Happy Friday. Tomorrow, I go back to London and then on Sunday I’ll be home. I can’t wait; I don’t do so well here, largely because of the abrupt shift to a lot less daylight, and I’m antsy for my own bed and the people I’m closest to.
That said, the trip has been far from all bad. I discovered Ritz-like gluten-free crackers from Schar, saw a new city, and really have made some progress with the guitar, although I haven’t had as much time for it as I’d like. The flat I’m staying in has appallingly thin walls, and you can barely run water after 10pm without eliciting complaints from neighbors, so often, I just sat around practicing chord changes without really playing; it’s a metaphor for something.
What I also haven’t done is as much writing as I’d like — here, professionally, or in a fannish capacity — although I’ve sorted a lot of things out in my head. And we will not even discuss my lack of getting to the opera or any real time spent in Zurich (Zurich, at least, I’ll do tomorrow morning when I go to buy chocolate filled with pear liquor for folks back home) or my various failed quests to get tickets for Bruno Mars here (that was hilarious and involved one of the weirdest Twitter interactions I’ve had in a long time) or my absurd attempts get back to London in time to see Katy Perry for no other good reason than I can (except, you know, that I determined that I can’t).
So, I asked on Twitter, but I’ll ask here. If you were a random girl-like object going dancing on her own (and I love to go dancing on my own, for the record) on a Saturday night in London, where would you go? I think I spent so much of my teen years fantasizing about the London club scene, I’m now completely intimidated by actually getting to do it. Also, what should I wear? And what time do people go out there? Super late right? I know nothing!