walking to my death

St. Paul's cathedral is beautiful. I'll give you that Sir Christopher Wren. However, I do have a bone to pick with you, called it is WAY TOO TALL TO CLIMB.
Now, for those of you who are unaware, I do not do heights. Of any sort. Whatsoever.
My last experience with heights was four years ago in the London Eye. It was, how do you say, a living nightmare. I was stuck in a bubble -- made of glass -- for an hour -- dangling over the Themes -- sobbing hysterically, while a 14 year old Holden giggled at my misery. I still hold a grudge, but seriously, NOT COOL HOLDEN, NOT COOL.
So, you can imagine my reaction when my assignment today for my history class was to climb to the top of the dome. Yes, it was my participation grade for the day, I had to do this.
White-faced and sick to my stomach, I did it, not happily mind you. All 530 steps to the narrow outside ledge with only a stone barrier keeping me from plunging to my death.
I didn't, obviously. I got an A for the day, but I wasn't happy about that Dr. Thornhill. Never again.

chris.

Greatest moment of my ENTIRE life. I know, I know, I'm prone to exaggeration, but this is not a joke. I repeat NOT. A. JOKE. I was four feet from Chris Martin. He sang four feet from my FACE.
We got to Wembley before the gates opened -- so worth it -- and ended up pressed against the barriers with a group of soccer hooligans. The legitimate kind, the sort of round ones with no hair and scars. The kind that say "OI!" and call every girl in their vicinity "chickey."
The hooligans kept us safe. When one boy tried to push her way through one of the hooligans said, direct quote, "Oi, I'm watching you. Don't push my American girl who has been here since 3. You step back and there will be no trouble. I don't want no trouble, but there might be some trouble if you don't watch out."
Richard called it, "Another day in paradise." Right on Daddy.

second time the charm

I worship the ground Chris Martin walks on. Dramatic? Potentially. True? Obviously.
If I were to meet him, I would literally, not a joke, pee myself. Sorry, that is probably inappropriate to write on here. Regardless, could not be more true.
So, when Phil visited this past Sunday and realized I wasn't going to Coldplay this weekend when they play at Wembley he properly shamed me into buying a ticket. Good work older brother.
Ticket now purchased and counting down the hours until I am reunited with my beloved for the second time in two months.
Only 2 more days and some odd hours. So. Soon. Chris. So. Soon.

raindance.

I'm ready for an epic downpour. I hope it rains today.

tate britain

Eva Rothschild's new piece at the Tate Britain, Cold Corners, is really stunning. It was commissioned by Sotheby's and sits in the Duveens Gallery.
I loved standing in the middle and viewing it from all directions. The way such a graphic and hard structure has so easily become part of such neoclassical architecture is incredibly poignant.
I really enjoyed the Tate Britain. It was much different than the Gallery I had imagined. Home of the Tuner Prize, I expected something far more majestic than the small building off of Themes. It was nice though -- almost the anti-National Gallery which I'd been to just the day before.
Comfort in closeness. Perhaps that was the point Rothschild was trying to make.

best.night.ever.

Thursday night, the girls and I headed out in our finest to celebrate Anna Wintour's vision. A celebration of, get this, shopping. That is not a joke. Thirteen of the biggest fashion cities of the world bonded together to celebrate clothes -- to celebrate fashion and the potential it has to cheer people during dreary economic times. Or, at least that was the vision. I saw it more as a chance to dance with the gays.
We walked up and down Bond Street -- hopped into Jimmy Choo to have our make up professionally done. (My smokey eyes were out of control.) Headed over to Burberry for a dance party on the top floor, before heading over to Michael Kors which we essentially had to ourselves, (technically, it was already closed), to have a private consultation with individual sales associates. Apparently, orange is my color. Who knew? All I know is that the champagne never stopped flowing. Literally they were topping off my glass as I stuffed my face with more and more mini quiches.
It was like a dream night. Throw in some discussion of modern art and it literally would have been my heaven. Then again, it was really close enough.

family

Today is my daddy's 60th birthday, or, yesterday was, it's midnight here. I'm not sure if he would like me telling the whole world that he's 60, but oops. Happy Birthday Daddy.
I went out to Romford on Sunday. I met up with three of my cousins, Laura, Sarah, and Katie, and we went out to Burnham to visit my Great Uncle Derek. When he walks into a room, I would swear it was my granddad. I mean, really, I would swear. Derek's older now than my granddad was when he passed away, but I imagine that they would have aged the same. White shock of hair that is slightly windblown and an affinity for cakes and walks along the shore to look at the boats.
Being in England is bringing me much closer to my dad, and in turn, to my grandparents. I hope that they'd be happy I'm here, adjusting and fitting in. I'm really enjoying the little things I've started to do on my own. Even just reading a book on the Tube by myself is nice. It's nice to feel close to them. I miss them more than I say, or I think, more than I realize.
I'm in a class, "Roots of the British Genius," that focuses on how England has come to be where it is now -- a past Empire adjusting in the new Millennium. I wonder what my Granny and Grandad would think of England now. I wish I could ask them.

7

I'm off to spend the day in Notting Hill. It's Saturday so the Portobello Market is expected to be in full swing. So excited to see the vintage fashions -- an entire stall dedicated to nothing but vintage lace! I'm also looking forward to the potential of finding the blue door from the movie staring my one true love, Hugh Grant. I'll be on the look out, and if found, will take creepy tourist pictures until someone has to (politely but forcefully) tell me to stop.

classes

My first day of classes was yesterday. I only have one a day, and then no class on Friday. Once I start my internship I will have to work full time -- so the three day weekend feels like such a luxery.
My art class is out of this world. Every lecture is at a musuem. I feel so absolutely, amazingly, fortunate. Our first class was spent discussing the Arts and Crafts movement of the late nineteenth century -- specifically the works of William Morris. Instead of looking at slides, we were looking at the art itself as it sits in the British Galleries at the V & A. It's a level of studies that I've never had before.
After class I headed over to The British Museum to look at the Elgin Marbles. The fact that all the museums in London are free allows you to pop in and pop out to see a specific thing, especially when you're as close to the heart of the city as I am. You don't feel like you have to fit a million things in. Though, Rick Steves, my life hero, is giving me some great advice and information about the highlights.
God knows where I'll end up today. That's the most exciting part about this all. Very little plans, loads of spontenaity. We went out last night -- hard -- so things are moving pretty slowly this morning around The ol' Crofton.

domesticity

This is the story of my life.
My first attempt at cooking on my own, in my first kitchen, resulted in this disaster.
Caroline smiling at our "handiwork" in the background, and by handiwork I mean that we set off the smoke alarm and were frantically fanning away the fumes.
Carol, you should be so proud.