Riding Off Into the Sunset

Last night I stripped down all the little postcards and photos and magazine pieces and maps, and fabric, and stuff that adorned my walls and realized I should have taken a before and after photo. The difference is pretty stark, as usual.

Last night Enrique was saying goodbye, in case he's alseep when I leave. I asked if he wanted my hairdryer, and he did, and while I was happy assuming it was for his girlfriend, he leapt into discussing the merits of blow drying greasy hair. I laughed and laughed. I will miss this crazy kid, who's probably going to save africa and stop forced migration, but who doesn't want to wash his hair.

And this morning I woke up, looked out the window and noticed it was pouring rain. Seriously, England? You can't even spare me a crumb of mercy on my last day?

There's a Mike Doughty song about America; he sings 'I love my country so much, like an exasperating friend.' I think that works nicely here.

And it's ok. After my exam (Which was in a big church, again; why does every church basement have a stage with a sombrero on it? Did the wise men swing by Guadalajara on their way to Bethlehem? I did not pay attention in church.) I walked around in the City; took pictures of the Old Bailey for my dad. The Old Bailey is the big law court, where the TV show Rumpole took place. I did not know that until my mom told me maybe I should get my dad a souvenir having to do with the Old Bailey. Unfortunately, the law court doesn't have a gift shop; I would love to see what they come up with for t-shirts. 'Barristers do it in front of a jury of their peers...' I ending up getting him a CD, 'English Drinking Songs' which should go over well.

After that, I went and had lunch on the steps of St. Paul's. Because I am awesome and knowledgable and carry maps, I gave tourists directions to their various destinations. It's really hard telling someone that they are not where they think they are, and the landmark they want is right in front of them. Kills their confidence.

Crossed the Thames and did a circuit through the Tate Modern, one last peek at the Lobsterphone. (Lisa:) I think I may have ran into Christophe and Joffrey, but only if Joffrey's had a haircut and I didn't realize it until about ten minutes later.

Back over Blackfriars bridge and wandering through streets, finding cool tiny presents for my sisters. Have I mentioned it's been about 80 and sunny this whole time? It is. It's wonderful.

Yesterday, more of the same; Trafalgar Square-- that conniving bastard of a landmark-- and the National Gallery, where I saw the Hans Holbein piece where the skull is distorted...you know the one I mean? It's pretty awesome, the fact that someone figured out how to do that, and the intensity of the colors after 400 years. It's huge in real life. Wandered through Soho and its prostitutes and CD stores and whole foods shops and wholesale fabric stores.

It's occurring to me that in Ithaca I won't be able to indulge in going for a walk with the knowledge that on any corner I can stop for a coffee as a break and then continue. I can't wander in to a free national museum, idle away a few hours looking at famous famous things on a whim. I'm seriously thinking about stocking up on liquor at the airport while I still can (August 29th, it's sick--I've been acting like I was thirty since I was about twelve. Let me buy my own beer.) It's hard to know at this point what I'll miss about being here.

I have a whole grand Summer of Adventure and Eating Things ahead of me. I'm probably going to give Boston another chance to make a good impression (I say, staring at it tight-lipped, with my arms crossed). I'll be glad to see all of your shining faces, except for Rich, but I'll be glad to be 3,000 miles closer to your shining face. It's not that this thing in particular is ending, but that something is ending. Aww.

I'm sitting here in the computer cluster, alone, wearing my rain boots. Also, clothes, but the wellies are classic, Morton-Salt-Girl yellow, and I will bet you a Dairy Milk someone at the airport says something about them when I have to take them off for security. I'm quite proud of having dealt with all four of the big London airports. For the record, Stanstead is my favorite, Heathrow second, then a mile passes and Luton and Gatwick can both burn in hell and I hope they do.

Not sure what I'm going to do next. I have to pack up my bed, abandon my hairdryer and hand cream and a few last odds and ends, and then...nothing much. I'm going to be anticlimactic leaving girl on the tube, in my boots.


I will write to my flatmates on a spare sheet of notebook paper in a little while, and I will tell them thanks for being great, help yourself to the things on the table, and don't forget to lock the door. So, internet, you too. See you in real life!