London Day 1

Getting to London is not hard for someone who doesn't have long legs, has no luggage, and his hot natured. I am none of those things. Trains are a great staple of English life. You can go anywhere in the entire country. The Lancaster to London train is very convenient but everyone is going there for vacation. Northern Englanders don't really like to leave the area so if they are going they are going. And that going means tons of luggage. And I was no exception. I had one "carry on" piece of luggage. And I put that in inverted commas (Brit term) because those huge suitcases we all bring on the plane now to avoid paying extra are not in any way what the inventor of the passenger plane's overhead bin had in mind. I also had the largest suitcase out there filled to the brim with clothes, wellies, toiletries, and presents for yall. Well I got it on the train. But, there was no room to put it in the actual carriage so I left it in the little separation between the two cars. That meant every time we came to a stop I had to go guard it, although who would steal a 60 pound suitcase is beyond me, or switch its position from one side of the space to the other so everyone else could get on.

When we finally got there I was worn out. England is not in the business of being PC. In America everything has an elevator. Not here. Nope I had to pull those damn things down maybe 5 staircases total. Don't do that to suitcases they are not made for that. So when my cab driver put it in the car the top handle came flying off. He "luckily saved the luggage tag." I was SO thankful. So I think to myself on the way to my apart-hotel "I can't lift it anyway. No need in caring about that top handle." Then we get out and the handle comes off. By handle I mean those two bars that extend from the suitcase that make it able to pull. So now I am standing at my hotel with no top handle and no way to role it and to make matters worse there is about a half foot step from the street to the hotel front door. It just mocked me. Finally after dragging and cussing and perhaps a few anger tears I got it into my room and it is still sitting in the same place I left it, blocking the front door. I do not care.

So in my huff puff of anger and depression I went down the street to Sainsbury to buy my dinner for the evening to, yes you guessed it, cook and I pass a Krispy Kreme.

Karma can be good to us.