Doesn’t have to be Louis V up on Bond Street: A London Post Pt 4

[disclaimer: as I was traveling alone and am a woman, I chose to post this after I returned from England]

You know that scene in Avengers: Infinity War (spoiler alert, but if you haven’t seen it yet, idk what you’re doing?) when Thanos gets all the infinity stones, snaps his fingers, and a bunch of people get dusted? And how one of those people is cute ol’ Peter Parker, and when he’s about to disintegrate, he goes “Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go” and he’s on the verge of tears? Yes, that’s how I feel knowing I’m about to leave London.

My knees, however, are very excited for me to lay around in my bed for the next month. They are very grateful that I’ve spent all my time post-sunset in my hotel though. It’s allowed them a break and me a lot of writing time. And a lot of Love Island binging. All three simultaneously.

I’ve revisited the book I wrote when I was sixteen and it’s been an experience to say the least. I really was not a great writer. Very naive and idealistic. I cringe reading my last draft. I will say, though, it’s significantly better now. Not great, but a lot better. Being solo on this trip has afforded me lots of alone time with my thoughts—and my brain didn’t betray me at all. I stayed focused on figuring out these characters and fixing the plot, and I was able to fall in love with the story again. It used to be so special to teenage me, and I’ve really struggled with how it turned out. I felt like I let myself down. But it was a learning experience, and I do believe that if I hadn’t powered through it, I wouldn’t be the writer I am and I wouldn’t have written the things I have. I have so much more faith in myself and I’m so much more open to growing as a storyteller. I used to be so afraid to share my work (and apparently for good reason), and this story taught me that not everything has to be perfect. I think this story will always just be for me, and that’s what’s been so fun about this rewrite. I’m not worried about anyone else. Having all that time walking around London gave me ample space and time to feel out what my writer brain was trying to communicate to me. It’s been fantastic to be alone with my thoughts and not have them rip my self-esteem and self-confidence to shreds. This city has been so good to me in that sense.

I’m telling you, I hope everyone has a place that makes them feel this way.

On Friday, I went to see a musical. The only show I’ve ended up seeing while here. And OH MY GOD.

So in June, I was visiting my parents in Texas, and on one of my last nights, we went to dinner with my brother. My parents love going to Texas Roadhouse, so that’s where we went. I don’t care for it, but whatever. So, we’re sitting at dinner, talking about movie-musicals vs. musical revivals, and my brother goes, “Did you know they’re making Back to the Future a musical?”

Okay, interesting, tell me more! So he looked it up, and then went, “Wait, when are you going to be in London?” I told him the dates, and he told me that it opens/has its first preview August 20th—or 20 August for you Brits. While we sat there in Texas Roadhouse, I googled as fast as I could, I picked a seat that they wouldn’t let me buy a single ticket for, and then I found one they would let me purchase, and it was done. I was going. It all happened so quickly. Minutes. What a rush!

To be honest, I was unsure about what it was going to be like, but I didn’t look into it at all. I wanted to be completely surprised. I had low expectations, like how could they make one of my favorite films into a stage musical? I thought it’d be overly cheesy and overall kind of meh.

But wow I could not have been more wrong. It was certainly a bit cheesy, but holy shit I cried, I had chills, I laughed, it was incredible. A spectacular show. Everyone was so amazing in it, perfect performances. Everyone did their characters so well. The voices, the mannerisms, I was so impressed.

If and when in tours in the US, I will be buying tickets. I wish I could see it a million more times. Alas, I only have what’s in my memory for now. I’m telling you, it was so much fun. Really did the movie justice, in my opinion. I can’t imagine doing something much better on one of my last nights in the city.

I’m spending this last weekend just running around and seeing a couple of sites I haven’t hit yet: Camden Market, Borough Market, Spitalfields Market. Hm…shall I call this the Market Circuit? I want to do a little shopping and a little eating. And per the usual, a lot of walking. Don’t let me buy any more books, though, or else I won’t be able to fit everything into my suitcase and it’ll be heavy. And I still have a few more souvenirs to buy, so I need to save space for those too.

This trip has really flown by, but I know that even if I stayed for months, it wouldn’t feel long enough. I wonder if this is how people who are dying to live in LA feel. Like, those people who dream of this city of weirdos. I’m jaded about LA, but I’m sure that’s what a lot people think about London. It’s okay, I have enough love to go around.

I’m going to miss the girls at the coffee shop in Hyde Park that made my americanos every day. Every morning, I did my little walk, caffeinated up, and planned the rest of my day from a little table under a tree. I’m sure the girls will never remember me and they’re not the cute, little Italian ladies that ran the place across the street from my flat five years ago, but I’m sentimental about my coffee. And their eyeliner was always so sharp–how do they do that? I’ll rave about anyone I can get coffee from. Like my fav baristas at my regular place in Burbank, Bella and Ashley, whom I can’t wait to see when I get back.

Coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee.

Thinking about how badly I’m going to need that when I get back. Gotta beat the jet lag. But for now, I’ll enjoy the time I have left in my favorite city. I’ll drink as many americanos as I can and take as many Hyde Park laps as my knees will still allow. And maybe miss my flight on Tuesday, who knows? With my travel luck? I’ll be shocked if I don’t get locked down in the airport indefinitely, unable to get home and unable to rejoin the land of the living.

Guess we’ll find out.

[author’s note, since I waited to publish these: so our plane took off, we flew for an hour, we had to turn around because there was something wrong with the left phalange (no, I don’t know the actual issue, my anxiety cannot handle knowing), and then we had to change planes. What a trip, I gotta say.]