London late-night

Earlier, the jet-lag felled us and Patty took a nap while I did some work. Then she woke up with a proto-migraine and after a run to Tesco for some paracetamol and another nap we were both relatively functional.

But would anywhere be open to eat?

Patty: "Well, in stories drunk people are always having a curry, right?"
Me: "They are! I think Jack and Ianto are always drunk and having a curry!"
Patty: "And we're in Brick Lane."
Me: "Curry!"

So out we went, and I swear I've just eaten the best Indian food of my life! (although we did not have curry) And it's madness in this neighborhood. Really all of London at night. It's a very drunky town.

More about that later, but this is the city New York was once going to be and then Giuliani and 9/11 happened, and it's unsettling to know I really don't actually live in the best city in the world. Not anymore. Not at night anyway, even if little of the nightlife here interests me, the energy on the streets is fabulous.

Will you be seeing a lot of Brick Lane from me in fiction soon? Yes, yes you will.

TW, virtual seaosn, episode 8

Virtual Season, episode 8: Crash Course
by beesandbrews and lawsontl

big gay flash mob and the feral furries of London

London does not know what season it is. It's hot in the morning, then cool at noon, then miserably sweltering and then so cold that in multiple layers and a wool suit I want to run home and hide. Then, warm in the sun, and now it feels like it's going to snow.

Today we walked EVERYWHERE. Patty suggested we take the tube to a given stop, see stuff, walk across a bridge, walk back up towards where we are, walk across another bridge.

This turned into us taking the tube further than originally planned, going past the houses of Parliament (oh, V for Vendetta creepy), and then wandering through Westminster Abby behind a mentally ill woman singing in a quite strong soprano and blowing bubbles at the memorial markers in the halls in spite of some British tourists who kept telling her to shut up.

Next we had an off-plan adventure to feed Patty which led to us eventually finding Thames House, because the closer we got to it, the more I felt like I just had to do it.

While I was sort of having a moment (*waves at fandom*), Patty says, "I wonder what all the pink balloons are for" and then ten? twenty? seconds later, there we are, standing in front of Thames House -- me in a suit and tie and clutching Patty's hand (she got a very fashionable burgundy trench coat for the trip) and random, very enthusiastic people (with pink balloons!) are shouting at us "Big Gay Flash Mob" and pointing the way. We just sort of laughed and didn't go, although we did admire all the pretty people walking the other way towards it as we were walking back towards whatever bridge we had decided to take towards the other side of the Thames.

When we got over there, we walked along the water for a long time, as I became frustrated by my inability to find food (wonderful, that you label stuff that has gluten in it, TERRIBLE that it's everything, but a single lima bean salad in which I have no interest), but eventually we found a spot and had chorizo and potato wedges with paprika mayo and Patty had this lemon meringue sunday _thing_ and it was all marvelous. Then it was time to walk some more.

Eventually, after all this which also included seeing St. Paul's, the Tate Modern (which creeps me right the fuck out because I can't look at it without looking for the giant pig balloon and heading "In the Court of the Crimson King" thanks to Children of Men), the Globe, and probably a ton of other stuff I've temporarily forgotten, we wound up on Fleet Street with Patty eating a Cadbury Creme Egg McFlurry (hot damn, that was good) and me seemingly leading us further and further away from any discernible tube stop.

Which was when was saw the furries. Four furries, to be precise, skipping up Fleet Street. Three seemed to be of a white tiger variety, and one paused and tipped his head to us and blew kisses. The fourth was a bright purple anime-ish looking creature and in a very sharp black suit and seemed a bit dour as he brought up the rear of their little processional; I don't really know if big fur suit head can technically look at someone side-long and sly, but this one most certainly did. I can't help but wonder if we caught them on the far side of the Big Gay Flash Mob, or if they were just running late... by several hours.

Feral furries on Fleet Street. Oh London.