i can see your halo

I was utterly lazy today, which was exactly what I wanted; I also wanted to write, which I was less successful at, but at least I "accomplished" the laziness that I set out to embrace. I made it onto my flight from Dublin to London with no issues; it was slightly delayed, but even with the delay I still made it to my hotel around noon. They didn't have a room for me yet, so I wandered around Mayfair and Hyde Park for a couple of hours.

My first stop was a restaurant with sidewalk seating, where I enjoyed risotto for lunch (I'm sure my parents disapprove after the risotto I made for them, alas) while listening to the conversations of the people around me. It was immediately clear that Mayfair is not Kansas; on one side of me was a man who sent back his orange juice twice because he was convinced that it came out of a carton instead of being squeezed just for him in the back, and on the other side was a pair of businessmen, one of whom spent most of the lunch telling the other one about how he was sure they would make the second guy the managing director of the company in the next ten years, and how that would result in lots of stock, a more comfortable life, etc. When he wasn't selling the second dude on his future with the company, the guy was talking about how he intends to retire when he's fifty, etc., etc. Then, the bleached blonde companion of Orange Juice Man arrived, complaining about how the people who packed her luggage damaged her expensive handbag. It was all a riot of laughs, and made me realize that even though Mayfair is good for researching my Regency historical novels, it may not be exactly my speed.

After lunch, I wandered around Hyde Park for awhile, although I turned back halfway down the Serpentine because I got tired of trying to avoid goose shit with every step (fucking geese!). I meandered my way back to my hotel down roads with familiar (from the romance novels) names like Curzon Street, Half Moon Street, Bruton Street, etc. -- thousands of romance heroines have lived on streets with those names, but they mostly seem to be uninspiring townhouses from the outside (although I'm sure they cost millions of pounds). When I got back to the hotel, my room was ready, and I took a two hour nap (lovely!). I finally roused myself and left the hotel for a bit, swinging back past a stationer's shop on Curzon Street that I had seen earlier in the day, where I had a lovely conversation with the woman minding the counter (who told me the next time I'm in town, I should stop by and have a drink with them), and where I bought an absolutely gorgeous journal. I wrote the first three pages of the journal over a mocha at a nearby cafe -- while I write in the blog all the time, I think it's time to get back into journalling so that I can "refill my well of creativity", as the new age self-help writing books say. And it did work; I had a great idea for a future romance series (spinning off from Ferguson's sister Ellie's relationships with some of the less desirable elements of London society). Then, I came back to the hotel, changed into pajamas and a robe, ordered delicious room service, and lounged about the rest of the evening.

Now I think I shall go to bed -- I'm feeling better (and there will be much rejoicing throughout the land when I stop chronicling every aspect of my physical health), but I'm still not 100%, and while the cough hasn't woken me up the past couple of nights, I'm not entirely out of the woods. I intend to get up and go to the V&A Museum tomorrow, since they have an exhibit on the famed 18th-century collector Horace Walpole, and then I'll determine whether I should go to another museum or come back to Mayfair and write for awhile. Two days from now I'll be back in California -- and then the fun of unpacking my new place can restart in earnest. Goodnight!