Today I took a look again into my 90s travel journal, at the back half of my trip which found me in London, staying with a penpal of mine. At the time I was a shameless Anglophile, peppering my writing with embarrassing British euphemisms and lots of cursing. I was young. Reading back reminded me of how full those days were as well, seeing live comedy for the first time, going to a play (“Trainspotting”), wandering Brick Lane flea market in the east end and buying “beigels” for 10p, traveling to Richmond for supper in an 18th century pub, visiting every museum I could, particularly the free ones, and noting the van Gogh and Da Vinci paintings I saw, going to a rock show alone and being the usual wallflower, sitting on the wall across from Abbey Road Studios, and on and on and on. At the time, I LOVED London. I loved it again when I went again the following summer. But the love faded by the time I went back five years after that.

Coincidentally, I received a gift of English chocolate tonight. It is still a superior product.