More Prilosec, more pills, the sunrise comes late in London on a Tuesday. The morning shows boggle me once again... down the stairs for breakfast, missing my habit of midnight wandering the streets.... oh don't feel bad, I just don't like a heavy breakfast, and no guests seem to like conversation... and now off in the drizzle to King's Cross to watch the displays and pay to pee. The 9:30 to Newcastle, another whispered conversation with a stranger as the countryside rolls by.
Cold as hell up north, gloves and taxi and Alexander House for tea and my huge room, my first kingsize bed and an American's worst nightmare - the English bath.
Waste most of my day wandering the streets and city walls and walking out of crowded cafes. Shopping for a black dress and a new life - I am a UK size 12 I fear - and watching the sky go dark at God. 4:30. Crash at 5:30, wake up cursingly at 8:30, 20 minute walk to the nearest restaurant, where the manager talks to me for an hour. Oh! A surprise American! and a free drink, and a queasy walk to the hotel to text and wake and sleep.
Not so lonely?
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