Mornings at Faversham & The First Proper Day in London

Thursday morning arrives and I discover that I have acquired an English Morning Ritual: holding court with Sarah's three cats.

This is Tasha, the matriarch.

This is Juliet, Tasha's daughter.

And this is Paul, the boy, of questionable relation to the other two, claiming my bed.

Basically the situation is this, the cats have free run of the kitchen, living room and yard at all times but they are not let into the rest of the house when people are sleeping or not at home. Anyhow, Simon is a postman, out the door by 5am, Sarah takes the train to work at the Hospital in Gillingham, out by 7am and Helen works a 9 to 5 in Whitstable, out the door just after 8am. The train is cheapest after 9:30am so there's always at least an hour and a half in the mornings when I'm the only human at home and since I'm home, Helen tends to let the cats in when she leaves. Now that the cats have figured this out they're like: "New Slave! New Bed! Sweet!". Which is pretty awesome. Paul is my favorite (I call him "Polly") because he is such an adorably needy brat. If I am not paying enough attention to him he will pointedly walk over to the nearest piece of furniture and stare at me as he noisily kneads his claws into it. What a crackup.

After a fair bit of cat time, I get on the road. It's about 10:45 or so. Walk about, buy my tickets, and catch the next train to Victoria Station. I've been taking my time so I arrive just a bit before 1pm. The plan is to meet Laura H. at 5pm in the Lobby at Regent's (her college) whereupon we intend to hit the tkts booth in Leicester Square for cheap show tickets and then do dinner and a show, after which I will likely crash on her floor, as I plan to spend Friday in London as well.

So, here I am at London Victoria with 4 hours to kill. What to do? Walk & Eat!

I explore the Buckingham Area, hit Hyde Park Corner and the Wellington Arch, then walk a great meandering loop past Tottenham Court Road to Regent's Park. I stop for lunch along the way at a cute and very tasty (though awfully expensive) Indian restaurant (£2.15 per plain naan? For cryin' out loud!). While the food was excellent the restaurant was mainly memorable for the steep prices and the fact that they had never heard of chai. Chai is an American invention? For reals? Not sure I believe it, but it is, of course, true that I am an Ignorant, Uncultured Heathen so there you have it. Since I had to resign myself to a lack of chai, I stopped again for a latte at Le Pain Quotidien. I know it's not British and a chain but it was in honor of Aliza. And (thank you Liza-lou) I knew I would like the coffee there. Not to mention it's a well-known saying: "Being forced to live without chai, one is unlikely to gamble on the quality of their cup of joe". No really it is, just ask Emily.

Anyhow, I arrive at the wrong end of Regent's Park fed and caffeinated and still really early. So I walk all over Regent's Park, which takes some doing 'cause it's bigger than you think (It contains a Zoo AND a College Campus. Lordy.) I check out Lord's Cricket Grounds (unfathomable), the Regent Estates (People can afford to LIVE here?) , and a quaint footbridge over the Regent Campus' canal (Excuse me?) which is practically overrun with swans and geese. At about 4pm I give up on killing time in Regent's park and attempt to enter the campus to wait in the lobby until 5. Easier said than done. The campus is buttoned up pretty tight: "Private Property", "Wrong Way" and "No Entry" signs abound. I finally find a door I'm allowed to enter but there is just a desk and a row of terminals that require entry cards (quite like the underground actually, though not as well designed), and no Lobby in sight. I wander back out and after ten more minutes of peering around the building with no success I head back to the desk and inquire about the existence of a lobby (I know, I know, should've asked before but I was REALLY sure I could find it. Oh well). The receptionist wordlessly points behind me to an open door into a darkened room. Okaaay. I enter the room and the lights come on, revealing that it is, in fact, the Lobby. Fabulous. I settle on a couch to wait the half-hour until Laura arrives, and immediately fall asleep. I'm surprised to awaken to a darkened room more than twenty minutes later, as my complete lack of motion had decidedly NOT been triggering any lights. It's almost Laura-time so I decide that perhaps waiting from a standing-up position would be superior. I stand at the desk until Laura approaches, and manage to be practically on top of her before she realizes it's me. Excellent "surprised face" that one has. We run off to take the tube to tkts and (sound the trumpets) I....Buy....My......Oyster Card. Oh the humanity. No really, the existence of an affordable and functioning transit system is just so very humane. I am considering keeping my Oyster card hanging on my wall once I've returned home, to cheer me up when BART has me down (::in the voice of Charlton Heston:: "There is still hope for the Human race...").

Anyway, two trains to Leicester Square and lickety-split: we are standing at the tkts booth. Only £25 to see "The History Boys"? Score! We buy the tix, have a quick and flavorful meal at Wagamama's, and go see the show. It's fantastic, we both agree that we would totally recommend it to anyone. Laura, btw, is hysterically funny, and it's not just her wit. She has this aura about her that she really can just get away with stuff (I think it must be a gene, there happen to be several women in her family who share her gift of unquestionableness, actually maybe they all do). She waltzes into the theatre deftly manuevering attention from coffee in her hand (I, of course, do the same as soon as I see she's gotten away with it), she cajoles a very gruff, awkward guy into taking our picture after the show; he clearly doesn't want to but there's no one else around, so, unable to offer any objections in the face of a Laura, he takes the photo and it's pretty good.

Damn those cute Hedgerinos! I always look like a big frumpalupagus next to any of them!
Well, so it is.

Laura and I have dessert out and laugh it up before heading back to Regent's. So refreshing to hang out with someone whose company feels like home. In the midst of this flood of well-meaning but basically indecipherable British-isms, hanging out with someone fluent in not just American culture but PINGREE culture is truly a treat. Upshot: Laura H. = bomb.

We hang out late with Laura's lovely roomate Angie, and then I crash on the floor.

Coming soon: London, London & more London!