Sunday in the Park ... and the Pub

So today I had planned to sleep in, but I didn't manage even seven hours. Too much to drink last night (but fun!), and too much random noise in the hotel hallway -- mostly the endlessly banging, heavy wood door. I had weird dreams, including one about people having to come into my hotel room and drill holes in the floor, or something.

And eventually I gave up, got up, and slowly put myself together. Boss was working all day, and Sunday lunch, I am informed, is very busy. I finally went out, walking toward Hyde Park, the north side of which was not far, across the Bayswater Road. Got some iced coffee in a can -- it was warm enough to enjoy a cold drink, hurrah! -- and a roll of film from some tiny store. Then I hit the park. I just ambled along feeling pleasantly warm from the sun and looking for a place to sit. I found an empty bench and phoned Boss at work, as instructed. Someone told me to hang on, and so I waited on the line. As though on cue, a big sweaty guy materialized from behind a tree (or something) and sat down next to me on the bench, on the other side of my pile of jacket, bag, newspaper, etc. Dammit! Boss came into my ear and said to come by the Gold around 4; then we hung up. I barely clicked "end call" before the Sweaty Guy pounced, attempting in a foreign accent I can't identify -- Greek? Turkish? Middle Eastern of some sort? really not sure -- to engage me in fruitful conversation.

SG: Are you American?

Me: (stupidly, somewhat reflexively, but coldly) Yes... [stuffs phone into bag and grabs other stuff to make quick getaway]

SG: Where are you from?

Me: ...

SG: Where do you work?

Me: ...

SG: What do you do for a living?

Me: [bails]

As I hurried away, mindful of the fact that I was not on my home turf and therefore ill-advised to react as I usually do -- i.e., with a hearty "fuck off" -- I had to laugh. Men really are all the same.

Yeah, sure. For all I know he just wanted to practice his English. Whatever. Let him try some other tourist.

I worried a little that he would follow me, but I didn't look back for fear of that being interpreted as encouragement. Just kept on walking, down a path that eventually took me to the Albert Memorial. (Which I guess is in Kensington Gardens but I'm not sure how all that works.) A bit gaudy, but very meaningful, it turns out. The air was so warm, and humid. I felt weak and tired from hangover and not enough sleep. Got a chicken/avocado wrap from a snack shop, along with a cappuccino. Sat at a picnic table and was soon joined by an older couple eating ice cream. They asked if they could join me, and I eagerly said yes -- the memory of SG still fresh in my mind. We had a nice chat. They had just returned from a trip to Moscow, which sounds like a fairly fantastical place. Full of ancient ornate subways and an ultra-wireless young generation. The wife explained about all the different elements of the Albert Memorial and what they mean, and the husband pointed out the Royal Albert Hall, just beyond it. The memorial is full of symbolism, none of which I can currently remember, but it sounded almost like a spell.

I liked meeting these old people and listening to their stories. And telling them mine, about the standing stones. After a while I left them and ambled off. All around me, couples were taking in the sun on blankets or spread-out jackets, or cuddling on benches in the shade. People and their dogs were everywhere. Families, gangs of tourists and friends ... all out enjoying the sun. I took a picture of the Peter Pan statue. (But not this one.)



Presently I noticed that quite a few people were carrying shopping bags. Shopping! Ooo, yes. And off I headed to Oxford Street, where there is much shopping. On the way I passed the Marble Arch, so I took some pictures of it, too.

That is, like, the most cliched thing you can do ... but it was on the way, and I figured I should at least make the effort. But I am pretty touristed-out. Boss had urged me to take a bus that travels around the city and hits the big spots or something. I just couldn't bear the thought of it. I know it's London, my first time here, and I should want to see the fucking Queen or at least her neighborhood or something, or more historical stuff or whatevah, but to be honest I feel like I am still processing Scotland and all I saw there. I am kind of happy to just mingle in the living city, to wander around this little portion of London within range of my hotel. That's enough of a lesson in its own way.

Well, Oxford Street was pretty crazy with people, but I did not mind the press of humanity as much as I usually do in crowds. I walked, and I browsed. And I bought ... two leather jackets -- one 3/4-length, single-breasted black Angel-style, and one full-length Spike drama. Hot! This kind of blew my wad. But I still walked around and looked at tons of stuff. Thankfully, nothing struck my fancy as hard. (My Visa card is still smokin'...) Back at Le Dump, I admired the spoils; got ready to head to the Gold just as Boss phoned looking for me. (I wasn't that late...)

It had been such a nice, blue, sunshine-y day that I totally forgot I was in London. And so I absentmindedly left my umbrella in my room. Oops. I had gone out the door in my MC5 T-shirt and new leather jacket (the shorter one); about halfway to Portobello Road, a gray cloud scudded overhead, and it began to pour! I took off the jacket and rolled it up in a ball under my arm to keep it from getting totally soaked, then stood laughing in my sweater and T-shirt under a totally inadequate tree (the only handy cover) on a deserted little side street that was stacked cheek-to-jowl with cream-colored townhouse-style facades. Anyone passering by would've thought me fucking insane, but so what? I'll never come this way again. After a few minutes, the shower subsided, and I was back on track. By the time I got to the Gold it had stopped completely ... and the sun was back out. But I was dripping wet.

I asked the bartender to call Boss from upstairs, as arranged. When he came out, I asked him for a towel. He said, "Oh, I thought you just got out of the shower." In a manner of speaking ... yes. I am not sure if he was joking or not ... probably he was. I mean, I looked like the only contestant in the pub's wet T-shirt contest.

So guess what I won? First a drink, and then dinner ordered by Boss himself. Featuring some pate he'd made, as well as roast lamb with roasted potatoes and veggies. So delicious. The gravy, yeah. Chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream for dessert. Mmmmm. Afterward, Boss had paperwork to do, and I needed to go back to my room and prep the interview that is the reason I am in London to begin with. Plus I needed to relax after all that walking and ... dampness. So we parted ways. I strolled back to Le Dump, got comfy, and here I sit. I got some work done, and then I stared out the window for a while. The kids across the way -- I think it is a hostel -- are playing loud music and being youthfully boisterous. I watched them for a while, then put on this movie Boss recommended, a detective show called I think A Touch of Frost. The kids are still noisy, but I'm going to sleep.