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This time last year, I was on my honeymoon in the UK. This week, I’m digging up photos and notes from the trip and reliving that trip, one day at a time.
We arrived in London in mid-morning and, after quite literally dragging our luggage over the cobblestones of Notting Hill to our comically small room at the so-called Portobello Gold, headed into downtown London to stay awake until nightfall. This was our plan to sync up with the local clock. It mostly worked.
We rode the London Eye like tourists, visited the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill like locals might (where we caught Michael Winterbottom’s Code 46), fell asleep in the cinema’s deep leather chairs and crashed in a tiny room that was at least 50% mattress. I recall the ad for the room joked: “Do not bring your cat, for you will not have room to swing it.”
To put it another way: The room was so small that both I and the door to the WC could not occupy the WC at the same time. My feet would not fit in the lou. ‘Twas a small room.
From My Notebook:
“At the tube station: A bald man, like Mr. Clean w/his eyebrows & earrings, in a Betty Ford Clinic t-shirt, practically eats his issue of Maxim magazine.”
“Re: Jet Lag @ the London Eye: It’s like falling asleep on the train & waking up surrounded by strangers, except instead of the people changing, it’s the whole country.”
“Re: Code 46: Eh.”
