London's wicked, init?

Before I start this post, I have to make a public apology:

Dear Mom- I’m sorry I left France and didn’t even tell you where I was going. Next time I do travel that requires use of my passport I will at least email you to tell you first so that you won’t have to find out about my travel plans on my blog and then call me all indignant because I told 1000 strangers where I was going but didn’t tell you because I am a horrible daughter and I love complete strangers more than you eventhough you gave birth to me after 48 hours of labor with no epidural or something. So what I’m really really trying to say is, I’m really f*ckin’ sorry, K? *giggle snort*

So, London.

As soon as my butt muscle healed, FrenchBoy and I hopped on a plane to London. But before I get to that, let me rant a hot minute about the crap airline that is Ryanair. Ryanair maybe be cheap, but you get what you pay for. Their level of organization is for shit. In fact I had a realization on the flight home-- In the future I will not be entrusting my life to any airline that runs their business so horribly and hires morons to work for them. In the future I will be spending the extra money to take the train or to fly out of Luxembourg on Luxair. Screw Ryanair already. (End Rant)

So, London.

OK, one more interruption and then I’ll get on with it. I have a confession to make. For the past, say, 10 years, I have been harboring, a not so secret distain for the British accent. Whenever I would hear it, the skin on the back of my neck bristle like a cat and I would have the urge to punch someone, anyone, in the teef. If a character in a perfectly good film turned out to have a British accent I would instantly start hoping that the plotline of the film somehow involved said character's gruesome demise. And I love movies that have magic in them, but I refused to see the Harry Potter movies cuz the accent sent me into convulsions. At one point it got so bad that any good mental health professional might have suggested I had a true phobia. And moving to France did nothing to help matters because as you know, the French find it perfectly normal to hate all things British. In fact the French strongly support the sport of “Making fun of the British” as an up-and-coming category for the 2012 Olympic games to be held in London. So, it is with great pleasure that I announce: I have been cured of my British accent phobia.

So, London.

London freakin’ rocks. Honestly I didn’t really know what to expect and I didn’t do much planning, but we arrived and just hit the ground running. And as a couple who plan all their trips around food, art, and shopping, London is about as good as it gets. We only brought a carry-on bag and one medium suitcase. Big mistake. We pillaged and plundered every shopping district in London from Sloane Street to Camden market. It was a very bloody feeding frenzy. There was just so much interesting and totally affordable fashion in my size even.

For the record, French Prêt-à-porter ("off the rack") fashion is surprisingly predictable and really quite shitty. The average French person may be well dressed but boringly so from head to toe. Like little cloned frogs. London was the exact opposite. Even those with ridiculously bad taste were at least creative with their tacky get-ups.

(Note to women in London: Tights are NOT pants. They are meant to be worn under skirts to keep your legs warm. I repeat---They are not pants. I can see your knickers through them and it aint pretty. What are you thinking? Run into M&S and buy thyself a pair of pants already!)

Knicker viewing aside, it was so refreshing to have so many choices! Even FrenchBoy, who normally has to be dragged kicking and screaming into a store just to buy new socks, got into the act. I went into the changing room and when I came out he had picked out a whole outfit on his own! In total we came away with 4 pairs of shoes, 2 coats, 2 sweaters, 2 hats, 2 scarves, 1 pleather purse, a Dunhill wallet/moneyclip, a crystal champagne bucket, and 2 boxes of codeine which much to my absolute delight is sold over the counter!

Also, I am in the honeymoon stages of Shoe-Love with my new Terra Plana "Maple" boots that I bought at a tiny boutique called Stella at Camden Market. It was love at first site. Almost as good as cheap codeine.

Other highlights from our trip:

• Watching a guy eat porridge. (From the grimaces on our faces you would have thought we were watching someone eat a bowl of worms on Fear Factor.)
• Getting served champagne at Ferragamo because I faked them into believing I was gonna buy a 2000€ python skin purse.
• Totally righteous brownie and ice cream eating at Harvey Nichols.

So, London. I like.

We’re heading back the first week in December for FrenchBoy’s birthday. I’m already dreaming about fish & chips and Brick Lane. Next time we’ll bring a bigger suitcase and stretchy pants.