Like with most stories, this one begins with a girl.  A friend of mine offered to take several us to London as a graduation gift … for herself … but she also wanted company so she invited friends.  Her parents had dutifully saved money during her childhood for college — an alien concept for my family — and by attending an in-state school she possessed extra cash ready to burn upon graduating.  With that remainder she bought us tickets across the pond to visit Edinburgh and London.  We flew in economy and stayed in youth hostels.  We ate cheaply.  Well, we did everything cheaply, like standing tickets at The Globe Theatre to watch Cymbeline.  

It was four of us traveling.  One of the four was a girl I had briefly dated earlier in the year.  She turned out to be totally uninterested but kept me around because nothing better had yet come along — a common phenomenon throughout my collegiate career — and now I seemed to just annoy her with my presence and sarcastic digs.  I deserved her ire.  I took pleasure calculating the amount of hours until I never had to see her again, adjusting for the time change, which proved mathematically tricky but an excellent way to coax along sleep in noisy hostels.  Another was a guy named Ryan, a close friend of mine for many years before and after the trip, until he left New York City.  All New Yorkers understand that once you leave, you say goodbye.  The fourth person, the one paying for this sojourn, was Rebecca.  

RBD (who wasn’t RBD at the time) and I weren’t particularly close.  We ran in the same group of friends but didn’t specifically hang out.  She was even less interested in me than the first girl, which, again, was absolutely not surprising.  However it turned out to be an auspicious trip, though I hardly could have known the implications then.  Over the next year RBD (who worked at a pharmaceutical firm in the area after graduating) and I would become buds.  I’d help her buy furniture and a bathroom soap dispenser for her first, post-college, adult apartment.  I helped move her stuff, so she helped me move mine into the dorm I had been assigned Head Resident Advisor of, Miles Hall.  We would begin to hang out more and more regularly.  Together we would see college Theatre (real high “art”) and then chuckle afterwards over beers about how God-awful it was.  We would go to dinner at Cracker Barrel on Valentine’s Day because neither of us had a Valentine.  She’d comfort my broken heart when I left college and helped me face an uncertain future in Connecticut and New York.  A full year after the trip, we’d stumble awkwardly into dating despite living hundreds of miles apart.  Eight years after that, we’d finally get married.  It’s still unclear to me how it all unfolded, but it all begins in London. 

Because of all this London holds a special place in my heart.  RBD and I have since traveled the world together, but London was our first trip without adults watching over.  A trip totally conceived, planned, and paid for by us (well, mostly her, which is kinda still the case).  A trip, not for college credit, but for personal enrichment.  She generously brought me along then, and she’s generously bringing me along now.  Between airline miles and the hotel paid for by her employer, this trip costs essentially nothing.

We depart soon.  As I mentioned, she’ll be on a different plane than me which I find amusing. We land Wednesday morning and she heads off to work.  I plan to have breakfast at The Attendant, a Victorian public bathroom turned chic coffee shop.  They left the urinals and most of the original structure, insisting everything has been thoroughly cleaned.  Afterwards, I head to The Imperial War Museum.  Between this and New Zealand, I’ve seen many of Her Majesties’ World War I and II museums.  During the afternoon I meet up with Robert, a fellow lighting director, to tour BBC HQ.  

Thursday and Friday are packed.  I start off at The Science Museum and IMAX; there’s an exhibit about our sun.  I’m fond of fire and explosions, so this really seemed in my wheel-house.  Time permitting, I’d like to stop by The Museum of Branding and Packaging.  Deep-down I must be part marketing agent.  Lastly, I plan to wander around in The Museum of London.  I figure it’s like The Met — you just go and hope to make it out alive in 3 to 4 hours.  

Friday begins with a trip to The Transportation Museum (I do love a good train exhibit!), followed by lunch at The Sky Gardens, a public park high above the streets.  In the area is also The Tower Bridge and Sir John Soane’s Museum, which is filled with curiosities and recommended to me by a colleague.  I plan to watch the sun set at The Shard, a new architectural wonder that I’m guessing resembles a shard of glass.

Saturday RBD and I get to bop around together.  We’ll see Kensington Palace, Westminster Abby, and tour Royal Albert Hall.   

We also have some trendy dinners planned in the evenings after work in the SoHo area, where our hotel is located.

Thank you all for coming along.  Self-expression needs an audience.  Otherwise you’re just ranting in the dark, so I appreciate you all being my audience.  Reporting back to people keeps my senses sharp, and I’m grateful to share my creative efforts with you all.

We seem to be cleared for takeoff.  I have gin and tonics to wash down a couple of Ambien.  I’ll see you all on the other side.  Of the Atlantic.  Unless my heart stops, but I really don’t think that’s gonna happen this time.