Tuesday, March 20, 2007

London part two, electric bugaloo

I totally cannot type when I have had wine. So srry if this is rife with error. (Ok, I can remember words like 'rife' but can't rememebr how to spell sorry? jeez.)

I got my hairs cut yesterday. Remember that movie, Edward Scissorhands? Well, it was a bit like that. The hairdresser, a cool guy named Michael, is like the Curly Hair God and he totally made my hair his bitch. (He has a salon, called Unruly. It's good. A bit wierd to find the first time, but an awesome place in this sort of Creative Idea Building, the Westbourne Studios, full of designers and stuff. cool. Very vibey. He also has a blog, go here for that.) Anyhow, at one point he had me stand up and he stood behind me and just scissored bits of my hair off my head. I was the hedge, he was the gardener. Just like in the movie. I saw my hair flying in every direction. A bit unnerving, but it totally worked, he cut off about three pounds of hair but he cut off just the RIGHT hair and I really like the cut i got. I will totally visit him again.

After the haircut and some shopping (I found the most awesome dress at Zara) I went to see Spamalot at the Palace theatre. That is THE show to see if you are a Python fan. Good fun and hilarious as hell. I totally want to see it again. Ohmigod it was HILARIOUS. I had to pee the whole time, and not from my unusually small bladder, but from laughing. It was THAT good. I met up with Martin (a coworker and friend of Rich's who is in town) and his daughterAimee for it, they just made it in time for the show after driving over half of England that day. God I laughed my ass off. At the end of the show, a confetti shower was unleashed from the ceiling of the theatre all over the audience and I had a metric ton of it in my cleavege, which I am saving as a souvenir. I took pictures of it, on the floor of the hotel, as I got undress it showered out of my dress and even I was amazed at how much got into my clothes,. I think I will make a dress out of it. Or maybe a shirt. Not sure how much I have. but there is lots.

Anyhow, Martin and I went out for drinks after the show (Aimee had to catch a train back to her grandparents) and we managed to stay out until 3:30 am. We went to a bar on Dover street full Hooray Henrys and posh blond women. Good wine, though. I, in a fairly stunning example of grace, took a cab back to the hotel and as the cab driver stopped suddenly outside the hotel, I flipped ass over applecorn onto the floor of the cab, my ass in the air and my wallet and coins all over the floor. This is easy to do in London cabs as the back seats are fairly roomy and if you aren't prepared at a sudden stop, you take a tumble. (Is anyone surprised when I say this is not the first time I've taken a tumble in a London cab?)I was giggling madly as I tried to get my dress off my face and my legs back onto the floor. Luckily it was just me in the cab, I had dropped off Martin at Victoria Station to catch his train back, so no one saw my ignominy but me and the cab driver. I got to bed at 3:30 and did not get up until noon, which put a damper on my Extreme Shopping Day I had planned. Instead I just wandered around King's Road with a massive and progressively more intense hangover, to the point where I gave up and went to a pub and had a warm beer in front of a cold fireplace. I did get some cute silver sandals, though.

This evening i met up with my cousin Edward at a restaurant called (and I will btucher this but never ye mind) Le Relais de Venise, in Marylebone (huh huh she said bone) Street, which serves only one dish: entrecote and fries. (Beef and taters.) And wine. Weeeeee! So we had beef and taters with special sauce and chatted and laughed. Both my young cousins are very handsome young men and Edward in particular is quite the style maven, very sleek in his Ted Baker suits and city pinstripes. We had a nice time, ending the evening at a sort of sad pub with strange drunk people singing tunelessly and loudly, with too many vowels and not enough consonants. There was one annoyingly poncy guy there who was from Miami, but spoke with a Brrritish accent, as he had lived in london for 10 years. Dude, sorry, but you don't pick up accent just cuz you live in Britain. Urg. If that weret he case, I'd be speaking English with a Norwegian accent!

It#'s 10:30 and i am going to crash now, I need my beauty rest.
Back to Norway tomorrow.

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