I am finding it very difficult to slow down. Anyone who knows me (and if you don't, why on EARTH are you reading this drivel?) knows that my life in London is lived at a bit of a pace. I walk fast, drink quickly, think quickly, sleep little. Now I am having to actively slow down my walking pace - I have no real place to get to, after all.
Today it wasn't raining for the first time since I arrived, plus my feet and dodgy ankle were really complaining after all the walking yesterday, so I went to Prospect Park, which is only four blocks from my house. Oh, and I am trying to get used to thinking about locations in squares, which doesn't sit well with my non-spacially-aware brain. Prospect Park was designed by the same guys that designed Central Park, but is much more leafy and country-sidey. You can actually completely forget you're in the city. This may have to become somewhere where I go and hide every now and then. Though my flatmate jogs around it every day, so I guess I could try to get into the habit of doing that. Ok, walking really fast round it. The main things of note were the albino squirrel (and the kid getting severely bollocked for chasing said squirrel), and the fact that I got a tan line on my legs. My alabaster legs got some colour!
This evening I decided to go to a gig recommended to me by Tom (note to self: sign up to some listings alerts) of She Makes War. This lady actually played at Twestival in the spring, but I missed her due to running around like a crazy thing/hovering by the karaoke instead. I have never been to a gig on my own before, so I girded my loins and set off towards the nearest Metro station, figuring that it must all be quite straight-forward and I'd pretty much be ok if I got on the right train from the off. Hmm. I didn't do that. The Metro system is made more complicated by the fact that they only have one map in each carriage, plus my guidebook one is tiny, so to find out where I was, I would have singled myself out as not having a clue (the cardinal tourist sin in my eyes). Pride comes before a fall, peeps, as we all know.
I ended up working out that if I got off one train, walked a couple of blocks and got on another line, I wouldn't have gone too far out of my way. I also accidentally stumbled across the Bowery Ballroom in the process, which is handy. The train I got ended in Queens, and the train was packed with people talking, listening to music out loud, laughing. It felt like the last tube home on a Friday night in London, only it was 8.30 on a Thursday night. I got out at the stop where the bar was, and immediately felt like I may have been in the wrong place. I mean, it was the right stop for the bar but it was like Coming To America made flesh. To say I stood out in my flip flops and little dress was an understatement.
Anyway, I found the bar, but had missed She Makes War due to all my silliness. I had one beer, talked to a man carrying a very cute baby wearing headphones and slunk back home with my tail between my legs. But at least I got to know the Metro system a little better. Silver linings and all that.
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