About a week ago, I ventured into London all by myself. I negotiated my way through several modes of public transport and to several sites of significance, which may come as a shock to those of you who have ever met my sense of direction, which is nobody, because I don't have one, or didn't until now. I was there on an assignment to visit places that are mentioned in T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land, and then when I was done with that, I met up with Becci for the purposes of clubbin'.




This is London Bridge. You kinda think it'll be hella sick, coz there's like a hundreds-of-years-old song about it that everyone in the English-speaking world learns as a child, but it's really not special at all. The original London Bridge is in Arizona now, I guess. When I Googlemapped it to figure out how to get there, it gave me Arizona.



This is the view off the left side of London Bridge. There's a hella sick bridge over there, but it's not London Bridge, it's Tower Bridge. So that's disappointing.



This is the view off the right side of London Bridge. No special bridges on this side, just shitty amateur photography.



A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many...
Okay, not really. I was apparently there at the wrong time. Unless maybe the crowd was all ghosts like they are in the poem, and I just couldn't see them on accounta not having supernatural perception powers.



Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours



Here's Saint Mary Woolnoth's hour-keeping mechanism.



...where the walls
of Magnus Martyr hold...



...Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.



This is Saint Magnus the Martyr. He is a Viking. This is a Viking church.



This is his Viking ship. One is tempted to wonder how he fit in it, but then one realizes one is in a church and really must work harder to eschew temptation, if only for a short time.



It is kinda pretty in there.


I was near Shakespeare's Globe, so I figured I might as well go see that shit while I was visiting literary pilgrimage sites in London.



Anticlimax!



Then I turned a corner and had a really surreal moment where I realized I had been there before. Somehow I had totally put out of my mind the time four years ago when my family took a vacation to England and went to London.



This is a reproduction of Francis Drake's ship The Golden Hind. I know it is not that exciting by itself, but please consider this picture of me and my sister in front of the Golden hind, ages 16 and 14. Yes, I needed a haircut. No, I don't want to talk about it. (Edit: I just realized I am wearing the same pair of jeans in that four-year-old picture as I was when I took the newer picture, only now they have huge holes in them.)



And here's me sitting on a park bench under the London Eye where I was sitting the first time I was ever hit on by a boy. When I had that realization about being in London four years earlier, I knew I really had no choice but to go visit it. The boy was a sleazy French boy, and the reason no one else had ever hit on me before I was sixteen going on seventeen was probably because I needed a haircut.



This is just a picture I took because it reminded me of Minnesota.



Anyway, this was all an excuse to put up pictures of hot (Achewood)girl-on-(Achewood)girl action.



This picture makes sense to exactly two people reading this, and they've already seen it, but I'm putting it up anyway, damn it! It is my current Favorite Picture.


In conclusion, I apologize for any and all boredom-related distress this entry caused you. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.