Idle Wanderings Among The Frantic.

 I had a few minutes to spare before my entirely unnecessary booking at the British Museum so I went to the National Gallery.  I have never been there when it was so empty.  I didn’t have a lot of time to spend so I just went to see some of my favourites and some new things.  I actually was able to stand in front of Sunflowers although there was a Korean couple taking videos of themselves in front of the picture for an inappropriate amount of time.  I couldn’t really get upset since there is normally a throng of people in front of that one painting waiting for a chance to see it up close entirely ignoring the other Van Goghs and impressionists, but I saw it.

I walked to the British Museum and am able to walk in and I immediately go towards the non-controversial exhibits because those are the ones few people come to see.  The Enlightenment was stunning, Roman Britain was illuminating although there was a school group and some people with backpacks more appropriate for scaling a Himalaya.  While looking at the Sutton Hoo helmet some woman came and stood next to me so close we were touching.  She needed an up close photo of the helmet because the countless ones books do not do what she can do with her phone.  This pattern repeated itself.  Often times I would be looking at something, and despite their being plenty of room and other things to see, six or seven people decided that they needed to see whatever it was I was appreciating at that particular moment.

I thought a little food will help. and it kind of helped, but ultimately I had enough and decided I would go to Temple Church which I had never done.  It was incredibly old and stunning. After that I went to Twinnings and tried to secure some tea, but all four people were assisting some people with their matcha blend or something so I took it as an excuse to not buy tea that didn’t need as I would probably be body slamming some people in Fortnum's to get some anyway, and they are always so nice despite the crush of people. 

After that I had almost spent the day and it was cold so I grabbed a bus back to my hotel, but the bus stopped halfway there with a small excuse of there being too many busses in the area.  OK.

Arriving Undetected.

 Arrived in London, checked into my room, and managed to unpack all of the things I'd accumulated over two weeks into a tiny room.  The room isn’t ideal, but they never are, but the location is perfect for getting where I like to be and getting back to Heathrow and Seattle on Friday, but I get ahead of myself.

I suspected I would be within walking distance of Temple of Seitan, a place a come to every time I’m here.  All I had to do was walk down Camden High Street and what could go wrong with that.  Nothing.  I had to dodge a few side by side walkers and a few people pointing there smart phones in random places.

I arrived and it was more packed than usual, but there was a table for one and I took it.  As soon as I became settled I became immediately unsettled by four American who walked in and proceeded to talk in a volume that was altogether unnecessary.  One of them was wearing a camel coat like a Sloane Ranger from 2023 and wasn’t getting a textback from Tom and everyone in the place heard about it.  

I absolutely destroyed my food which was a good sign.  The night previous I went to Rochester to meet up with a guy who may or may not be sending mixed messages, but more likely I’m just reading signals that aren’t actually there.  I made it back to Canterbury rather late, upset my mom by not responding to any 5 of her messages, and may have caught a chill in the rain.

Stepping out on Temple of Seitan I walked in the opposite direction of the Americans which was toward Regents Park so I was able to walk through the park before I decided it was too cold for a proper walk.  I used the phone to find a bus back to my place and spent the rest of the evening in the room planning.

The Movable London Fog.

 Many things happened in Nottingham that will simply have to stay in Nottingham.  Most notably the international adapter I left plugged into my bedside outlet.  I knew I had left it as soon as I sat in my Uber, but that didn't stop me from frantically searching for it in the car, in the station, on the platform and in the train itself.  Part of me knew I could replace it at almost any general store and every souvenir shop, but that did not stop me from having 2 or possibly three panic attacks at Ashford International.

That particular adapter had lasted since 2016.  We had seen some things that thing and I, but Nottingham seems to be where we part.  Hopefully the staff will keep it in a drawer somewhere for some American who happens to find themselves in a hotel with no means to charge their devices.

Canterbury was rainy and wet when I arrived and, miscalculating the distance to the hotel, I was wet and drippy when I made it to my room, but a nice hot bath fixed everything as they so often do.

For some reason my room came with the breakfast so I had to dress early and go down to breakfast, cue another panic attack, but once down there the realization that I was possibly the only one not on the payroll that knew how to behave I quickly relaxed to my muesli, coffee and digital copy of The Field.  

The couple that sat down next to me could have sat anywhere, but sat next to me.  Despite not speaking English very well they insisted on trying, to each other, just loud enough so I could hear them complain about the temperature of the butter and with just enough detail for me to understand that this couple really wasn't a couple.  They didn't know much about each other, and that was curious, but the article I was reading on Nigel Havers was similarly curious. 

Another group of gentlemen sat down a few tables down, and at that distance you would think I wouldn't be able to overhear their conversation, but alas, there was an American with them and although he had arrived on Saturday he was still talking, loudly, about his jet lag and his attempts to cope with it.  Long walks and longer books seem to work for myself, but once again I simply had to allow my quiet thoughts to not intrude on those around me.

Iced Espresso Treason Iced Espresso Plot.

Forward momentum is continuing, but only just.  I managed to tidy my room in Colchester in time to catch my train only to be alarmed by a series of, yes, alerts from my phone telling me that the first leg of my journey is delayed, the second leg also delayed, because of a trespass on the rails.  I can't even begin to speculate about what that could have been about, but this forced me to stare at my phone for 30 minutes monitoring updates until I decided I would have to walk to the second station on my leg to avoid any chance of missing it.

Long walk, with a heavy pack that I wasn't expecting, but I made it, I ordered a coffee where the woman behind the counter has seemingly appointed herself the ice maiden of the British Isles and I received no more that half a dozen cubes in my drink, and I can only just say that this wasn't entirely her fault.  I could see this woman's hunger to disappoint in her eyes and she saw her opportunity for easy prey.  I obliged, i frowned and I carried my sad little uniced espresso to the end of the platform before being notified via loudspeaker that the platform has changed.  

Where had the platform moved.  Platform 2 or something but it required two lifts and something called a subway to get there which I did and I made it, but the lady with the cane back on Platform 5? Who can say.  Certainly not the porter who spent too much time helping the mother with the oversized pram.  Could be a new mother, more likely a human trafficker.  Would a mother that truly cares for her child subject it to to these terrors?  No, of course not, I don't even wear jewelry on the train.

I made it to the train despite this, arrived at London Liverpool again where I had to immediately find a way to Kings Cross St. Pancras which wasn't entirely clear from any of the numerous signs posted about, but I must not have looked entirely confused because two people approached me and asked me how to find their platform and I was able to assist them while remaining completely at sixes and sevens myself until I finally realized the color of the Metropolitan line was mysteriously grey during their stretch and only during this stretch which I had wondered about before, but now its confirmed.

Once at St Pancras I can't find anything that tells me where my platform is, but I notice they have a minature Fortnum and Mason which may need exploring later, but apparently all I needed to know was that I was on an EMR train which narrowed down the potential platforms to 4 so I make may way only to discover that my 1:05 train has been combined with the formerly late and now nonexistent 12:35 train so the train was stuffed, and the seat the I had reserved had been nullified.

I had to find whatever seat I could and stuff and smoosh my bag under the seat in front of me and this, I would later find out, caused my toothpaste to ooze all over everything in my dopp case.  So remember, remember this fifth of Novemeber I believe I shall.  Nottingham awaits.

Loads of Clotted Cream With Lashings Of Mistake.

 

Prince Andrew has a lot to answer for, and not for the reasons other people may be thinking.  While the world was standing, sitting, or straddling something agog at the news that the British Monarchy which now seems to exist at the will of a fickle and easily led public, I was being assailed by the most boorish and crude social media posts on the Social Media Platform Formerly Known As Twitter.  I did my best to ignore their rage bait and mindless hate mongering, but I finally had to flag the most abusive comment and after the moderators took about a minute and a half to dismiss my flag I took the most drastic action I accidentally could have.

I deactivated my X account.  I didn't just suspend my account so I could unsuspend it somethimg in the next 30 days like I normally do, no this time, because of jet lag, paranoia or patriotism I mistook the radio buttons on the X screen and permanently deleted my account of over 15 years.

15 years of musings, bon mots and furious rage tweets gone in a flash of anger but I suppose it could be worse.  It would be worse if I seemed to care a little more than I do, but in this case because everything that seems to always happen in the backgound of that app is still happening whether I am there to be provoked by it or not, my concern seems relatively diminished.  It is more about the mistake than the result.

Drifting Toward The Ancient.

 Second meltdown happened in the middle of Liverpool Street station on my way from Windsor to Colchester.  Luckily it was the type of meltdown that happened on my phone with a furious series of emails, slides and pinches.  It all proved to be for nothing, and I learned to always hold onto my maxim of do absolutely nothing until it is absolutely impossible to do anything but nothing.  Minor disruptions can make me forget some of the wisdom it has taken me years to accumulate.

Obviously I could have had a third, fourth and fifth meltdown at any Tesco along the way, but I never walk into Tesco without expecting to enter a diffuse cloud of female toxicity and meticulously curated personality disorders and that rule has served me almost as well as the one I momentarily forgot in the middle of a London train station.

On a related note I waited as long as I possibly could to go the one place I visit before I truly feel I am in England, Poundland. 

I only needed a few things, and in this particular Poundland there were actual clerks and not self check out and as I blissfully winded through the aisles of utterly unnecessary bargains I could periodically hear one of the clerks shout out "NEXT PLEASE!'.  

I knew there would be a wait and I would have to plan this quite carefully because as long as we are the subject of accumulated wisdom, one thing I have learned in my trips to this land is that nothing will make a normally taciturn Englishman chat with a complete stranger like standing in a long queue.      

I wouldn't be having that so I winded myself unnecessarily down the freezer case when one of the employees walked by and snarled at me, at least I thought it was a snarl, but the ladies who overheard it were shocked and one immediately asked the other 'Who comes to work and growls at people?'  

Snarl or growl I whirled around in a "What the fuck" and noticed the queue at the end of the aisle had died down so I set off, and two of my items had no price so the clerk gave them to me for 75 pence each.  Going to Poundland and getting stuff for under a Pound can be the cherry on the top of any day.

The gentleman at the independent book shop also got under my skin when he couldn't make change for 10 pounds so made me use my card.  I don't mind using a card at small businesses, but I know small business shouldn't be relying on contactless payment exclusively.  Cash should be king and banks actively discouraging the use of cash and charging businesses and people for the privilege of not using cash ought to be a red flag for even the thickest.

Unless of course they want private equity to scoop them up and asset strip their smug independent business owning asses. If they actually want international banks to run their government, their schools, their hospitals and their entire life then by all means, insist on giving some bank a slice of every financial transaction you make in your life and see where you end up.

That is not a dare.