I am so, so sorry for the title. It's just that I want my blog to be an accurate representation of my time over here and the reality is that I hear that song a lot at the moment and it's totally stuck in my head. That's one thing that I can travel 24 hours on a plane and still have to put up with. The other thing is my hair. Ugh.
I don't remember where I left off with my last entry and I'm too lazy to go check. Perhaps because except for my two favourite readers (I send you love and, if you're lucky and I remember, postcards) everybody is too lazy to comment. But mostly because I am just too lazy myself.
I am currently staying about an hour or so out of London, near Peterborough, with a friend of a friend who is just lovely, and I am currently completely Zoe-less. But I'll get to that. Oh, oh. I just had an idea. I'm going to write this like a terrible Hollywood "thriller" where you all have to try and figure out from the out-of-sequence fragments I give you what the hell is going on. And there will be a twist at the end where Bruce Willis is dead. Anyhow...
A woman sits in a dark room in the north of London. She tries not to disturb her roommate who is sound asleep in the top bunk in the corner. Despite the fact that they just met, she would feel a certain degree of guilt if her desire to read about the Netherlands resulted in somebody else's sleep catch-up being, well, cut frightfully short. Tiptoeing around the room in an attempt to find several different belongings, she cannot bring herself to turn on the light and wake her companion. She slips into bed and is still.
A young woman wearing a colourful woollen jumper sits outside the station next to a very large green backpack. She tries to ignore the copious amounts of smokers she is positioned near and focus instead on the train of taxis lining the carpark and their middle aged, overweight drivers all shallowly in conversation as they eye off people and hope someone will be their next fare. A small silver car pulls hurriedly into the carpark and honks its horn at the woman. She looks around, startled, before realising the driver is waiting for her to get into the passenger side of the car. A few words are exchanged before the door is slammed and the car speeds off.
Two women stagger around the busiest train station in the city before boarding a train bound for the edges of town. They check into the cheapest hostel they could find before immediately setting out again for the Museums they had heard about for so long but had yet to discover. They spend hours in the British Museum, eat lunch in the rain and practice their inside voices in an inner city library where the internet is free. One woman decides to go in search of half price tickets to the famed London stage shows while the other wanders the back streets of Soho. They rejoin each other and head home, one destined to make herself beautiful- as though any additional work is needed- for the night out ahead and the other for an early slumber.
The woman in the technicoloured jumper has explored, with her new hostess, the villages of the surrounding area and the largest Tescos she's seen so far. They have talked for a long time, drunk innumerable cups of tea and watched the worst British TV they could find. Now she is told to sleep if she wants to, and she does. She sleeps until 1am, where she reads by flashlight for an hour, and then she sleeps until 7am the next morning.
So the crazy, unexpected denouement was that the girl in the jumper was me. Oh, wait....
I kid, I kid. I hope that wasn't too dull for you all. Basically Zoe and I hung out on Saturday and on Sunday I got the train out here. The italicised stuff is the day I spent with Deb, the other stuff was the day previous. I know, I'm an enigma.
I'm having a blast, just looking out the window here is incredible. Today we just bummed around inside and had fish and chips for lunch (deep fried mushrooms are a thing to behold). There are a few amusing things I'm having to get used to. For instance, I may not get to eat vegemite again after I leave here (the lady I am staying with is Aussie) for a very long time and it saddens me. Oh, and I am layering basically my entire wardrobe on top of itself because I am so unused to the cold (but I absolutely love it. I would take this over Aussie summers any time). And dear gawd, I cannot afford to travel anywhere ever.
'Til next time.
It's not a perfect metaphor.