Alright, if you eat only sandwiches, it's possible to eat quite cheaply in London.
I slept in until 2 today. My body seems to be pinwheeling between no sleep and all sleep. Silly thing. (yes, this is all my body's fault. Not because I woke at 7 o'clock and said, "Bugger this"...)
I also really like the feel of the £. It's got some serious weight to it, and it feels pretty damn good to slap that down on a cafe table after consuming a coffee and croissant, and then be able to leave. If I had to, I would say that this is what maturity feels like.
It saddens me that the more I see of the world, the less of it I like. In fact, I think the only bits of it I really like anymore are beneath the feet of people I know. I mean, I whine about London, how expensive it is, blah blah blah, but I think if I moved here, and started earning British pounds, I'd love it. There's a lot more culture, style, taste, love put into this place. I feel like a young girl who started seeing a 30 year old. So much more mature, established, delightful, but I've no idea how to talk to people and my meager savings look really paltry. How can I go back to dating sweaty teenagers (Edmonton)? But all my friends are there! Maybe I will look into the British army. I hear they're way more hardcore then Canada.
Over a red Cabernet Sauvignon that hints of chocolate, and a pumpkin ravioli to die for, I wonder why this country is not permanently soused, given how easy it is to find really good booze here. It seems to be on every street corner. It's certainly in every grocery store.
I feel kind of silly, because I bussed all the way to Cromwell to see Harry Potter, which opens tomorrow. Damnit.
I buy a ticket for the 5:00 show, anyway, delighted to find you pick your seats in advance. I've got a pretty groovy one near the front. Sorry if you wanted me to wait family, but well, drat-it-all, I have to see it in Britain! And then spend the remaining night looking for number 4 privet drive! It's here somewhere!
I've come all this way, though, too far to leave without something, so I buy a ticket to "La vie en rose" the story of Edith Piaf (No-one tell Mike; he'd be so grumpy!).
So I'm bawling my eyes out in the middle of the theater, then humming the tunes all the way home. Really great stuff. Life just poos on this poor woman, to a beat you can dance to.
Afterwards, I finally satisfy my 3 month long craving for Creme Brulee. It was apple and rhubarb flavored, and I have yet to find proof that the joy didn't kill me. (Neither the ride home nor the programming were convincing that I am not in purgatory)
Anyway, I hope for the tower of London before I leave, the day after tomorrow! I'll be able to breakfast in London, then Lunch in Rome! w00t!