frankmask

I humped twelve miles through central london today, plus god knows how many klicks on the tube. My legs are ready to fall off at the slightest provocation, which didn't prevent me from dancing all the way down to the internet cafe.

I am in love with London. I love the tube, I love the architecture, and I love the preponderance of attractive young women. I love the frequent sushi bars, the creative use of three dimensional space, and the ever present church spires. I'm drunk on this place. Minneapolis doesn't hold a candle, and Anchorage casts no more light here than the farthest star at noon.

In the course of a few hours I criss-crossed Holborn and Covent Garden, Soho, Regents Park, and part of Marelybone. I saw Falung Gong practicioners protesting outside the Chinese Embassy, A pair of inordinately graceful rollerskaters, lots and lots of statues, and so many gorgeous girls it boggles the mind. I saw a Mercedes that I want to look into once I get stateside, some laughably overpriced leather jewellry, and a SONY store, which furnished me with the lovely new Minidisc player in my coat pocket. Which is skipping... Which is odd. Eitherway.

So I want to move here. Not forever, because I'm not a member of an old money family or a wallstreet tycoon's son, but at least for a few years while I'm young and pretty and capable of great mischief. Just because I can walk everywhere, and take a tube to anywhere I don't want to walk, because their are food shops everywhere, because there are churches and parks and museums every square block where you can sit down and read, because their are are nine million people in about that many colors. Because I like the accents, all of them, especially the ones that developed somewhere else and were then flavored by England.

Ahh. I like it here. I want to stay.