Photos Etc.

I had dreams for today. Big ones! But since I can’t sleep on an airplane, today was a five-hour Lynchian stumble through the City of Westminster waiting for my hotel room. I’d planned to walk to all the touristy stuff one expects of London, but that’s more than an hour to the south and I just didn’t have it. So instead I audibled and hoofed it up to Abbey Road, just over a mile away. I obviously want The Photo, but traffic across the famous zebra crossing is unending, so I left it for now. I’ll just come back Friday when I hit the zoo.

I did find the small but charming and understated Beatles gift shop in the studio’s basement. That’s perfect, since I’m on a long-term, chilled out mission to collect every Beatles LP. Last year, a teacher I used to work with gave me his beat up (but in decent shape) original copy of Rubber Soul last year, and Abbey Road itself is currently framed on my wall, where it belongs. I decided for this trip Sgt. Pepper’s was the obvious correct choice, so it now sits on my hotel room desk. I won’t be framing Sgt. Pepper’s, too, though. That would be weird. 

For this being a photography trip, I only used my “real” camera once: A really cool magpie landed on a fence in front of me. I got him taking off, but probably blew focus. I could check for certain, but that would involve getting up and getting the card out of the camera, and no.

After my three mile pilgrimage, I arrived back at the hotel and figured out that I still had three hours left before check-in. I lightly dozed on a bench outside for about thirty minutes, camera bag firmly between my feet with the strap wrapped around my ankle. I don’t remember much about that, other than I did wander over to one of the many restaurants up and down the street and got some spaghetti and mushroom sauce. After running the clock out with tiramisu and decaf Americano, I staggered back to the hotel, whereupon the counter girl took pity on me and allowed me in.

I slept for six hours. With my circadian rhythm in tatters, I decided Indian food would be just the thing. The tikka masala I had was pretty good, a little sweeter than what I’m used to—India has a billion and a half people, so I’ll allow some recipe variation with their chicken dishes. The garlic naan was transcendent. Soft and good.

New plan for tomorrow: wandering down to the Thames to do the thing.