I spent the last eleven days on proper holiday with my mates in London, the Lake District and Edinburgh.
I was quite chuffed by the coexistence of aged buildings and mod, fashion-forward blokes and birds in London. It was like the NYC crowd had fallen backward into the scenery of a Dickens novel. One lass wearing fluorescent genie trousers, a gangsta jean jacket and pink hair extensions gave me these directions:
“Follow Primrose Lane to Garden Gate; loop around Upper Crust Circle and take High Road to the pub.”
The High Road? I’ve been looking for that my whole life. But besides that, how did such Peter-Rabbit-adorable and Queen-Elizabeth-imperious words spill out of the mouth of Mod Rocker Barbie? How unusual!
One of my favorite things about London is that most museums are free, and they’re jam-packed with goodies. In the case of the British Museum, this may be because most items on display were stolen and the curators feel guilty. Would you charge the Greeks to see pieces of their Acropolis, or Egyptians to see their mummified ancestors? Nah.
England did not seem to want anything from America. Duly noted.
My next stop was the Lake District in northeast England. It was as lush as New Zealand and quaint as hell. We stayed at one of a jumble of B&Bs, Lamp Lighters. This was across the street from Lamp Holders, and around the corner from Beatrix Potter´s cottage.
The only fixtures more abundant than lakes were the mountains, and we hiked to a peak where the wind was so strong you could lie into it. I spent most of my time trying not to be blown over. I wound up stuck on a rock in the middle of a river, alongside a lost goat, wondering if I could hop to the other side without blowing away. It was lovely.
Our final UK stop was Edinburgh. The Scottish capital is the originator of the world’s strongest beer (40.5%) and the term “shit-faced.” It also places great emphasis on its writers, included Robbie Burns and J.K. Rowling. Of course, I felt very much at home. Anecdotes to follow.