In terms of ideas I've had, it was not a very sensible one.
I'd been talking to a particular blogger for a short while, and had commented that when she was visiting London (from New York) we should meet up, and I'd buy her a pint. As far it goes, that part was perfectly reasonable. I like meeting new people, making new friends -- I also like making online friends into real-life friends, and of course I like drinking. All of those points made it a very fine idea, indeed.
The only trouble was, that with only a week in my fair city Elizabeth was determined to cram as much into her days as she could -- so the days were filled with culturally enlightening activities like museums and galleries and places of historical interest, and the evenings were taken up by plays. This meant her time was accounted for until about 10.30pm every evening -- which even if I was still in the city was after my last train home. Before she left New York, Elizabeth told me she hoped I wouldn't be too disappointed if we didn't get the chance to meet.
And so it was the days passed before I hit upon the idea of "hey, I could always meet you after a play". Although as soon as I said it struck me as illogical. It would be late, she would be tired from her action-packed day, it would possibly already be after closing time in the pubs by the time we met, it was after my last train home, I had work the next morning -- and what the hell was I going to do for the five hours between finishing work and meeting up?
But by the time it rolled around to Tuesday morning I knew I had to make a decision either way. Elizabeth had left it in my hands, and stressed there was no pressure to see her. I knew it made no sense at all, I asked a magic 8 bell if we would meet up and I was told it was "doubtful". I did what anyone would do in my situation; I said fuck it, let's meet up anyway. Before Danny Wallace, I might have let it pass -- but I remembered Say yes more and knew if I didn't go, I'd regret it.
They say it's better to regret something you have done, than something you haven't. I've often questioned this line of thinking; say you're drunk and your car is outside. It's cold and raining and a long walk home. Or you could just take the car. You know you shouldn't, but it would probably be okay... In this case -- I think it would be better to have a long, cold, miserable walk home and regret that you didn't do it, than to drive home, crash, kill someone, and regret that you did.
However, that has no relevance at all to my story. I told Elizabeth I would meet her, and the rest of the logistical details I considered my problem.
Tuesday morning, I took my car to a nearby town and left it at the station there -- this afforded me a couple of hours longer in the city, so long as I made that last train home, shortly after midnight. Knowing that the pubs might be closed or close to time by the time we met, I also sent a message to AQA to ask them where I could fine late bars near to the station, to which I might take a girl. Their responses were largely unhelpful -- of the three suggestions made, one was a takeaway, and one was a strip club. The third was accurate enough, but it was badly rated in reviews.
The day passed as normal and I'd given some vague thought as to what I might do to pass the time in the evening. I figured, it's a big city there should be plenty I can find to do. Galleries, museums, small independent cinemas... The first two choices were quickly exhausted, since it seems they don't open past 6pm. The cinema -- whether it was small and independent or not -- could have been a good idea, but could I find a single film I wanted to see at a convenient time? Could I bollocks. I wanted to see The Future is Unwritten, but it started either half an hour before I left work or at 8.30, which was too late for a film with a running time over 2 hours. I tried to but a ticket to see Black Snake Moan, but strangely the cashier told me it wasn't showing at his theatre. I say this is strange, I only asked for a ticket because I had just looked at their board and seen what time it was showing. But it wasn't like he could sell me a ticket for a film they didn't have, so there went that idea.
I decided to splash out and spent a whole £1 on an hour's internet access in a cafe. Sure, I have internet access at work, but it's monitored and restricted and is via some old version of Internet Explorer. It's not the same as the freedom to view any site you want. Plus I usually have work to do. So I read my emails and caught up on blogs and all the usual stuff. Near the end of my time, my mobile rang -- it was Elizabeth. But shortly after she established where I was, she was cut off. I waited to see if she would call back, but she didn't. Duh, I thought, she was probably cut off because she has no money -- so I called the number back. No answer. I finished up what I was doing, and left. I tried calling a few times more, but with the same
Almost all the ideas I had to pass the time were met with similar outcomes to the cinema. I passed a bar on my way to the station with a sign proclaiming beer and a burger for a fiver. At first I walked passed, but then I stopped -- that would be a good idea, so I went back. I searched the pub for the toilet before I was going to sit down -- since I wouldn't be able to get up and leave my bag later. I couldn't find it. I searched everywhere. I asked the bar staff and was directed up a flight of stairs to another bar, and there was only one door; to the Ladies. I did another circuit of the bar, and gave up on that.
So I went to Camden Lock, figured I would wander round the markets. I love Camden lock -- it's so full of life, you wander round all the food stalls and the sellers are all shouting to you, trying to get your attention, trying to convince you to buy your Vietnamese noodles from them and not the seller next door. It's a great idea if it's a Saturday afternoon -- not surprisingly, they close in the evenings. All the stalls, deserted and locked down. Metal gates across the doorways to the indoor market. The fortune tellers have all gone home.
Fine, then. I remembered a pub in Camden I had been meaning to go to -- so I found my way there, figured I would maybe get something to eat and stay awhile. The pub was small and cramped, and standing at the bar I discovered I had no actual money on me. I left, at first to find a cash machine and then decided not to bother going back and just carry on, along my way. I had a better idea, there's my favourite pub in Kings Cross, with the large comfortable chairs and the good food and friendly staff: I would go there.
Rather than a quiet Tuesday evening where they might be grateful for someone coming in and buying a meal, they were having some kind of cabaret/disco night. There was loud music and flashing lights, the place was crammed full of people in suits or dressed like Liza Minnelli -- no chance of relaxing in a chair and reading my philosophy book there. Dejected, and quite hungry by now, I wandered back down the road.
I bought KFC from a restaurant near the station. The restaurant had only perhaps three seats in the window, and they were all taken -- so I got it to take away, without giving consideration to where I would eat it. I ended up taking it to the station. It's strange, train stations have a certain smell. Not the smell of piss and sweat -- or not just that -- but something else, I can't quite define. But a smell that reminded me of all the times I spent at university, hanging around train stations in Derby, Birmingham, Euston. I found some plastic seat opposite the departures board, and watched as the station filled with people, and then emptied as people caught their trains home.
You can't hang around too long in Kings Cross without being offered drugs, sex or just accosted by a random freak. A random freak asked me where the nearest church was, I just told him I didn't know. I felt bad afterwards, I did know -- and if I hadn't been eating, I would have taken him there, even if he most likely wanted to confess to a brutal murder or something.
After dinner I had a much better idea: Covent Garden. There's always stuff going on in Covent Garden, as there is in Leicester Square. But it seems always is an exaggeration. There was nothing going on, and I got lost. It's not easy to get lost there, but if you're me you can get lost anywhere -- I just was unable to get back to the tube, I'd end up walking in circles round the piazza. So I walked. I walked to Trafalgar Square, past Charing Cross -- noticing the hotel I was meant to meet the joournalist at that time a couple of weeks ago -- and eventually just decided to catch a tube to Earl's Court where I was to meet Elizabeth.
I knew I would be well early, but figured I could check out where I was meant to meet her, and then look for somewhere to go for a drink. Elizabeth had wanted to go to somewhere near Liverpool Street, so I could be sure of catching my train home and wouldn't have to sleep rough in the station. But I didn't like the idea of her travelling across the city, late at night, on her own. Especially since her Mum didn't know where she was or who she was meeting. The gentlemanly thing to do was to drink near her hotel, I could take care of myself.
My luck changed, as near Earl's Court station there was a pub -- just your average, run of the mill pub. No cabaret nights, no elaborate floor plans, just a place where I could get a drink and read my book. So I did just that. Although it's difficult to concentrate on Berkeley's Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge when you're sat in a pub, waiting for someone. Unexpectedly, after a short while my phone flashed up I had voicemail -- when I checked it, Elizabeth had called a while earlier to say she was out of the theatre earlier, and to just wait where we agreed as soon as I got the message. This could have been at least half an hour earlier, and by the time I got the message it was about time to meet anyway. I only assume she called when I was somewhere underground.
But we met, and we went back to the pub, and it was good times. We had a (grossly-overpriced) pint each, and just chatted about everything and nothing -- while both keeping an eye on the time, since we had to allow me at least half an hour to get to my train. The company was good, and absolutely worth spending all night wandering aimless and lonely around the city.
Predictably, we managed to get lost after leaving the pub as Elizabeth tried to find Gloucester Road station which would mean I didn't have to change trains. We never did find it, despite her tendency to start swearing in a bad British accent when stressed and asking directions from people in a corner shop who probably couldn't speak English anyway.
Our meeting was even worth missing my train home -- luckily I found there was a train later than the one I thought was the last. I eventually made it home, and our meeting was worth getting to bed just after 2am and getting up less than five hours later. Elizabeth made her way back to New York without event -- and I certainly don't regret a minute of it. Next time, though, I hope we'll spend a day together.
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