London Travel

June 2, 2023

On Repeat in My Head

The hubby and I have had many odd adventures throughout our nearly 20 years together. The weirder and more bizarre the better. They are the stories we tell when we’re drunk with friends or strangers. And I try and stick to the actual events as much as possible, because nothing is more disingenuous than fabricating details of a story to try and make it funny. It’s why I could never be a comedian. I can’t lie about details for the sake of a laugh.

I have this habit of putting a single song on repeat for hours, until the song holds little to no meaning for me. What I have discovered in my many TikToks is this is a habit of people with ADHD. Well, you pegged me again, you creepy app. Since last night I have been obsessed with a YouTube video of an unreleased Taylor Swift song. I don’t quite understand why this one didn’t make the cut for her album, it is truly phenomenal and I am OBSESSED. I’d post it here but I don’t want it to somehow get caught by the TSMachine and have them remove it. My queen should just release it! But she’s probably just waiting to do so with Lover Taylor’s Version. Sneaky gal.

Todays obsession reminded me of my first trip to London for my Honeymoon/Birthday. We dove head first into this trip without any careful planning. All we had on the agenda was our stay, a trip to Leavesden to experience the sets of Harry Potter (a different time kids), and we had purchased the “London Pass.” Nothing more. Which is kind of our M.O., honestly. I personally feel like that is the best way to travel because it always results in the weirdest stories. As in this one…

Charlie had asked “what are the most ‘English’ things you can do?” And the most obvious and desperately pathetic was to have “authentic” fish and chips. Of course we’ve had them here, but I thought maybe (just maybe) they were different in the land in which is originated. And… It did not disappoint.

The newly minted husband researched and found a place that was supposedly “the best fish and chips in London.” Obviously they had given themselves that name because… Dear god.

We grabbed a black cabby and made our way across town to a residential neighborhood to go to this hole in the wall restaurant. We walked in and the fry cook was listening to this sad, somber song at ear splitting levels. We made our order and then went and sat on the right side of the shop which I thought was this huge dining area. Oh no. It was this thin strip of space, with a counter attached to the wall with a full length mirror immediately above.

“This is going to be fun,” I had said, gesturing to my reflection. “I get to watch myself as I eat!”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.”

As we waited the sound level of the music was undeterred. At least it was an okay song. I have a tendency of getting easily irritated with music I do not like.

We got our fish and began eating. That’s when we became abundantly clear that the scales were still on the unbattered side of the fish.

“Oh my god,” I said, showing him the steely-gray side of my meal.

“Oh, that’s weird,” Charlie said, “Maybe that’s just… No. Mine too. Maybe that’s just how they do it.”

“Well, they’re doing it wrong.”

He chuckled, “Is that so? The place that originated-“

“Yes.”

As we picked it at our fish, trying to avoid the scales and the reflection of our grimaces in the mirror, it became abundantly clear that the song that had been playing when we walked in was on repeat. I started to laugh to myself as I concocted this elaborate story in my head how the fry cook was going through a recent break-up and just could not stop listening to this song.

I imagined the cashier reaching their limit and turning to him, “Oy, Trev, please play anything else. I beg of you!”

And Trevor would continue on, frying fish and singing along to the song. (Did I mention the fry cook had been singing along to the multiple repeats?)

The two of us couldn’t stand looking at ourselves eat this scaly fish any longer, while Trevor went through the motions, so we headed out onto the street and walked back to our hotel.

This is where I fell even more in love with the city. (Side note, it was guy fox day.) The gentle orange glow of the street lamps lit our way, as we passed by an old, old, old cemetery and a couple of boys who were kissing and hugging until they saw us coming their way. I wanted to say “Don’t worry, boys, this is my husband.”

Now that I have successfully bored you with my lackluster story, I will return to my repeated listen to “Need” by Taylor Swift. Please, excuse me.

November 4, 2014

Cemetery Birthday Bash

This is the last birthday of my twenties. In just one more year and it’s all down hill. To get the ball rolling the common theme of this years trip to London has bee death and the after life. For instance I went on a ghost walking tour of London and that was exciting and today I went tromping through a grave yard in the pitch of night, but let me explain.

The man I claim for my want and desire to be a writer is C. S. Lewis. After I read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” in the third grade I’ve wanted to be an author. Since then I’ve read all of the Chronicles of Narnia and some of his religious studies but… Those are not my cup of tea considering I’m an atheist. (Haven’t always been.) Regardless of my dogmatic views I value the man more than anything. So for my birthday I wanted to take a day trip to Oxford. It’s where Lewis studied, taught, and lived. We went on a bus tour which was lovely up until it began to rain. To escape the wet weather I forced my husband into the shelter of Blackwells book shop where I bought a journal he swears will sit unused and two autobiographies I can’t get in the states. I had intended to buy another copy of “the lion…” But my husband asked “how many copies would that make?” “4.” Yes that’s excessive but it was purchased in Oxford! Whatever.

Finally I ate dinner at the pub he, Tolkien, and others of the Inklings met every Tuesday to discuss their literary works. And serendipitously it just so happens to be Tuesday. And to top it a off, the table I chose at random was 12, which holds no significant meaning to Lewis as it does to me. (It’s my lucky number.) After our meal I was ready to go. It was getting dark and my plan to visit his grave seemed like a pipe dream. So, I accepted the pub visit to be it, but my husband attempting to make my birthday special offered to walk to the cemetery where he had been buried. I warned him that it would be a long trip but he assured me that it’d be fine.

Before we had gotten even a quarter of the way there it was night, since it gets dark at 4:30 in the United Kingdom. Fun. And hoofing it at our quickest speed wasn’t cutting it so luckily we caught a cabby and he took us to the Holy Trinity churchyard. He dropped us off and backed out the long single lane drive.

Using the light of my phone we searched the cemetery reading every headstone. After going to every single market it wound up being the final one. Isn’t that typical? I said a few silent words thanking the man for giving me a dream and held back the tears. There’s nothing more than my husband loves than to see me cry. He’s a freak. (Says the guy who wanted to spend his birthday in a cemetery searching for the grave of a man he never met.)

At the end of it we are both exhausted, but it was fantastic and a trip I won’t soon forget.