How bad a post would that sentence be. Edit: I pooped about in Oxford Circus, observed expensive things, walked to Piccadilly Circus, which is the coolest place, full of theater and restaurants that are smell torture if you've not eaten in five hours and been walking all of them, which I had. Then I had a crazy adventure. In Dagenham. First things first.
Oxford Circus contains the biggest H&M, Urban Outfitters, and aforementioned Topshop I've ever seen. And other spendy shops. It looks like so: (not my picture)
Then I walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. I saw a kid my own age, slumped next to a building, clutching his paper cup of coffee despondently. He was sitting on a duffel, and I didn’t know if he was homeless or just a tired traveler. The poor guy looked so utterly done in that I came really close to asking if he was all right. Didn't. ppppttt.
Piccadilly Circus. Really is like a circus. I will go sit there sometime, and act like I'm part of the architecture. It's like a picture from a history book. The beautiful old buildings towering over the various streets, the red buses scurrying, the pedestrians scurrying even harder. Picture. Again, not mine.
Then this is Theatreland. This precise Les Miserables poster is there as we speak. type. whatevs.
I then went home and was tired. but happy.
now. Dagenham. Dagenham Heathway, to be precise. I went there to get a bike. It required me to take the District Line nearly all the way to the east end. Long ride. I got there, and walked about three miles to get to the bike. I asked so many people for directions. A girl in chinos and flats clipping her hedge, a grandma in her trench coat, and this rather nerdily attractive kid my own age with green eyes, and brown hair flopping in them. The older woman literally shied away from me when I started to talk. I’ve never seen someone look so afraid of me: her eyes looked terrified. She warmed up though. “Oh yes, Green Lane, just go through that alley there, take a left, then a right in the next alley!” I was supposed to be there at a certain time, and though I had drawn a map, I wanted to be sure.
All that said, I got the bike, reduced the price by five pounds by being snarky, and began to ride home. Then, oh, then, I took a wrong turn. It was getting dark, and let's just say it was not a ritzy neighborhood. The street signs are difficult. They're on buildings, fences, sometimes not in sight at all if you don't know where to look. Yes, I know, I'm a newbie. And it was raining. I backtracked and asked directions again. I thought the road he indicated was the one I'd come in on: after five minutes, realized it wasn't so. At that point, the panicky thought crossed my mind: "WHAT IF I CAN'T GET HOME!!!!?? what if the tube doesn't run as late as it does in the city, what if I get more lost, what if i miss the first day of corsetry, what if i shrink and fall in the gutter in the rain.." There is only one thing to tell your brain at a time like that and it's Kindly Shut Up Please. Now, Some Logic. Oh look, that street sign points the way to the street you're trying to get to. and you are going the direction it points in. Keep. Pedaling. Look, a main street. A hill. I recall a hill by the station...and BEHOLD! the beautiful red and blue circle-and-dash of the London Underground. In the rain, me hauling my tired bike and sore calves up the slope, it was more gorgeous than...i don't know. Eddie Redmayne. And that's saying something.
Then onto the train, folding my little bike neatly at my feet, and reading the laughable Evening Standard as night fell. Something as simple as sitting down is occasionally wonderful. That was Sunday/Monday. I had a stellar class that morning that you'll hear about, but it must go in the Skool post. A place for everything, and everything in its place. to end, here's what the tube looks like, if you were wondering.
Brit-ism of the day: Keep Calm and Carry On.
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