I'm starting to fit in to the city, and fit it together as well. I know which Underground lines intersect at the stops I take most frequently. And I know when the homeless man gives his speech about needing money, just a little, thank you, that he gives the same speech on every single trip, and that only once has someone given him change. I finished the biography of Saki a few days ago, and when the author mentioned his traipses around the Strand, Regent's Street, and Jermyn Street I not only knew where they were, but I'd walked all of them myself. That's a good feeling.

I spent a quiet week, mostly hanging out with Matt on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. That kid is crazy--one of those typical sports-mad, theatre frat boys. You know the type?

Reading about the Sir John Soane Museum in several books, I made a pilgrimage there several Sundays ago only to find it closed. I did chance upon some glorious crocus-like flowers, translucent lavender among the withered grass of a park in front of the museum. I have no idea what kind of bulb blooms in October, and when I took James to the museum on Tuesday he couldn't tell me either. A mystery for the ages... Anyway, the museum stays open late once a month, and I was looking forward to visiting 'one of the most idiosynctratic and memorable museums in the world' (according to my favourite guidebook of all time, City Secrets: London). Sir John Soane was an inveterate collector, in addition to being an architect, designer, and person who loved to tear some of his three Georgian houses and rebuild them. The house is chock full of everything from Chinese porcelin to mirrors to bits of carved marble from all over the world, but unfortunately is more of a house than a museum. Which I guess is expected since Soane donated it to the city of London with the stipulation that nothing be touched, but doesn't make for a very edifying experience. Nonetheless, it was fun wandering around the dark rooms lit by candles, and imagining I lived there. As James pointed out: at least it was free.

Also free was going to the Lansdowne Club with James and spending a highly enjoyable night eating club sandwiches, chips, and drinking a bottle of red wine. I have to give it to him: he gives the best backrubs I've ever had, perhaps because after four years of physical therapy on his back he knows a lot about bone structure. I can't say enough good things about James--every time I see him I learn something interesting about him. He's lived in four countries: the U.S., U.K., India and Belgium. Very cool guy. And I owe knowing him to Man About Town Tom, who was participating in a fencing contest and came up in his little white outfit to say hi and flirt a bit (doesn't everyone).

That said, life was not all that exciting this weekend, because my plans with James were cancelled on Saturday, and I also got stood up by Matt, who didn't realise he had to work on Sunday. So no watching videos on Saturday, and no Comedy Store standup. Instead, I watched a hell of a lot of telly, including the new 'Henry VIII' film. It's amazing to live in a country where not only do people actually watch educational programmes, but they also read. The BBC is doing 'The Big Read' right now, where they figure out the nation's favourite book out of the top 100 chosen by viewers. Oooh, and I'm looking forward to Pompeii, showing on Channel 1 next week! This after watching Colosseum last night. Yup, it's an educated country I'm living in.

The highlight of the week was Saturday, when I went to Borough Market, one of the most delightful places I've ever been. I exaggerate not--it's amazing. It's stocked with everything from pumpkins to ostrich burgers to dried fruits to chocolate cakes to fresh cheese and sausages. Simply amazing, so much so that I instantly called my dad to tell him that I was definitely taking him and my mom to visit when they come. I'm probably going to go back this Saturday and buy fresh fruits and veggies, and maybe a fresh foccacia loaf and some thyme-flavoured olive oil.

While sitting in the sunny courtyard of a church, I looked at my map and realised I was close to Southwark Cathedral. 'I'll have to walk back down here sometime to see it,' I thought, and entered the church. Only then did I realise I was in Southwark Cathedral! Distances are so deceptive in maps--I can't believe how close things are. I sat and listened to a choir rehearse and soaked up the atmosphere before following the crowd past Sir Francis Drake's Golden Hinde, the Clink prison, and along the Thames, past the Globe, the OXO Tower, and everything else the South Bank has to offer--all this under a pristine, cloudless sky. Amazing.

I took the Underground north a ways and did a spot of shopping on Oxford Street, my second home, before striking southwards on Bond Street, which is the London equivalent to Chicago's Magnificent Mile. Versace, Gucci, Dolce & Gabbana, Dior--they have it all. And it's a short walk to Piccadilly, with the largest bookstore in Britain, where I spent an hour reading magazines before walking along Jermyn Street to a delightful little park (St. James's Square), passing the house where Sir Isaac Newton lived. Of course! This is London, where you can't move five feet without bumping into something historically relevent.

I love it.


I've had a fantastic week already, going out to eat at work twice and keeping quite busy (although it's still just a job, not a profession). This weekend I'm hanging out with James and his friends for the rugby match on Saturday, and Sunday am going to Canterbury for the day with my flatmate Elizabeth. Talk to you soon!

Theresa