more tales of the everyday in London

Out my window I can see several tower cranes. They're all over the city, as you'd expect. But here's what's odd about them: instead of a horizontal beam at the top, it's as if that horizontal beam has been folded upward into a sharp V. I guess that would make it less likely for the top beams to smack into anything. But on the other hand, the distance from those beams to the ground is longer, making the crane's hook harder to position accurately and securely, especially in London's frequent strong winds.

At the urging of cupcake_goth I got a bra from Marks & Spencer. The price in pounds was right, but it bruised my ego: a 38B from M&S fits me perfectly when my existing bras are 38Cs. (The band is tighter too, but hey, new bra.) Do English chicks have more gallumphing boobs than the rest of us?

Londoners are really sensitive to eye contact, especially wait staff. That's a problem for me, because after growing up in a smallish town in the American south, where eye contact with strangers is not not done, I never broke the habit. I've gotten away with it in Seattle all this time. The locals here seem predisposed to think I'm a freak who's out to get them. Only the first half of that is true.

Confession: I've eaten several microwave meals from Sainsbury's. Like other signs I've seen here, some of the directions are authoritarian, like the injunction against reheating the contents. I'm compelled to think, 'Oh yeah? Come here and stop me from reheating it, limeys!'

The lady who does announcements on the tube sounds really perky, which I can imagine Londoners finding irritating. (Tube announcements, by the way, are an excellent way to learn how to pronounce all the damn place names. I almost didn't recognize "Sloane Square", though.) The lady who does announcements on the longer distance trains (Foreshadowing!) sounds soooothing. They both sound like girlier girls than, well, nearly every woman I know back home.

Finally, after all this time, it rained quite a bit today. I learned there is no social stigma attached to using an umbrella here, unlike a certain other city that's notorious for rain. It's yet another example of people in London acting like grown-ups, like vibes in drugstores, booze in parks, paying wait staff decently, etc.

I have eaten fish and chips with mushy peas. They're peas, only mushy. If you like peas and you like mashed potatoes, then you like mushy peas. I think they're unfairly maligned. You might want to cook them long enough get them to the consistency of mashed potatoes, though.

Nun watches the English Channel, and other stories.

I took a train to Brighton yesterday. It has gay stuff and a beach, so it won the contest to be my excursion outside London.

Pro tip: Even though there is effectively one giant tube station officially named King's Cross St. Pancras, the inter-city "national rail services" depart from King's Cross or St. Pancras, which are two separate but adjacent stations. (The Eurostar to France via the tunnel is only available at St. Pancras.) My ticket to Brighton let me into King's Cross, but I freaked out a little when I didn't see my train on the departure board. Then the penny dropped. Off to St. Pancras across the street!

Trains to Brighton are frequent enough, and I guess uncrowded enough these days, that nobody cares if you get on an earlier one than your ticket says. Fun fact: Gatwick Airport seems to be halfway to Brighton from London. It's out there. There is actual visible countryside on that route, but not much.

Brighton, which is essentially a medium-sized city on a beach, has tons of lovely 18th- and 19th-century architecture. I'm guessing it didn't get bombed as much as London did. The beach itself? Pebbles. One of the bisexuals told me this is one way the English teach their children a lesson in stoicism: walking on that surface barefoot isn't comfortable.

There's an offshore windmill farm just visible on the horizon. There's a Victorian pier with an amusement park. And just two blocks inland is Brighton's sizable oh-so-gay gayborhood, St. James's Street*. And there's the Royal Pavilion, a gorgeous 19th-century pile of orientalist architecture, that took me completely by surprise! Brighton, you're a little extra too, and I love you for it.

On the way back I saw the St. Pancras Hotel near the station, which looks like a lovely (and fiendishly convenient!) place to not be a villain the next time I come here, if I can swing it.



*How did I find St. James's Street? By typing "gay bar brighton" into Google Maps. There was an abundantly clear clump of red dots on that one particular street. I didn't get anything to drink there; it was early and I'd just had a big cider around the corner with my fish & chips & mushy peas.

London in pictures, part 5 of 5

Since tomorrow is my last full day here, I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last upload of pics. In chronological order:


Blackfriars national rail station. Blackfriars tube is at the north end of Blackfriars bridge. But to save space, I guess, they put the national rail station on the Blackfriars rail bridge. Naturally, the view downriver as seen here is boffo: there are the Millenium Bridge, London Bridge, and Tower Bridge from nearest to farthest, with the Shard on the right.


My first view of the English Channel, peeking out from between Brighton's many fine examples of architecture.


Brighton beach. Off to the left is the pier. Off to the right are the remains of another pier that burned in 2003. Straight ahead on the horizon, if you embiggen, you can see the offshore windmill farm.


The Royal Pavilion. I was just walking around, thinking of heading for the train home, when I walked past this. I had no idea it was there. (I'd seen its silhouette on a sticker, but I didn't realize what it was.) It was a royal residence in the early 19th century, but now it's a museum.


The countryside on the way back to London. My apologies for all the reflections in the window, but it really was beautiful. There are enough trees and urbanization on this route that you don't get many chances for this kind of shot.


Electrowerkz and its co-founder Mak. Electrowerkz is the venue where I spent Saturday night, beloved of Goths and kinksters. Mayuan Mak, co-founder and owner, died the day I left.


Bananas & palms in Notting Hill. Notting Hill is full of these little green spaces, and this one demanded to be photographed, even in the rain.


A fire station on Notting Hill. Note the gnarly anti-climbing devices on top of the wall. This isn't the only place I saw these. London may be mellow about a lot of things, but security of property is not one of them.