After my last experience in the Pearson I never wanted to return again but it was really fun having overpriced beers with my fave Torontonians (besides George Strombolopolous... but he doesn't really count because he doesn't remember that one time we met in the Avalon Mall and he signed his Mary Brown's napkin for me :). It was so much fun, my watchless dumbfuck self almost missed her second plan out of Toronto in her life. Apparently while I was finishing the largest pint I've ever drank and chatting up a storm, they were paging me repeatedly. That's the last time I ignore the recommended boarding time. They were ready to take my fucking suitcase off the plane! The people at the gate bitched me out, "You've been here since 2:30, what the hell were you doing?" Uhhh, drinking beer and trying to pick out magazines for my flight, obviously.
I was the last one on the plane, and was so late they didn't look at my passport. As I boarded the attendant looked at me and said with a cynical raised eyebrow, "Joy?" Yes I am, fuck you very much. Thanks to the nonstop turbulence that was so bad they didn't serve hot drinks the whole flight I didn't sleep a wink, I just pretended to in hopes I would pass out. It might have worked for about a half hour, then I'd get woken up by insane shaking once more. I guess it could be worse, I made it to London in one piece! Just a very sleepy piece, but that's nothing that the promise of a day of vintage shopping can't cure.
It took me about two hours to find the hotel that the guy from Hotels.com said was "right by Paddington Station." I asked directions from a few people and got different answers out of everyone. I assume if you're wearing a suit and smoking a fag outside an office building (look at me, using British slang already! Bahahaa) that you know how to get to a place that's a few blocks away, but I assumed wrong. Wanker.
Eventually I found Hyde Park Towers and was pleasantly surprised that it's really quite posh. I ate the best club sandwich I've ever had from the restaurant, where the service was absolutely great. I sat on the deck to eat, reading I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max, which is so hilarious. I don't care if he's a conniving piece of shit that uses women, his adventures are entertaining and kind of addictive to read.
After starting to sunburn I decided to head for the shops, not deciding to stop and buy sunscreen. Smart girl that I am and all. I didn't even look up what stores to go to, I just kept walking down souvenir shop and boutique-lined streets adjacent to the hotel, until I came across Portobellos Market, vintage and cheap chic heaven.
I literally lit up when I saw this place. I visited a shop, I can't remember the name for the life of me, where celebrities like Lindsay Lohan and Sienna Miller, among others, like to shop when they come here. It was full of gorgeous stuff, lots of designers, and all expensively priced. I mean, some of the stuff probably cost more than what it did when it was new! I guess you can do that once people from Hollywood are plastered on your walls.
I found my treasures all over, especially at this place called Hideout Classics. I got a wicked silver/grey Diesel jacket for dead cheap, in addition to a leather bomber that was even cheaper. The guy working there gave me 10 pounds off for buying two, which was even nicer. The Diesel jacket kind of makes me look like Michael Jackson (I asked the shopkeeper if this was true and he said no and still howled with laughter), but fuck it. At least my nose hasn't fallen off before. Oh yea, I don't touch little boys either. I'm not surprised he canceled his first few shows here next month, what a weirdo. I bet the people that were flying here just to see him are PISSED.
I arrived back at my hotel, exhausted, sunburnt in stupid places, and loving it.
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