I’m up early and trying to sneak around the room so that I don’t wake anyone. I met a few of my dorm mates last night but their inability to be quiet throughout the night really grated on my nerves and good spirits. An American girl called Melissa doesn’t move a muscle while I rummage through my bag near her. My theory is that she could sleep through an apocalypse, so I test my theory by making as much noise as possible. My pièce de résistance is when I brush my teeth next to her head and she still remains comatose. I am a bit of a jerk.
I take advantage of a free continental breakfast and then I’m out the door by nine. My good friend Maddy, is meeting me in half a month so I don’t want to experience too much of London and spoil the experience of being with her. So I decide to do a really general look at the different areas.
I head straight away to Chelsea, drawn like a moth to the flame by the wealth and riches of the suburb. As soon as I enter the area, the number of Porsches and Lamborghini’s rises dramatically. Their sleek shapes as they glide over the cobblestone streets is an image not easily forgotten.
I walk to the Duke of York’s square, and distract some book-keepers with an inane question about T.E. Lawrence books (despite having no intention at all to buy anything). The shop is old and pokey and beautiful.
After a quick snoop at the local wares, I get onto my first double decker bus and head to Piccadilly Circus. The flashing lights of the Ritz leads me to get off the bus early to gawk at it. My mind harks back to Good Omens and NottingHill (honestly, I hate Hugh Grant so I don’t know why I keep on mentioning him in these posts). Distraction is eminent, however, and soon my gaze drifts to the gorgeously decorated windows of Fortnum and Masons. The green paint of the outside does little to prepare me for the magnificence of its insides. For the opulence and beauty of products that i will never be able to afford. A lovely clerk gives me a Strawberry Coated Raspberry Chocolate Truffle for free.
If you can’t see, it says 3750 pounds!
After ogling at the ageing rum’s and peeking in at each tea room (reconnaissance for a later date with Maddy), I move on from the store and make my way to Leicester Square. Instantly, I am drawn to the flashing bulbs and huge crowd that has amassed itself in front of The Book of Mormon. I have heard about this play before, mostly through my parents who saw it in New York. A charismatic group of guys notice me peering up at the sign and rope me into a competition to win tickets. Since the prize will be drawn in only an hour, I decide to enter and try my luck. I don’t win but I don’t regret entering.
Lunch is at Pret A Manger, a store that Australia desperately needs to launch. It is a fast food chain that only features healthy options. My feet are sore and raw, so I relax for a bit and watch the world pass. But I’m distracted… there is some kind of screaming outside. Surely… surely this can’t be the zombie apocalypse? No, it can’t be. I’m not prepared, world. I’M NOT PREPARED!
Oh, wait. It’s just a bunch of Bieber fans, screaming at a hotel. And you’d think that if they were screaming at this hotel, he’d… you know… be staying there.
Nup. He wasn’t. And they realised that eventually, as the screams die down and they manoeuvred awkwardly into a Bieber loving parade out of the square. The whole thing is ridiculous to watch and many laughs nip at the tweens heels as they move out of view.
The sun is starting to set so I decide to head back to the hostel. It’s irrational, I know, but I head along the street I walked down yesterday, hoping that my American guy will be there again. He isn’t, obviously, and I feel rather silly for expecting him to pop up.
As if rubbing some salt in my festering and gangrenous wounds, I find it difficult to locate a restaurant that caters to a single eater. I get fed up with searching and decide to skip dinner and eat ice cream instead. It’s a freezing night (by my standards), so I’m torn between regretting my choice and loving it’s deliciousness.
By the time I find an internet café and shoot off a few emails, it’s 8:30 and I’m feeling tired. When I stumble back to my dorm room, I strike up some conversations with two Austrian girls and we talk until late at night. We get along well and they make it clear that if ever I am in Austria, they would be happy to host me.
It’s a lovely gesture and I return the sentiment.
The Variety of Life 