Not the kind of quickie where pants go down, a man pants in your face and you pretend that the excitement and urgency of it all will get you where you need to be to make a spear feel like a feather without him wasting any of his foreplay moves on you. No this is the good kind of quickie, where 4 months out of civilization required a 2 day stint in London. It was gone too fast, but couldn’t have come any sooner. It’s amazing what you can get done in 56 hours.
Of those 56 hours I spent a whopping 23 on sleep alone. The rest of he time I complained about stupid Londoners (sometimes tourists, depending on who was the dumbest), was bought lunch and later called it a business meeting. I shopped, and discovered that sales really aren’t for me unless they’re in the virtual world, and buying 10 pairs of tights at a time from Primark only means you and I both know we’re doing it cause one pair will last for less than 1 time wearing them.
I had a fabulous dinner with fabulous people where the restaurant was so fabulous they were rude and obnoxious. I didn’t drink a single fabulous cocktail because I’m such a jetsetter I had a plane to catch 6 hours later. “Jetsetter” - the word that described me this week, and I wasn’t the only on saying it. I heard it from friends, strangers and enemies.
From my 2 days in London I learnt that it’s very crowded, people will speak to you even if they don’t know how to, skinny girls all look the same, the underground is a system stolen from the French (it’s not working there, it ain’t gonna work here), people love smoothies and paninis, Primark is in a different dimension where recession doesn’t exist, using an iPad as a till machine in a restaurant both makes you look like a douche and doesn’t even get the bill right, and if a homeless guy sits next to you on the bus but doesn’t masturbate,; it’s cause you’re not pretty enough
Jetsetter, bi-coastal, rockstar….
I thought I was spending 2 days at home, but I quickly realized it was more of a holiday. A quite relaxing one, cause how often do I sleep 9 hours a night? Why would I complain about the “locals” if I were one of them? Most importantly why does it feel so damn good sitting at the airport, knowing I’m on now truly my way home?