I’m fuggin’ tired, it’s nearly 2am and I’m fresh in from the much anticipated expat Thanksgiving extravaganza and I need to be back up at 8.

For now you get Ebeth blowing out birthday candles on a Glow Worm inspired cake at Fiona’s place in Hampstead on Friday night.

We polished off a few bottles of wine, and ended the evening watching Little Britain on DVD while we waited for the car. My advice for the day is that you must buy this DVD for yourself for Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, Festivus, whatever. PC? What’s that? Hell yeah.

Must…crash.

Man, I’ve suddenly realized how much obnoxious euro slang I already employ, I hope my condition doesn’t worsen as a result of being here. Not because the slang is bad, rather because I live in the states and need to stick to my own slang instead of potentially sounding like a jagazz. Scratch that, it could never happen.

Right now, the east coast is waking up. Right now, I’m aware that the sun and I have been up for several hours, since I was able to set my internal clock to GMT. I rose at a reasonable time despite staying up until 1am chatting with Ebeth and ordering a late pizza to supplement the stout I had for “dinner”.

It was frigid this morning, hell, it’s still frigid now. Walking back to the flat as the sun began to set at 2pm I could still see my breath hanging lazy in the air in front of me. I felt nothing…I was high, again.

I realize a part of me shouldn’t be so excited about being here as a twisted show of honor to the motherland, but I am. As silly as it may sound to you, hopping off the tube and following the light up the stairs this morning, I felt like a child. Everything was new and clean and innocent and bright, and not more than ten paces out onto the street I was next to Big Ben and it made my eyes curl from that little smile I sometimes produce and they promptly began to water. I forgot about the cold, I forgot about the battle for land, I forgot about everything that came after the fairytales and stories of strange lands I was fed in my youth.

A few snapshots and a sit for a spell on a bench on the river later, I had to move again to stay warm. It was painful to pull myself off that bench, I’d have spent hours there if I could.

Did I mention it was cold? That’s ice, just down from St. Margaret’s Church at Westminster Abbey. Cathedral photographed.

I traversed through the narrow lanes well off the beaten path because that’s where the goods are. I had two cups of coffee because there were few other options for staying warm. Three layers under my fleece, thick socks and (ahem) wool clogs, gloves and a scarf weren’t quite enough to keep me warm. I needed a smidge more to get me through St. James Park and to Buckingham Palace in the form of hot caffeine, then another bench and another cup to get me back out.

I feel bad for these guys. During the few minutes I stood swapping batteries out of my camera (again), no less than a dozen tourists from assorted countries buddied up and had their pictures taken. Clearly I didn’t feel enough pity to prevent me from taking a shot. One thing I didn’t expect - they’re actually young and handsome under those hats.

I got tangled up in the Theatre District then I hoofed it across the Millennium Bridge, which is London’s equivalent of The Big Dig, and as I closed in on The London Eye I realized I wasn’t particularly interested in paying good money to climb in a bubble with strangers.

Back to the flat for some left over pizza, some warming up and a short nap as I’ve been walking for the better part of 5 hours and my feet feel a little like they did after the 2 day. We’re headed out tonight to celebrate Ebeth’s birthday and if I’m going to stay up past bedtime I’m going to need a little assistance.

Oh, and this one is for the idiots.

It’s supposed to snow here this weekend for the first time in something like ten years. I figure they have me to thank for it. *shrug* I do what I can.

Women here are phecking studs, period. This is evidenced by their completely insensible footwear. Exceptional. They must start young like geisha’s with their bound feet, because these women and their pointy toes narrow heels all tear tail through the tube stations and down the streets with no sign of discomfort. I gawk, impressed, and look down to my own footwear knowing it gives away my nationality.

It’s 1am and I’m breaking my rule.

“Step away from the keyboard. Step away from the keyboard.”

The batteries in my camera died, so I didn’t snap any shots of the adventures for today that included four trains on a quest to find a store that sells American goods and therefore the holy grail: Stove Top. Ebeth and I are bound for a gathering of expats on Saturday for a delayed Thanksgiving. Should you wish to retrace my steps, check the tube map and trace me from Swiss Cottage on the Jubilee Line (grey) to the Metro Line (?) east to Kings Cross where I hopped on the Northern line (black) to Hampstead then walked a few blocks to the shop for good measure. The maps don’t do justice to all the flights of stairs in the stations…and the levels you have to bounce between to change trains. It’s a freakin’ hoot.

Now, about those batteries. I paid 14 pounds (approx $30) for a 4 pack of AA batteries. You know what to bring for the black market when you visit. Seriously. Frack. A few bits from yesterday follow, closing with a shot of my one meal for today - ingested a block from Abbey Road.

Rockin’ the tube

Mmmm. Meat thingie.

What’s with the humping pelicans? C’mon. They can’t post that and think I won’t laugh.

River Thames

Bonus round: River Thames again

St. Paul’s Cathedral

Stout: it’s what’s for dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Kissy boo!

Highlights:

~ I lost the war for the armrest to my single serving plane buddy (who wasn’t really) - a man on his way to Dubai who dabbed himself endlessly with a blue silk kerchief.
~ I take comfort in the fact that I can still fit comfortably with my head on my feeding tray for napping at 30,000 feet - I’m that tiny. Flashbacks to detention.
~ On landing it was 32F and so foggy I wasn’t aware of our proximity to the ground until our wheels hit it.
~ Four trains and umpteen flights of stairs later (good thing I travel light) I officially love the underground.
~ Based on said tube experience, I understand why folks are so “fit” looking here. I also have black boogs.
~ Speaking of black, it seems to be the fashion color of choice, which makes me very happy.

I’m exhausted. Who knows when I’ll write again…shouldn’t be too long b/c I’ve found that sitting on the floor of Ebeth’s living room I’ve got tons of options for stealing wi-fi.

Oh, and I went by London Bridge today - I’m happy to report it isn’t falling down as previously reported in nursery rhymes.

By the time you log on for your Wednesday morning fix, I’ll be off the plane and wandering a strange city with no inclination to plant my arse in front of a keyboard for your amusement. I imagine that will take at least another 4 or 5 hours.

Look kids - Parliament, Big Ben. Look kids - Parliament, Big Ben. Look kids - Parliament, Big Ben.

In the meantime, inquiring minds want to know what the plan for London is. So far, this is all I’ve figured out: From Gatwick, I’ll take the shuttle to Victoria which will dump me at the tube station. From there, I’ll take the Circle line (east bound) to Liverpool. Tube maps >>

From there I’ll call Ebeth. You remember her, she’s the gal I played kickball with this summer who’s on assignment there and offered up her flat as my crash pad. She’ll meet me at the station, hand me a cell and a key to her place, then leave me to my begin my adventure.

Here’s what I won’t be doing (see also: why I love traveling solo): I will not be negotiating about wake times/bed times, nor will I be negotiating about where or when to eat. I will not be bitched at when I get lost (I have an unnatural love of getting lost, there’s something romantic about it). I will not have to justify any expenditures. I will not have to explain my whimsical change of plans. I can be anyone I want from wherever I want (aliases and personas full effect). I can be friendly or grumpy. I can talk or not talk. The best part may very well be that for 7 days, it’s unlikely anyone will interrupt me or attempt to finish a thought for me.

As you can see from the forecast, the weatherman is calling for cold and ugly, which means I should have the majority of the city to myself. Effing brilliant baby, this is how I like to roll. I can see the sunshine in the rain.

WOOT.