London, 22 July 2005. I caught the 8:42 train out of Exeter St. Davids to London Paddington. We were delayed, not by any sort of bomb that seems all the rage these days, but by a slower train that was stopping at every station between Reading and Paddington, whereas we were going non-stop. I tried to check in at the hotel, but as I was two and a half hours early, I couldn’t, so I dropped off my bags and went out walking through London.
Through London is right. For those of you who know London, my hotel was a couple of blocks from Paddington Station. I wound my way through London, knocking off the northern part of Hyde Park, the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, police blocking off part of Regent Street for ten minutes for no apparent reason, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Bridge, and the London Eye, eventually ending up at Shakespeare’s Globe at 1:55. I couldn’t pass up the 2 o’clock matinee of The Winter’s Tale, so I stuck around for that. In the yard, of course, which meant standing for the entire production.
Once that was through it was time to head back to the hotel. Inspired by Spirit Of The West I was trying to find a pub along Charing Cross Road, but for some reason I missed it completely. I eventually wound my way to the hotel, finally making it at around 6:45, which means about seven hours straight on my feet. Ugh.
An hour later I hit an Indian place for dinner, and now I’m sitting in the hotel room typing this up. Oops, it’s time to change the channel because Titanic’s on and the horrible horrible Celine Dion song is coming up. Of course, changing the channel probably means I’ll get cricket or some other impossible-to-follow program.
Oh god my feet are killing me. I have blisters the size of really big blisters on both heels. Ugh.
(typed up on the 22nd, posted on 1 August)
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