Lon-Done
Posted on July 8, 2004 at 9:08 am | No Comments
I find myself, for the first time, in United’s “Red Carpet Lounge” at Heathrow airport, waiting to get the hell outta Blighty. My upgraded ticket gained me entry to this zone of free self-serve booze and wireless access, and I am taking full advantage. If I have to wait, here is better than elsewhere.
I’m eager to leave behind these overlong UK workdays and overgray skies… the weather has been terrible, but I’d be whining more about work if it was beautiful and I couldn’t enjoy it. The last time I was this homesick, this excited to get back, I think it was the second day of summer camp, sometime in the early eighties. I need to see my girls.
Ok, let’s purge some words, off the top of me head: flat, lift, top, tube, roo-ter, mo-bile, blimey, cheers, loo. There, sorted.
Hey, free snacks! Tiny tiny packages, but it’s not the size of the sack of nuts that matters, right? They do taste quite good with my inaugural drink of the day, a tall can of Japanese Sapporo. Quite an international selection they’ve got here. Where shall I visit next? A bottle of Nastro Azzurro sounds good.
There was only one thing I wanted to buy while I was over here, and since I had little time to shop, I came up empty. I was in search of Curve‘s new double disc compilation called “The Way of Curve“, and the two records shops I did check hadn’t even heard of it. Cheeky blighters.
So on my way over here to the lounge, I stopped in the Virgin record store, thinking “Naaaahhh… they’ll never have it, but…”. And there it was. One copy. I broke my last 20 quid, leaving me a fiver, and snagged it. The plane ride home just got far more enjoyable.
It gets better, though. I finished up Neil Gaiman‘s “American Gods” yesterday, leaving me with nothing to read on my 7-hour flight. I didn’t have anything in mind, so I wandered around the airport bookstore thinking I’d grab a couple of magazines. I’d been wanting to pick up the latest Robert B. Parker novel, “Stone Cold“, but it’s not out in paperback in the U.S. until September, so I’ve held off… until I saw the UK paperback sitting there on a shelf. Well, whaddya know. I hand the clerk my final fiver and I’ve got both listening and reading action for the trip. Aces. Anything that will help it pass more quickly.
Alright, my hour of wireless access is nearly up, time to grab another beverage, maybe some complimentary pretzels, and dive into my book. See ya stateside.
Finally, Free Time
Posted on July 3, 2004 at 11:42 am | No Comments
Sporadic rain falls on Trafalgar Square, as it’s fallen over all of London this week. I’ve only seen it through workplace windows, or found its evidence on just-wet streets. Last night’s pseudo-Pixies plans fell through, thanks to an unforeseen dust storm and a 16 hour day at the office.
I’m in a pretty odd-but-good mood at the moment, sitting here in the Charing Cross library, but that’s to be expected when you’re alone and an ocean away from home. Next door is the Garrick Theater, where Mamet’s Oleanna will be performed in just an hour. I sprang for 7th row center, spoiled by my seats at the second part of His Dark Materials a few months back. In my limited theater-going history, I’ve found that if you can’t see the whites of their eyes, you might as well stay home and save the sterling.
Speaking of which, tomorrow marks my very first July 4th away from home, stuck here in the very country from which we celebrate our long-ago liberation by shooting colored explody-things into the sky. Not a big deal to me, I guess, but Boston makes quite a party out of it… and I will miss floating on the Charles as fireworks-shrapnel bombards Amie, myself, and a few boat-friends.
“The library is closing in 10 minutes!”, announces the woman at the desk, louder than she should be allowed. Then again, she’s making the rules. It strikes me that British accents seem far more suited to librarians than any other. Maybe it’s a Giles thing.
So that’s my cue to pack up and figure out how to spend the next hour or so before the play. I’ve already wandered the square, where the London Pride festivities are in full swing. It’s multi-colored madness out there, I tell ya… a sea of leather pants, crew cuts, and sleeveless fishnet shirts, and it looks like the pavement is drying up …
A rare empty bench in Leicester Square, near a full brass band playing semi-familiar songs to much applause. They stop in time for the Swiss clocks chimes, picking up again when they’re through. I read a bit and head over to the theatre, excited for some live action drama and David Mamet dialogue.
Sitting in the Garrick, a plastic pint of Carling Lager, ticket holders file past, paging through programs and turning off cell phones. A murmur of many accents fills the room with just 5 minutes before show time. Again, it’s time to shut down…
The play is over, and I’m rattled. Sitting on a bench in now-sunny St. James Park, processing what I just saw while I people watch. Time to find some internet access, upload these words, and maybe grab some dinner. Once more into the underground I go …
