London Town

I got home from London last night. I'd call it the boring London except that it seems a bit like magic-land to me.

It's a place where I don't have to work; where I nap; good food is abundant; the wine flows freely; where my body and psyche get blurry from physical and emotional satiation.

It might be nice to go back in the summer sometime, since on my two trips so far, it's been cold enough that we haven't done a ton of wandering and sitting outside. I just follow, and with my poor sense of direction my sense of the city is the same.

Though this trip wasn't icy cold like the last one, so we wandered to Wortley, had a cider, grabbed a coffee to go. We looked at the river near the brewery. We ate a couple of really good dinners. I drank more wine than I had in the past 4 weeks combined. We ate salmon with the Daubs and their three dogs; the pope sat at my feet as I picked the stuff I liked out of the salad bowl for dessert. People dropped by for visits at the Grad Club. We were the old people at CTO pointing out the names of Canadian bands almost popular 10 years ago until I stopped for a few minutes to dance to the Cure. We were the only people not working at Moon Over Marin and a third of the audience at the Richmond Tavern. We ate lunch with my first love. We watched crappy TV and ate snacks in bed. We kissed and grabbed and looked and cuddled and stroked and fucked and laughed.

And talked. Ohhhh and we talked. Desultory hungry conversation before the eggs came, confidences too loud after the bar. The ebb and flow over sidewalks and rivers and pints.