Merrie England

Prince Albert Memorial sculptures, Hyde Park
one of many beautiful flower gardens in Hyde Park


I was given an oblique strategy that said "Look closely at the most embarrassing details and amplify them." Ironically enough, I was able to put it to use today. I decided to take a walk to Gloucester Square to find a copy of the Sunday Express. In the middle of the square, which at the time was bustling with a late afternoon crowd, I noticed that my sandals suddenly felt uneven. I turned around to find a large chunk of my shoe bottom resting on the sidewalk. I looked left. And right. And quickly picked up the bottom half of my sandal and shoved it into my purse. I'm sure I amused more than a few onlookers. How does the bottom of one's shoe just decide to detach itself anyways?

This evening I reheated some leftover Sainsbury brand pasta and then escorted my other two roommates to dinner at Wagamama to enviously watch them ingest heaping bowls of noodles. I spontaneously ordered a ginger beer and what arrived was a tall glass of clear liquid with a straw. I immediately felt the ginger tingling my nose upon the first sip. I think I decided that I liked it, but it was one of the more peculiar drinks I have sampled. Equally peculiar to the spicy beverage was what appeared to be a family of three sitting two tables away from us. About halfway through our meal, all three began staring at us. It wasn't just a casual on-and-off glance. It was an intense fixation of all six eyes involving the youngest of the three, presumably the son, to turn around completely in his chair to look. It lasted for several minutes. Gwen and I were facing them and we didn't know whether to squirm or laugh, so we did both. I thought I was doing something offensive. I noticed my elbows on the table but I saw that the woman's elbows were also on the table, so it couldn't be that. We came to the conclusion that maybe they thought we were famous, which was a much more satisfying and comical frame of mind. We should have known that going to a restaurant with such a bizarre name would serve up such bizarre events.

Our Friday adventure to Camden Market was both overwhelming and incredible. So many different kinds of people decked out in the most inventive clothing styles and combinations. So many rows and rows of clothes and colorful fruit/vegetables and jewelry and knick-knacky props that you impulsively buy and then don't know what to do with a day later. So many stands of greasy food that were shouted at you as you passed by the servers behind the glass. The smells all mashed together, forming both a nauseating and enticing effect. I didn't buy anything from the eager sellers even though they were ready and willing to haggle. I instead chose to take pictures and let my eyes glaze over at the people filling the streets.

Saturday morning I awoke refreshed. Reyn and I spent the day at Hyde Park. It was bigger than I ever could have imagined. Green everywhere. There were the active: joggers, bikeriders, dogwalkers and pigeonfeeders and non-active: picnicers, sunbathers and hammock-chair sitters who paid one pound fifty to do so. Reyn and I were the latter. Once we figured out that you had to pay to sit in these lawn chairs that were conveniently placed beside a gorgeous blue-gray pond, it was too late to turn back. The money collector who was dressed in forest green uniform and cap with a change box strapped diagonally across his chest was standing before us, palm outstretched. We were trapped. We laughed at his promptness and how we could have sat in the patch of grass beside the chairs for free. We saw the Peter Pan statue and Princess Diana memorial fountain and what they called the "Orangery" which was a majestic red brick building lined with twenty-foot tall immaculately trimmed hedges that appeared to be serving a classy overpriced lunch due to the outdoor patio seating with ivory umbrellas and women in large-brimmed ivory hats and designer sunglasses sipping white wine.

Hannah, my roommate, is humming right now. I think that could mean that we're all getting more comfortable. Hanging out at the flat usually involves each of us at our laptops with intermingled conversation about the next day's plans. Last night we all went out together for the first time (minus our fifth flatmate, Sarah, who we think is off traveling and plus our new friend Ricky from the basement flat). We took the tube 45 minutes away to Old Street which we thought would lead us to a club that sounded hopping from the online description. We walked out of the large station into a dreary series of narrow alleyways that passed as streets without much sign of life. After a speedy circle around and only one open door blaring some kind of music with a danceable beat that we soon discovered to be a gentleman's club, we decided to take the tube to a different spot. Gwen and I started laughing uncontrollably at nothing on the tube. And later she had to assist the man beside her who frantically awoke to the announcement that his stop was closed. Our stop greeted us with a stampede of young people in club attire so it looked like we were closer to success. The streets were packed with loud people and bright lights. We walked a bit down one of them and immediately were lured into a club by getting handed passes for free shots. The club was two levels, darkly lit and played pulsating electronic music. For such a shaky start, the evening ended with a bang. We stumbled home at 3:30 in the morning after a confusing rampage of questioning people on the street of the night bus's whereabouts (the tube stops running at midnight).