Carolyn Goes to London


I found myself with an opportunity to spend a long, all-by-myself weekend in London, and so I took it.

Every one of these streets is older than the United States

My Sweetie-Pie Guy (MSPG) was going to be in L.A. for a week just as I would be finishing up some work, and well, when MSPG’s gone I revert to the bachelorette that I am—stepping over piles of laundry, not bothering to hang up my winter coat, drinking soy milk straight from the carton—and generally degenerate into sloth.

I was convinced that the results of an entire week of, um, independent living would not be repairable in the hour that I usually give myself for the frantic tidy-up prior to the return of MSPG, and so I sought an activity that would shorten my slothfulness.

London for the weekend  was the only thing I could think of that might, possibly, dent the inevitable de-dapperization of our home.

Other people might have thought things like “I will hang up my coat every time I come in,” and “I will make sure that all the socks and undies are no longer damp before taking them out of the dryer and bringing them upstairs, in order to avoid having to drape them over every piece of furniture we own until they dry,” but those thoughts are for other people, clearly which I am not.

London for the weekend was my single and only thought, and I liked it. I lived in London many, many, many years ago (thank you, BUNAC), and hadn’t been to the city since before they built the pedestrian bridge over the Thames.

It was time to re-aquaint myself with the cultural capital of the world (according to me).

I wanted to see the things I wanted to see, go to the places I want to go, and eat the food I wanted to eat. All me, only me, all the time.

I thought my head was going to explode with the thought of it.

“Did you hear, Carolyn’s coming!” “Oh my gawd, we’re gonna run out of tea…”

I planned and compared for weeks on end: I considered 120 places of lodging; I found 200 museums that interested me. I determined the distance between any two places of interest and calculated whether I could walk it or whether I should take the Tube. I listed out all the music I might want to hear, and scoured the websites of all the entertainment/theatrical venues that I could find.

Basically, I gave myself a headache.

I went in January, last weekend of, and got what I considered a really good deal through Expedia of a non-stop round trip on Virgin Air and three nights in a deluxe double at Hotel Russell.

Although I had to pay an extra eleven dollars a night to get that class of room…


Getting from here to there


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