Part one

London is hot and steamy today. After a month or so of rushing around, I'm fine with having lazy summer days spent in Regent's Park. I've been to Cannes and back, had my parents visiting and then moved straight into an impromptu Canada Day extravaganza. Read Patricia's blog now for full details.




bizarrely, travelling is often mostly interminable waiting. John and I waited at Victoria station for a train to take us to Canterbury--as seen in above pictures.

It's a very pretty town and after cunningly putting together a series of clues --tattoo and piercing shop, lots of young attractive people, and many 'to let' signs--I decided it must also be a university town. I was right!

Then I waited in the airport to go to Cannes. I was gone for 10 days and while I spent most of the time inside in an windowless office, I was able to take advantage of what is known amongst those who have sensible grown-up jobs as an 'expense account'. I knew you lot were lying when you said you disliked business trips. Especially business trips on the beach.
The last night I worked was also the festival's opening gala. It was laid out on the beach and included ice sculptures, free drinks, caviar and a red carpet. And because red carpets seem to attract people who think that someone famous just might happen to walk down it, there was a line of people watching everyone go into the party.

Anyway, the result of free booze coupled with many, many nights working until 3 left me in no fit state the next morning. I woke up because the phone was ringing. It was hotel reception gently reminding me that I needed to check out. I packed in about 10 minutes and was actually feeling okay. But as the day went on, getting hotter and hotter, my latent hangover sprung into diabolical action. Fine if you have a fan, a bed and maybe someone to bring you hangover friendly food. I had none of these. I also had to find the train station, drag my badly packed bag there, get a ticket to Nice and do it all in French.
I decided to lie under a tree by the beach while I tried not to throw-up. It was working until this friendly French guy who was working as a garbage man to pay for his MA in theology starting talking to me. Now, I know it sounds crazy, but it's near impossible to talk about the state of religious belief in the western world while wearing stupidly big Nicole richie-esque sunglasses, trying not to throw-up because the night before you drank to much free booze at a beach party in front of the Carlton in Cannes all in celebration of blatant consumerism. Plus my head really hurt.

Long, painful story short, I made it to Nice. somehow. I then ended up at a hostel filled with Canadians (and some Americans). I've met about 3 Canadians since moving to London and suddenly I was surrounded. So I while I was thrilled to talk about Toronto the first time, it began to lose it's rose-tinted luster. And what's with all the Canadian flags. Nobody is going to think you are American if you fail to slap 800 hundred Canadian flags to your backpack and clothing. What will happen if you do, however, is that everyone will think you're lame and other cooler Canadians will avoid you for being so lame.
My suggestion is to stick a bunch of different flags on the backpack. Mix it up a little. Keep everyone guessing.