So I wrote a long letter to a government man; told him I was born in the Summer of Sam

Jubilee Line to Green Park and one stop south to Victoria station and STA travel. This is where I spent about an hour yesterday making arrangements to piggyback on the arrangements already made by the group with whom I was asked to travel during reading week. Heeeeere's the plan:

Tuesday February 14th- 5:34am departure from Waterloo to Paris via Eurostar. (must arrive 40 minutes before departure. I need to check that the tube is even running that early). Accommodation is the Perfect Hotel, 39 Rue Rodier. It's the same price as a hostel but luckily as the people I'm traveling with had already reserved rooms I don't have to get my own room, but can crash on the floor for freee!

Friday February 17th - Bus from Paris to Brussels. We'll be staying at the Centre Van Gogh Hostel (their advertisements reads "We Have Bathrooms!" Really.)

Monday February 20th - Return to Waterloo on the Eurostar. My train leaves an hour earlier than the rest of the group's does, but I've got a feeling that after a week of mandatory socialization I'll be grateful for the time to be quiet and hermit-like in my ipod.

So that's the trip we've mapped out. Now I need to do is research the things I MUST see in Brussels.

Yesterday felt great because I had errands to run, because I was out and about in the city walking with direction and non-touristy destinations, because I got to feel like a citizen and be frustrated with the train and bus schedules and slow-walking people and make demands of the city that weren't limited to snappy restaurants and classic architecture. I got to ask directions to a locksmith rather than to Marble Arch, and direct someone to the London Bridge train station right across from Southwark Cathedral and if you hit the Pret A Manger with the big Jaffa Cakes display you've gone too far.
In the evening Antonio and I went to this fantastic Dim Sum place in Soho- I think it was called Ping Pong. This was unlike your average Chinatown dim sum in that it wasn't a hole in the wall and was far more expensive, but did have quite a line out the door. It was the kind of place where, if it had been in New York, it would have been featured in an episode of Sex and the City. They had cocktails with cracked pepper in them! The menu offered all the traditional dishes, the pork baos and steamy shrimpy dumplingy things (shrimp here is called prawn, a word I find oddly off-putting, so I'm stickin' to shrimp), but they had some vegetarian selections, like a steamed mushroom and spinach dumpling with ginger that we had to order three separate times (only three per order) that were killer!

Odd incident on the way home...the tube had stopped running on the Victoria line so the only other options were busses which can get ohmygod complicated. Luckily I only had one transfer ahead of me. I got on one mostly empty bus and a young black woman came on after me with her six year old daughter. She was yelling angrily - the woman, not the daughter- at no one in particular. "He said he'd fucking wake me and now we've come back around to fucking Tottenham and all I want was to get home back to fucking Victoria but instead we had to come all the way around up here again and no one woke me up! It was two hours ago! We left Shanaia's fucking two hours ago and now we're back up at the top of the line. I'm sick of London transport I've got a fucking six year old here..." Each sentence wasn't exactly clear, but the point is she was doing an awful lot of yelling and swearing, clearly frustrated that she'd missed her stop, someone said they'd wake her, and the bus came back around so they had to make their (hour?) journey home all over again. But the yelling didn't stop. Or rather, it would for maybe a minute, and she'd start up again. The same rant. I changed position in my seat to see if she was on the phone or something, maybe she was making this tirade to a friend, maybe even to her daughter (a very sleepy six year old), but certainly not to the bus in general...right? The yelling continued "I've got a fucking six year old here I fucking want to get home." And then to the six year old "don't you dare fall asleep we're both going to stay wide awake until Victoria. I don't need you falling asleep. We're never going out to Shanaia's house again." And later (this was clearly to her daughter) "Look, look out the window. Did you see any of this before?" Her daughter said yes. "Why didn't you fucking wake me up then?! Useless!" And on. And on. And on. This was a long ride. Many stops. She never quieted. Not once. And it's not like she had more to say. She was just re-stating. Every time. I couldn't believe it; didn't have the guts to say anything to her, ask her hush a little. I felt awful for the girl. It was dreadfully awkward for everyone else who was riding. I guess I don't know what to say about it other than that.
Once I made the transfer an old guy who'd been on the other bus with the ranting lady stood with me at the bus stop, and we made astonished noises about the event. He lived in Lewisham, or something like that..was waiting for the same bus that I was. And though he should have gotten off about ten minutes worth of stops before New Cross, he explained that he was staying on the bus to make sure I got home okay. Nice. Creepy, but nice.
I got home okay.

Now it's 12:18 on a Saturday. I've had some oatmeal with bananas and honey and have no idea what to do with my afternoon. Or evening, for that matter. It's funny, I've noticed lately that in my mind, Saturday is just the day before I get to play soccer.