I hope it’s not going to be like that for the rest of the year. Fucking students.
OK, back to sleep for another 1 ¾ hours… until the alarms go off, one fifteen merciful minutes after the other…
It’s a rainy morning. How fitting. I haven’t spoken to Baby in 2 days now. I am getting very edgy.
And I’m starting to feel very out of place, especially after certain comments last night. I forgot to mention that someone actually told me that I looked lost. I felt it at the time, anyway.
Still, today we’re moving to Harrow via coach. The skies clear so we don’t get wet while loading our baggage and they remain so until we reach Harrow. David Gray’s “Babylon” is the track playing on the bus stereo that sets me in a pensive, maybe wistful, mood.
Better add two beers and a scotch to my expenditures thus far. Fortunately I still have about 30 pounds out of the 200 (cash) that I brought and all the rest of the travelers’ cheques, which amount to a further 250. I keep forgetting, too, that I have my debit card. I definitely don’t want to use my credit card any more than I have to, what with interest rates and everything, but either way later today or over the weekend (depending on how energetic I feel) I’ll need to do a fair bit of shopping for basics, to get the “household” up and running. Yes, a bit of routine will do a body good. And we all know what a creature of habit I am, don't we? (Anyone comments on that and I'll write something nasty about you afterward. -- Ed.)
A random note on London: bike-friendly it’s not. Oh, it’s certainly flat enough, but there’s absolutely no bike parking. There are conspicuous signs posted saying “bikes chained to this fence will be removed,” and they are as ubiquitous as the wrought iron fences here. Anyway, I can't picture being able to take one’s bike on the tube anyway, at any time of day or night, lifts or no lifts (and most stations have no lifts).
It seems like everyone here smokes. I know that’s not true, it just seems like it.
Remember the culture shock “W-curve” I mentioned earlier? I’m going through that cycle again. I sure hope it goes away eventually. It’s not fun.
* * *
Sanity! Almost....
We arrive at Harrow, after a 50-minute bus ride (most of which is spent idling in traffic just outside of Westminster). Typically I am the last one to check in but I am older, wiser, and I certainly have more patience, even though those younger bastards ought to realize that I may well have less time on this planet left than they do and therefore I deserve to go before them. Still, there are no real problems in registration unlike for some of the others, except that I can't figure out how the main door key works -- or find the damn building I’m supposed to be in.
Once inside, though, the room is positively palatial compared to Wigram House. And you can’t beat the convenience... it’s right on the Northwick Park tube station (Metropolitan line), and just a block or two away from the Kenton tube stop (which is on the… oh, who am I kidding? Given my colour-blindness I haven’t a fucking clue which line it’s on. But trust me, it’s pretty handy. The tube line, I mean. Not the colour-blindness, which is a bitch.)
Once I’ve checked in, inhaling that new-building smell and inspecting every last lovely detail of my spacious new digs, I set out to do some one-stop shopping at the nearby Sainsbury's, for all my needs. Turns out that my debit card doesn’t work after all, and I’ve left my passport at home so they won’t take my travelers cheques, so I charge the equivalent $100 for bedding and various supplies. No matter what happens now, at least I will be prepared to sleep comfortably. (The bed is small, but it’s firm – small mercies.) Sainsbury’s is roughly the equivalent of Safeway in that it's big, fairly cheap (for some things) and thus strangely comforting in its own way. We do not yet have internet connectivity in our rooms but…
Right around the corner there is a web cafe... THANK GOD!!!
I bring my laptop, plug in, buy a green tea, and start checking email. Two hours goes by quickly indeed. I decide to let my battery be my timer, so with just minutes to spare I power down without having had time to edit my blog entries and head out to pick up a few more supplies.
This time I venture a little further afield down the Kenton road. In this immediate vicinity there are no less than 3 (!!!) vegetarian Indian restaurants. There is also a Pick 'n' Save, which is not much to look at but is chock-full of cheap, plentiful produce and basics --plus all the Asian spices, sauces, etc. an amateur chef could want! This must be what heaven is like, especially after all the fatty, meaty and/or fast foods surrounding Wigram House. Be still my beating heart! Oh, joy! Oh, bliss!
I note that this part of London is no stranger to gluten-free, organic and/or vegetarian delights of all shapes, sizes and descriptions. There are plenty of soy- and rice based options, and surprisingly enough the prices are not outrageous – in fact I’d say most are right in line with what we pay in Vancouver. Moreover, some items are actually cheaper here than at home – organic butter, for example, is about half price. Must be because the European Union is, thankfully, has a zero-tolerance policy towards cows on drugs. I also stop in to a Pound Plus store, which is roughly the equivalent of the Loonie Store (exchange rate aside), and pick up a few other odds & ends. All in all, it is a tiring but satisfying day.
And so I allow myself to enjoy a modest (£8) splurge after so much belt-tightening, and it’s a special treat for me to relax after doing so much running and/or walking around since arriving. It is truly a delicious meal, although I am the only one in the joint for the vegetarian Indian buffet dinner at Pradip's. It occurs to me that perhaps 6:30 on a Friday is too early for most people, especially if it’s taking them this long to get home on the hellish Tube.
I am running out of cash. I will need to try to use travelers’ cheques, and I am told that it takes an inordinately long time to open a bank account, thanks to the post-July 7 (that's British for "9/11") paranoia that reigns o’er Britannia.
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