I’m still discovering things that I lost when I left my bag in the taxi. So far, we’re up to: five magazines, my iPod Shuffle, a couple of pens, the foam contour travel pillow, the bag itself, and today I realize my khaki Vandy cap was in there too. No wonder I had to buy a hat halfway through the trip – I brought one, lost it, and forgot I lost it. I should not be allowed out of the house.
The last time I left London, I said we needed to either quit going or just move there and be done with it. After this trip, I’m inclined to think the latter. London works on me like New York: big city, world capital, everything you need and tons of it, and old old old with history and presence to match. Plus I’m well acclimated to sandwiches from Pret, coffee from Costa, prepaid cell service, Oyster card travel and coins for half my transactions.
Similarly, last time I got home I said “I really think the next trip will be Dublin, Salzburg, the Black Forest, and whatever else of Ireland I can get in. But…I think it will be a long time before we can get out of the country again.” Turns out it only took two and a half years – albeit a fairly eventful two and a half years. No Ireland, though – that’s for a time when we’re not parading my less-presentable family members around. London, Bath, Paris, Munich, Salzburg, the Berner Oberland, and the Rhine country near Frankfurt am Main…that was the trip this time.
The thing I love about London – which was impossible to manage this time – is just being there to hang out and experience life happening around me. Like one day, we were there when Millwall won the League One playoff and promotion to the Coca-Cola Championship League. The town was crazy with Millwall supporters – for those of you who don’t follow English football, this is the fanbase whose anthem is “No One Likes Us – We Don’t Care” and whose “F-Troop” of hooligan fans were known to attack other fans when outnumbered by two orders of magnitude. Well, the blue and white strips were everywhere, and I was giving a wide berth to a Leicester Square pub where the fans were belting it out on the patio, glass smashing, “WE ARE MILLWALL, SUPER MILLWALL FROM THE DEN!” And it was a sight to see – right up to the point where a passing limo disgorged what I can only assume was a bachelorette party, dressed to show up on Texts From Last Night – and without missing a beat, the chanting turned on a dime to “GET YER TITS OUT, GET YER TITS OUT, GET YER TITS OUT FOR THE LADS!”
Not that they did. As far as I could tell. But it’s not the sort of thing one would get strolling through Union Square or along the Mall in DC. =)
More to follow obviously…
Although having been there just the once, I would have to wholeheartedly agree. (This cannot come as a surprise.)
During our more recent flights of fancy, my dear spouse checked us against the UK immigration points system. It seems I qualify with flying colo(u)rs. Depending on how close the English side of her family tree is to their homeland, she may qualify automatically for a passport.
Wouldn’t it be wildly ironic if… never mind.