Sadly, the London chapter is about to close. I'm leaving this city feeling very good about it and sure that it won't be long before I'm back. I can imagine living here.
Tomorrow--the plot thickens--I leave for Paris!
These last few days I've been able to buy into the fantasy that I do actually live here. It's been kind of a lush life with the dog and this beautiful house (is it a flat if it's got more than one floor?). While watching TV last weekend I saw some show with this singer/songwriter named Mika on it and I was oddly compelled. Then I found out that he was giving a free show Monday night, so I went into town for that. It was good, but disappointing since he only sang three songs. I had never heard of him before, but maybe he's already an underground sensation in the US? Kind of in the vein of Rufus Wainwright, Queen, Elton John, etc.; I think he calls it 'powerpop.'
After the show I had arranged to meet with my friend Ilsa's friend Matthew. We went to dinner at a decent Italian place and then to a pub. This was lots of fun. He manages the UK branch of Nonesuch Records and offered to send me some CDs; instead, I stopped by his office to pick them up the next day. I walked away with a tote bag full of some incredible music.
Last night, I wanted to see another play--I really wanted to see The Seagull, but had no luck getting a ticket--and so Matthew joined me for my second viewing of _Rock 'n' Roll_; it was just as good, if not better, the second time. Also, yesterday, on the advise of another friend named Matthew, I visited a little bookstore called Persephone Books. They are a small publisher of reissued 19th and early-mid 20th century women's fiction and nonfiction (very similar to The Feminist Press, where I used to work), and the packaging is absolutely gorgeous. I bought two old cookbooks, one called _Plats du Jour_ and the other called _Kitchen Essays_. I've only skimmed them so far, but they are very fun.
In sum, these are a few observations from my time in London. I'll add more as I think of them.
- Men here consume a lot of the world's hairgel (and designer jeans, too)
- When you blow your nose, the snot is black
- The pedestrian does not have the right of way
- Cilantro is called coriander and arugula is called rocket
- An ounce in the US is not the same as an ounce in the UK
And today I've been lazily gathering up all my things, doing laundry, getting packed, listening to all my new CDs, and reading James's _Washington Square_. It's been fun. I started drinking wine earlier than usual, in preparation for Paris.
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2 comments:
black snot is the worst! when i was there, and it happened to me, i was completely freaked out, but too embarrassed to talk about it, so i kept my black snot a secret. then, one night at a bar, some guy who was also studying abroad, mentioned the black snot. i almost cried! i was so happy to know i wasn't rotting inside.
From Today's Page Six:
OWEN Wilson ventured into "Siberia" at Waverly Inn the other night. Wilson was seated in the boldface-mecca front room of the West Village venue with friends, but popped by to say hello to a table in the rear garden room. The Butterscotch Stallion told the guests, "I like it back here. There's a nice breeze." Waverly regular Tom Freston was overheard recommending "rocket" (argula) salad to a patron and revealing, "I always order the fish." Fellow diners included John Leguizamo, Roberto Cavalli and Jerry Bruckheimer.
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