the people who made it and admonish them for not making the Analytical Engine instead.

Apparently Cray used Apples to design the next Cray, and Apple used Crays to model the next Apples.

Prototype for the Clock of the Long Now.

After the Science Museum, I joined Rosie for scones at the Victoria and Albert museum, followed by a few hours of history. Most noteworthy was an exhibit of portraits by Anthony Crickmay, who was apparently the go to guy for photographs of West End productions/cast. It was great for seeing what actings elder statesmen looked like when they were young.

Alec Guinness and Simone Signoret performing Hamlet in 1966. Note, they were both Academy Award winners at this point in their careers.

Derek Jacobi, Diana Rigg and Anthony Hopkins.

A dapper Ian McKellen in 1973.

Afterward, we went to a local Italian restaurant, then joined Emoni and another friend to see Hamilton.

What can I say about Hamilton? It’s a great musical and a great primer about early American history. The singing and dancing was top notch. I cried my eyes out, I contributed willingly to the standing ovation, and I’ve already bought the soundtrack. If you ever have a chance to see it, do so. That’s likely to be difficult though as it’s sold out damn near a year in advance, and the good seats (which we were in) jumped from £90 to over £200. I’m still confused (but grateful) that I was included.

The only distracting thing was that the actor who played Alexander Hamilton (Ash Hunter), was the spitting image of a young Elias Silver.

Another post-show pub discussion ensued, and we all went back to our beds. Mine in Russell Square, their’s in Wood Green.

Tuesday was Laundry day. It was a small load, so I did it by hand.

Since I wasn’t seeing Rosie or Emoni until the evening, I had the afternoon to kill. I took another double-decker bus (same chaotic driving, less colourful locals) to Greenwich to check out the Maritime Museum which I had been informed had a Titanic exhibit. The National Maritime Museum does not currently have a Titanic exhibit. It does have a hard-on for Horatio Nelson though – I would say a third of the exhibits touched on him at least a little bit. I can’t really think of a Canadian example. Are there any Canadian war heroes credited with saving the country? I can think of a few war heroes. Brave though they were, they never saved the country from an existential threat. Maybe all the troops in the world wars in aggregate? A little hard to name though.

The Royal Maritime Museum, from Greenwich Park hill.

A collection of mastheads, because I thought they were neat!

A giant-ass ship in a bottle, on the pedestal where I was expecting James Cook to be. I think, if you're making a ship in a bottle, it's cheating if you can physically enter the bottle and stand up in it.

There was also informative exhibits on the British East Indies company (from a modern, we’re-sorry-we-were-assholes-...-our-bad, perspective), and an exhibit about the Battle of Jutland. Since I was in the neighbourhood, I walked up to the Greenwich observatory. The observatory is on the site of England’s only hill, which is significant.

The Royal Observatory at Greenwich.

A collection of standard intervals. Hopefully replaced by something with 21st century precision.

Also, it’s the point where the prime meridian is. There were signs pointing to an interior tour and a spot where you could actually stand on the meridian and take a selfie with a foot in the eastern hemisphere and a foot in the western hemisphere. Alas, the tour was £20, and I didn’t want to pay that. I figured, I’d just walk around the building once, and that would accomplish the same thing. As luck would have it, I found a walkway that didn’t seem forbidden at all, but none of the throngs of tourists were going down. I walked down the path and crossed a line engraved in the path and the wall beside it. Stopping, I looked up along the wall, to see that the meridian is also marked on the outside of the building, where I was standing. Score! So if you’re ever there, walk along the north side of the building until you find a U-gate, and go thrugh it. In about twenty meters, you’ll find a spot where the prime meridian is marked.

My head at the prime meridian.

Me and my Fluevogs, at the prime meridian.

In the evening we saw Young Frankenstein. The musical is good, but if you’ve seen the movie, there isn’t much that’s new. While I enjoyed it, and think most people I know would also enjoy it, it suffered from having two perfectly adequate actors as Frederick and Igor, whereas the original had two comic geniuses, Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman. It paled a little for that reason. The post-show pub debrief introduced me to Freakshakes, which are alcoholic milkshakes with a ton of candy in them. I’ve had them in Vegas, but didn’t realize they had a name.

Wednesday we went to Camden Market, which is basically a huge street market in Camden. We ate street food, drank some ale, and bought weird-ass tourist shit. I got a nice backpack for £5. It was ten, but I was walking away from the stall because it wasn’t perfect, and the vendor dropped the price. I wonder at how they can charge £5 for a backpack, but then I realize that it was at the I-don’t-want-to-know part of the Venn diagram intersection of cheap materials and exploited workers.

Mornington Crescent Station is near Camden Market, so that's why this is here. Also to point out that I won the game. If you look closely, you can see the Camden Cat Statues to the right.

I also bought some curry from a guy who grew up in Vancouver. We bitched about housing prices, which is also a big deal London.

My final show in London was School of Rock. I never watched the Jack Black movie, though I guessed it involved a Jack Black character pretending to be a teacher, and he and the students all learn valuable life lessons due to his unconventional style. And that’s what I got in the musical, except with Andrew Lloyd Webber and a bunch of kids who are more talented at ten years old, then I have ever been in my life. I probably won’t buy that soundtrack, but I might pick-and-choose a few key songs. One joke of note:

“Can you sing?”
🎶 Memories! All alone the moonlight! 🎶
“STOP – I don’t ever want to hear that song in this building again!”

School of Rock is in the theatre where Cats played basically forever.

Thursday was a hanging-out day with Rosie. We met at London’s tallest building, The Shard, to enjoy high tea (or rather, high high tea) on the 52nd floor (about 2/3 of the way up). It was a pleasant two hours of civilization.

Our view from the GŎNG bar, on the 52nd story of the Shard. This is looking roughly east.

HMS Belfast, the Tower of London, Tower bridge.

The urinals are beside a clear window with a fantastic view of south east London. Naturally, I used the one closest to the window.

The view from the other direction. The Shard, from the River Thames at the Tower of London.

We walked to/over Tower bridge, and then went to The Alchemist, a high-end cocktail bar where they employ SCIENCE to entertain and feed you liquor. £21 for two drinks - worth it though, for the show factor at least. But you really don't want to get more than one drink there before moving on to less expensive climes. The Alchemist is beside the Gherkin, in case you’re looking.

The Mad Hatter's Tea Party, a paired cocktail that includes science as an ingredient.

Finally, we went to the other side of Central London to Earl’s Court, where Rosie introduced me to the coolest bar in the city – Evans & Peel Detective agency. You walk into a noir detective’s office out of the 40’s, tell the secretary why you need a detective, and they lead you behind a secret door in a bookcase to a basement speakeasy.

“How can I help you?”
“My wife has been murdered! And the police are being no help – they claim she’s been poisoned, but the only person with access to the food other than us is my loyal assistant Ms. Jones. And she would never harm anyone.”
“That’s right, I’m COMPLETELY DEVOTED to you, Mr. Smith.”
“You see, perfectly trustworthy”
“I see. Why don’t you and your assistant step this way and have a drink where you can discuss her devotion to you. It might shed some light on your case.”

Evans & Peel is a fantastic venue. Especially if you’re on a date – it’s dark, and candle-lit. It’s not especially loud, so you can have a conversation. Finally, the walls are made of solid rock, so cell-coverage ranges from sucks to nope. You’re going to have to pay attention to your date. Rosie and I spent the evening gossiping. Eventually the night drew to a close and we hopped onto a train back to our abodes.

I had many opportunities to gamble in London (lots of casinos). Never felt the need to. And as I said to Rosie, win, lose, or draw, I don't want my last memory of London being me, by myself, tossing £20 away to get a casino chip.

Friday I got the airport nice and early with no difficulties. Despite being a much more crowded flight, I’m the only person in my section without a seat mate, so I have all the elbow room. I’m writing the first draft of this on the plane, so unlike a few recent trips, it will get posted. And here you are reading it.

Final thoughts: This was a great trip, one I will fondly remember for a long time. I recognized my triggers from the last trip and avoided them. I had awesome company and my time was filled with exactly the right amount of activities I wanted to do. I have officially crossed that line for a place where I don’t get anxious going there. It was wonderful from start to finish. Well, except for the fact that there is only one decent toilet in London (fourth floor of the V&A, in case you're wondering).

Good

• Visiting with one of my best friends.
• Meeting new friends.
• Shows, in order of preference/recommendation: Hamilton, School of Rock, The Play That Goes Wrong, Young Frankenstein.
• Liquid History Tours.
• Camden Market.
• Science Museum.
• High tea at the Shard.
• Drinks at the Alchemist.
• Evans and Peel

Bad

• Sleeping in at exactly the wrong moment.

 Ugly/Meh

• Nothing really.  

I'm trying really hard not to beat myself up mentally now, and I'm largely failing. No self-deprecating comments coming from the demons of depression... I hope.

So anyway, Today was the day that I was going to fly back to Canada. Short version: that didn't happen. What did happen was a combination of problems small and large that conspired to keep me from the airport in time to make my flight.

My flight was to be at 6:50, and I aimed to be at the airport by 4:30. I was a little late getting to King's Cross, where I had stashed my luggage. Getting my luggage killed about 15 minutes of my leeway. No problem, I still had plenty of time.

Next up was trying to find a stamp for one of the postcards I needed to mail. Post office was across the street from King's Cross, so that blew another 15 minutes. Getting on the train, I still had 90 minutes to go, which is more-or-less what they tell you to do.

The train lurched out of the station and a 77 year old lady standing about 5 meters away from me fell backwards onto the floor of the train. There was immediate screaming and she was clearly in a lot of pain. Also she was immediately surrounded by people offering help. At this point she was in major distress and someone hit the train's emergency button. The train immediately came to a halt between stations and the driver used the intercom to ask what the problem was. Once he got an answer from one of the helpers, he slowly proceeded to the next station and asked the other passengers if there was a doctor or someone with first aid on board who could assist. A young lady arrived to help and showed the train officials her official "Me Doctor" card. She was quickly followed by another doctor, who opted to let her be the primary while he just hung around to run interference for her.

"Running interference" turned out to be pretty accurate, as the train officials really wanted to push the train to the next station for some reason (I'm guessing to route other trains around better). They really wanted his or her blessing to do this, and neither were having it (The old lady had apparently had spinal injuries in the past, and you don't just shake and rattle a possible spinal injury. The phrases "As a Doctor we're telling you to not move this train", "That's against our recommendation", and "If this was your mother, you'd agree with us". They eventually 'compromised' by driving really slowly to the next station.

At that point they announced that the train would be here for at least a half an hour, so if you wanted to exit and find other transport methods, to do so. It was at this point that I should have high-tailed it to the surface and grabbed a cab. I didn't, reasoning that - even with a half-hour delay - this was still my best bet to get to the airport in a timely fashion. I settled in to see how this all turned out.

First thing was that it took a really long time for the medics to arrive. I'm wondering if they arrived at the correct station, since they moved the train. The lady doctor stuck by that old woman the whole time, slowly making a prognosis. I fell a little in love with her. A random bystander was helping make her comfortable. Eventually a group of three showed up and took over from the two doctors. They stuck around in the background, just in case.

Next, a second set of medics showed up, so there was now a total of six. They repeated a lot of what lady doctor did, but also used more equipment than she and her stethoscope had. After much assessing, they administering of some kind of pain killer gas (and eventually, a shot of morphine). The gas and the morphine got her laughing towards the end. Then they finally got a back board under her and they were off. The male doctor took off and the lady doctor sat down and, after several stops of people swapping on and off the train, resumed just-another-commuter status. I should have given her the box of chocolates I had for bribing the flight attendants.

Now at this point I was fucked, but didn't know it. I was still in central London and it was 5:30. I had an hour until my flight. Unbeknownst to me, they won't issue a boarding pass after T-45 minutes, and security won't let you through at T-35 minutes. There was no way I was going to get to Heathrow from central London in 15 minutes. To add insult to injury though, they switched the train's destination from terminal 5 to terminal 4, saying that the earlier destination was "in error". NO IT WASN'T YOU COCKSUCKERS, YOU MADE THE DECISION TO CHANGE IT. That cost me another two minutes as I had to get off at a station and wait for the next train to terminal 5.

I got to the airport and ran to the departures level to print my boarding pass. The machine wouldn't let me, and I was directed to the British Airways agents.

"My flight leaves in 25 minutes. Can you help me get on it?"
"Short answer is no, but I can try to help you in other ways."

I explain the problem and she eventually concludes that there are no more Calgary flights that day, and she starts looking at other alternatives. I notice that she's frowning at the screen.

"That's a look that suggests there are no good options."
"Very astute. The only flight I can get you on is the same one, but tomorrow."
"So what's the problem?"
"It's very expensive."

She looks at a few other things and finally decides they're even worse.

"Normally I'd charge you the difference in fares and then £180 fee on top for changing a booking. Seeing as how missing the flight wasn't your fault, I'm going to just charge you the £150 because the system won't let me not charge you something. Is that OK?"
"It sounds better than the alternative, do what you have to do."

She didn't have to do that, so I gave her the box of chocolates, even though I still think lady Doctor deserved them more.

I left to find a hotel room. Heathrow has a kiosk where that's all they do and after some WTF moments ("I have a room for £350." "No!"), I finally got a room at the Marriott for £260 that included supper, breakfast, and wifi. When I told my tale of woe to the front desk clerk, he upgraded me to an executive suite. Note that an executive suite in UK parlance is a standard North American hotel room. Still, after two weeks of sleeping in broom closets, I'll take it.

I'm finishing up the night writing this, and dwelling unhealthily on alternate scenarios that are in the past: What if I had decided to get that stamp at the airport - then I'd have been one train ahead and would never have heard of this or old lady. Hell, maybe she wouldn't have fallen. Maybe I should have grabbed a cab - I'm sure even the most expensive cab would have been better than the near £500 pounds missing my flight has cost me so far. It's unhealthy and depression-inducing, and yet I can't find a way to stop it. Oh well, it's late, maybe if I sleep. Still, I was really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. I just want to go home.

othelianna and I went to see four shows while I was in town.

The Book of Morman

We weren't planning of seeing this, but we were in the West End, and opted to put our names into a "£20 for a front row seat" lottery that BoM does. Rosie won and we ended up going. This is the second time I've seen it, and it was uproariously funny both times. Despite having front row seats, we had a decent view of the stage (we were near the centre, which is good).

A clueless teen tried chatting up Rosie during the intermission. He gets points for working on his game, but lost them all for making a lame beaver joke upon learning we were Canadians.

Matilda

A musical based on the Roald Dahl book, with lyrics by Tim Minchin? Yes please.

Fun play, with just the right combination of catchy songs and decent plot that makes me a believer. The kids did a great job, and I think I may have fallen a bit in love with the character of Ms. Honey.

Of all the shows I saw, this would be the one I recommend the most. It was just a lot of fun.

Let It Be

This was a good show that suffered from me thinking it would be different from what it was, and because I was hoping for a great show. What I was expecting was a jukebox musical about the Beatles. What I got was a Beatles cover band that performs in character. I liked it, but others (Rosie for example) might not.

As for being a cover band, they were certainly a very good one. Looks, mannerisms, and most importantly - the music, were all really good.

Go see it if you're a Beatles fan, and you can get discounted tickets.

Gypsy

Our last play was probably the best acted. Gypsy is the musical about Gypsy Rose Lee and her toxic relationship with the woman who gave all subsequent stage moms a bad name, "Mama" Rose.

Of note, Mama Rose was played by Imelda Staunton. This was the bulk of the press for the show. And she is very very good as a dramatic performer. Her singing is technically good, but lacked the passion I hope for in a musical. I thought Lara Pulver (you'll remember her from playing Irene Adler) was the real stand out performance. Not that there was a shortage of good performances in Gypsy. They got a well-deserved standing ovation.

Tickets for this were a bit more dear than Matilda, but it was still worth it (especially since I didn't buy them, Rosie did).

The plan was to spend my weekends with Rosie, as she works for a living. The weekdays were to be spent on my own. One of my favourite parts from my last trip to the UK was my time on Skye. So much so that I decided to have my SCA persona be from Skye. Having a few days to kill, I found a three day bus tour of Scotland that included two nights in Skye. The whole tour was less than booking a hotel room for two days in Skye would have been (and a tour meant I could see stuff other than Portree while I was there). Naturally I booked it.

( lots more, including pictures, behind the cut... )

Day one was really one and a half days, since it began Tuesday morning, and aside from a few fitful hours of sleep on the plane, ended late Wednesday night.

The flight was uneventful, my seat was good (and I hold out hope of getting a similarly good seat on the way back) and British Airways does a fantastic job treating the second class customers. Heathrow was not as nightmarish as I’d been lead to believe (possibly because I was only in Terminal 5). I made a few mistakes though. The first one was buying a sim card at the first vending machine I saw. I should have waited for a shop, then I could 1) get a good one and test it, and 2) use Heathrow’s free wifi to look up my unlock code, which I seem to need every time I use a new sim. (2015-06-09: stumbled on a Three store and the tech fixed everything in less than two minutes - all is forgiven).

Instead, I’ve had to endure several days of spotty internet because I can only use free wifi. That was easier ten years ago when wifi was new and people didn’t understand wifi security. Now, there’s wifi everywhere, and it’s all locked down.

Then I had to take the tube to my hotel. Good: Only one tube line, Piccadilly, from Heathrow to the neighbourhood I wanted. Bad: Even so, it was a 70 minute trip, followed by a fifteen minute walk. Ugly: No room.

I get to the Beaconsfield Inn (Recommended by othelianna with a solid “I still have my kidneys!”) only to find that they have no idea who I am. Thankfully I have a confirmation from Expedia. The staff vanishes into their secret lair – seriously, it was a secret door behind the door that was only four feet high – for a half an hour while they tried to figure out who’s fault it was. They claim Expedia never sent the confirmation to them.

All of that was moot as far as I was concerned, I just wanted my room. Problem was, they were booked solid, they had no rooms in the hotel. They did, however, have a second building a kilometre away with microsuites that they rented. They insisted this was an upgrade. I’m not convinced, since the upgrade consists of a kitchen I’m not using, and 50% more walking to/from the tube station. Still, I’m impressed that my suite includes a double bed, toilet, shower, kitchen in the same square footage as my bedroom back home. And allegedly free wifi. I could connect to the wifi network easily, but the wifi router couldn’t talk to the internet.

I explored for a bit and eventually returned to my room when I realized that I could barely keep my eyes open. That’s when the anxiety attack hit. I was exhausted, but could not sleep. I had no internet to distract me from my jerk brain. So I laid there in the dark, slowly gnawing on all of my failings, on how the trip was going to go horribly wrong, on how I’m going to die a miserable lonely failure, etc. Basically like I spend two minutes every night, but when my filters aren’t all down I just answer with “maybe so, but don’t dwell on it today” and move on. That night, I didn’t move on – instead, the demons feasted. And of course, I couldn’t even fall asleep.

I think they only thing that kept me from simply packing everything back up and catching the next flight back to Canada was 1) Disappointing othelianna, and 2) having to look in the mirror afterward.

I did have an amusing reprieve. Around two in the morning, I heard a car pull up and a couple got out. They proceeded to have a conversation for five minutes outside at full volume. Not yelling, just making no attempt to be quiet on a residential street during the wee hours. They went around the corner and I heard the door to my building open and close, then the door to the apartment immediately below me open and close. And the full volume conversation continued. They also played with the yappy dog for a few minutes. You know how when you play tug of war with a dog and they make that growling/savaging sound that sounds like they’re trying to shake a smaller animal apart? Lots of that. That stopped and the dog started making these really odd noises I couldn’t identify. At least, until I realized it wasn't the dog making the noise. Once I realized it was the woman making moaning/gasping noises it made a lot more sense. Did I mention that they never once used their inside voices? Yeah, that continued during the sex. Also, it was a hot night so we both had our windows open. Ugh.

They went on for an acceptible amount of time and sounded like they both enjoyed themselves. Also, it didn’t go on forever, so that’s all right. And then, five minutes after it ended, something odd happened. He left. I heard the doors open/close and he got in his car and drove away. A fuck-and-run, buddy? Really? Later, I got to thinking, if her room is anything like my room (which is likely) there’s really no other way to entertain anyone than screwing. My room doesn’t even have a chair, or a place to put one. The only place to sit is my lap.

That escapade didn’t help my “forever alone” vibe. I continued to have my anxiety attack. Eventually, around 4 am, I heard birds singing. That gave my brain something to latch onto and I fell asleep.

Preview for later postings - this was the worst of it, and I've been enjoying the trip aside from that first night. More details as I write them.

Some observations:

1) Navigation is really stupid. I was supremely frustrated yesterday after getting my account because I kept getting these "so-and-so updated how they met you" messages. I had no idea how to check this information. People where talking about me and I didn't know what they were saying. It was driving me completely bugfuck-insane.

Someone I know (who doesn't want their LJ identity linked to their FB identity, which is why they're not being named) was kind enough to tell me how to check this after I had a whirling-dervish of a rant on our chat program.

2) I've found most of the people from my Wild-in-Scotland tour. Debating whether to friend them or not. Probably I will after rereading the assorted entries to make sure I don't inadvertently say something stupid about them.

3) Either FB is down this afternoon, or the site is blocked from work. Being blocked from work might mean I don't get fired for surfing it constantly. Anything that keeps me from getting fired is probably a good thing.

4) It was a little alarming getting a friend-request from someone who's real name I didn't know. At first I thought "swell, there's cam whores on FB." Then I saw the picture and realized it was someone perfectly normal looking. Looking at the geographical location I realized it was ladyerwyn! I'm sorry I thought you were a cam whore. Also sorry I called you "normal looking".

The trip has been uneventful for the most part, but I did have some serendipity. I got to Glasgow Queens Street station and was trying to find directions to the airport. I was pretty sure it was the 905 bus, but I wanted to make sure. I asked at the ticket counter (where they confirmed that I was right) and the woman next to me (Rita from Saskatoon!) suggested that we should share a cab. Turns out she was on the same flight as me.

So we shared a cab, as well as some stories of our trips. £10 for the cab was a little more expensive then the £4 for the bus, but it was also a lot less aggravating.

I found the whisky I wanted before the gate. Didn't buy it there though because there was a duty free shop in the restricted zone. Of course, the duty free shop didn't have it (they carried it, but it was out of stock).

One of the in-flight movies was Astronaut Farmer, which I've seen before. I'm a little surprised to see it on the flight though, as there is a crash sequence in it and I thought airlines didn't like movies with those. They ended up cutting about 90% of the sequence out, leaving just enough to string what happens before to what happens afterward.

Virginia Madsen is one sexy woman. I will take that away from this otherwise fluffy movie.

I will occasionally look out my window and see something strange. On the bleak Greenland landscape of white ice and grey rock I will see a splash of electric blue. This isn't the natural blue of glacial ice, I suspect it's the blue stuff they put into chemical toilets. If that's the case, then there's some airplanes out there with leaky toilets.

Missed one of my mission101 goals - didn't actually have a deep fried Mars bar while I was out there. In the grand scheme of things, I should probably mark that in the "win" column.

No, I'm not referring to zapgun4hire. I'm referring to my Brain.

I'm feeling a little depressed. No reason for it really, I should be feeling pretty good, especially since I just watched Avenue Q (which was hilariously funny - I think I only stopped laughing for the intermission.)

Part of it is that my vacation is almost over. Part of it is the fact that I've gained a ton of weight and I've pretty much given up trying to eat right on this trip. Another resolution broken. Mostly it's facing up to my curse, which is never easy.

I'm tired and a little emo. Instead of posting I really should just go to bed. But I'm in London - I want to explore. It'll be a few years before I'm here again.

Can't keep my eyes open though.

...It's the universal Scottish ingredient!

zapgun4hire tells me that you cannot get butter for your popcorn in the movie theaters. I haven't quite decided if the people in the UK are crazy or if he's just trying to pull my leg.