2005-05-04

London: arrived bright and early Saturday morning. As usual, I did not hear a single word of English for several hours, and when I did it was from American tourists. Went to Portobello Road market, which was heaving with sluggishly-drifting shoals of bovine shoppers. I was tempted to buy an antique tea service despite the fact that I have no table in my flat and never entertain. I got sick of the crowds and stopped for a strong cappuccino at a Moroccan caf�, which I knew would be devoid of American tourists because there was a Starbucks directly across the street. After trekking all the way to the grotty end of the market street (the wares go steadily downhill in price and quality as you move northwards: on the last block I came across a pile of used blankets, some decorated with tyre tracks, piled on a tarp on the road), I decided to do the Victoria and Albert Museum because it was free and I�d never been. I killed a few hours looking at erotic Medieval tableware and a weird six-foot-wide dress, then it was back on the Tube to Covent Garden with a vague idea that there was a Canadian pub somewhere in the surrounds � I�d remembered correctly, and ended up drinking overpriced Canadian beer that didn�t taste right and watching Canada beat Latvia in an international hockey match (Latvia put up an admirable resistance � those Baltic states know their way around the ice) and then going for a greasy meal with a friendly bloke who�d been born in Toronto and moved to Hong Kong when he was six and from there to Britain. He had an interesting accent.

At six o�clock I was half in the bag and thus fully primed for my usual pilgrimage to the punky watering holes in Camden. In my regular pub I quickly hooked up with a tattooed, Buddhist, half-Chinese South African (with a VERY interesting accent) and his zany gang of friends and it was all HEY NICE TO MEETCHA WHOSE ROUND IS IT YEAH BABY LET�S GO TO A NIGHTCLUB WOOO! and then I woke up in Walthamstow (Whothamstow?) to a peculiar sound which upon inspection turned out to be an aquarium full of frogs. I had to do the Walk of Shame at six-thirty in the morning in the deepest darkest depths of North London (my God, I was in Zone Three!) and by the time I figured out where I was and where the Tube station was and finally got back to my hostel there wasn�t time for a nap before checkout, so I stood in the shower stall with my forehead against the wall for a few minutes by way of a restorative. Spent most of the day lounging on Hampstead Heath, using my backpack as a pillow and being accosted by importunate terriers, making a quick stop at the Keats house where I got a bit misty standing at the spot where Johnny composed Ode to a Nightingale (shut up � I think the hangover was making me emotional) before heading back to Victoria coach station, an hour too early as it happened. I passed the remaining time sitting despondently on the pavement and feeling dirty, as you do in Victoria station. And that was pretty much my trip. Oh, and I bought a jumper! It is green and has buttons. The End.