For my 21st birthday (beginning of November) I went to London for the weekend. The next few posts will be about my trip. It’s a bit late but I’ve been living under university work for the past couple of weeks (not literally… except the night I fell asleep with my laptop on me.. okay sometimes literally).
Hope you all enjoy!
This is the last of my London posts, which is definitely a good thing, as writing about something that happened three months ago for the rest of my life would probably not be a good direction to take this blog in. And when I’m 83 it’s hardly likely that I’ll remember where my knitting needles are let alone what the animals at the zoo did when I was 21. This last post is just a list of what I learned on my London trip, none of which are particularly valuable lessons. Enjoy!
Sleeping on a train is awkward with two football fans staring at you. I wasn’t even pretending to be a football or anything.
I can get through a day on two and a half hours sleep. Of course, I look like a dead person on a lorry-load of heroin, but I can manage to stay upright enough to integrate with other humans.
Some people on trains want to put duct tape over your mouth so they can rustle papers and bang their laptop closed in peace. These people often wear businessy-type suits and look at you with disgust for quietly conversing with your boyfriend. Even though they see the need to bang their laptop lid down like it’s a set of castanets. Flamenco dancing with your laptop is just unacceptable.
Finding a strange object in your room doesn’t mean you’re going to find a dead body in the wardrobe too. In fact, if you find a strange object in your room you’re probably less likely to find a dead person in there. Based on the fact that most people are only capable of losing one thing at once. e.g. Strange object lost = dead person not lost. So in all likelihood whoever was carrying around their object and a dead person would still have the dead person. Good for them.
An old fashioned blanket is not a suitable replacement for a quilt. For some reason we holidayed in the 80’s and that didn’t mean that Madonna gave us impromptu Material-Girl-based harassment sessions. It meant that we got a strange, silky, thin blanket-thing to sleep under. In November. We were almost as cold as that dead person housekeeping didn’t leave behind.
Toy shops lie and I cannot control spaceships with hand-power And I should have known this by the age of 21…
You need an oyster card to avoid getting looked upon with disgust in London. Every bus driver hated us for paying for our journey in that old-fashioned currency known as coins. Apparently you’re supposed to pay with some super-human space device known as an oyster card. I’m clearly living in the wrong generation to move to London without receiving death stares when a bus driver has to count to £2.40.
Money can easily disappear when you keep buying silly things like wristbands confessing your love for lions. I now own coins with animals pressed onto them, artwork of cartoon characters meeting gory deaths and a light-up T-Shirt that I can write on. I may have come back to a derelict cave of a bank account but at least I can always look at cruel images of children’s cartoons from the comfort of my bedroom.
Lions don’t give a monkeys. By which I mean the expression, and not that lions like to keep all the monkeys for themselves in order to experience a varied zoo-spectrum diet. Lions do not have any need for humans in their life, even if you do buy a wristband confessing your love for them. At the zoo they’re not the type of animals basking in the limelight. No, they’re the ones sprawling out on a hill far away from everyone, only caring about when the next steak will come along.
Goats are not the sort of creatures that attempt to attack you and eat your liver. But running away from them is a perfectly natural response due to the fact they like to run in groups, using their eyebrows to express the idea that they are stronger than you, and could murder you if they got bored of frolicking and stroking the grass with their adorable little noses. They are essentially the farmyard equivalent of a gang, and gang crime is a still a pretty big issue, even if liver-destroying goats are not.
I now know how to avoid getting beaten by goats and bus drivers, and how to deduce whether or not a dead person is residing in my hotel room, so I’ll take that as a successful trip. Now it’s just for finding a way of making my sleeping self less attractive to football fans and my next trip away will be perfect. I’m thinking earrings made from the skins of footballs past…