If I ate my heart out in Italy, then I drank and danced the rest of the time in London.
Last fall marked my first time back in Europe as an adult. I was already there with my good friend Neil, and my other good friend Areis was flying over from Tampa just to meet us. (My measurement of knowing you’re getting older: when you constantly make plans with your friends who live in the same city as you to hang out anywhere else but that city.) The plan of attack for those couple of days in London was quite simple: dine, drink, dance, sleep, repeat.
I’ve long had an indescribable connection to and fascination with the U.K.: Their chart-topping recording artists have always filled my earphones. Popular television shows like Footballers Wives and The X-Factor (and I’m not referring to that abominable U.S. flop that once had Nicole Scherzinger as a judge) were favorites of mine. Most importantly, my attempt at only speaking in a British accent when inebriated never fails. (Academy Award winner Gwyneth Paltrow, I am not.)
So here I was in the most-expensive city in the world with two of my best friends, and I only managed to snap the above two photos the entire that I was over there. (My measurement of knowing you had a great vacation: when you did absolute zero sight-seeing and took less than three photos your entire time overseas.)
Whoever said that New York City is the capital of the world deserves to be fined and imprisoned for uttering such a false statement. That person deserves to share a prison cell with the same person who said the following false statements about London: (1) They do not like Americans over there, and (2) the food there is disgusting. Solely judging from the numerous locals I met at the innumerable places that I Facebook checked-in to, visiting from America and having an American accent was a draw. And every fish & chips, meat pie with mushy peas, and bangers & mash platter that I had was Hoover Wind Tunnel vacuumed up into my belly with delight. In fact, the only time I ever raised an eyebrow of concern while in London was my aggressive attempt to locate a nightclub that didn’t intentionally play Disney’s Frozen soundtrack, B*Witched, or S Club 7. I’ve long known that London loves pop music, but little did I know to what extreme I suppose.
“Rather Be” by Clean Bandit ft. Jess Glynne: This song was utterly inescapable in London that entire week: being played on every radio station, in every pub and bar, in the hotel lobby, on TV. The lyrics to “Rather Be” also perfectly sum up the entire magic that was experienced while there. London, England… there’s no place I’d rather be.