post-ironic quotation marks

Slightly neurotic (but cute!) singleton looking for adventure, finical stability, and some delusion of meaning. With much thought in the topic of sincerity and the occasional film review.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


I don't know if you could convince me to live farther north than London. It's been gray, cold, and miserable since I've first arrived. Any farther north would have to be just as gray and cold, but darker. Don't think I could do the darker.

But this weekend was a busy one. Went shopping for bedsheets, which meant, since I don't know London that well, going to Harrods. Now, normally, Harrods is too expensive for the likes of you and me, but right now, they're having a sale. Big big sales (which I hope to be able to take advantage of before it ends. someone please get me a job!). And the store was a mess of people, even in places like linens, it was an flurry of torsos and arms. The lower parts were worse, being practically impossible to move, but if you stood still you were bound to be run over by some middle aged woman attempting to get at the last of the (40% off) LV handbags.

At least the sheets were on sale (and a very, very pretty blue).

Later that evening, I met up with my friend from school, Emma. We went out in search of fish and chips and decent drinks, and wandered about Camden Town to find a decent pub/club. Instead we found this place, which was inhabited by plain girls and boring boys, but very nifty drinks. Still, flaming cocktails are not what makes a good evening, and after being hit on by a pair of Lithuanians we decided to leave. Only, Emma realised that she forgot her knitting in the bathroom. We go back and one of the bouncers offers me his coat (because it's cold -- it wasn't) with his phone number in it.

Sunday: Rose is finally in town. We hang out, and go to back to South Ealing where her flat is to make dinner and chat because I haven't seen her since May. I can't get back to London because the train I was suppose to catch wasn't going to come because of industrial action (dear tube workers, either have a full out strike, or stop this nonsense. it's a pain in the ass and isn't winning you any supporters). I decide to take a bus. I've never taking a bus here before, and I don't know which direction I'm suppose to go in, only that I need to get back to London. At a transfer point, I wait and watch as two N9 buses pass by, and then I wait for a half hour until another comes (and I'm practically jumping up and down to flag it down so that it stops). However, I did get to sit on the top part of the double decker, and met some nice boys who were also American, and doing the BUNAC thing, and I got invited to go with them to Amsterdam sometime next month. We'll see if that actually happens, kind of doubt it though.


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