Our vacation has been a whirlwind. We knew it would be, and we are okay with that, but that makes it a little bit like a week long summer camp with some European cities--you know, where you don't really get to know people, but you feel like you do, and the strength of those brief friendships sticks with you for a long time after? Paris is the guy at the pool that I have a huge crush on; London is the girl in my cabin that I stay up with late and whisper about the guy at the pool.
Our hotel is half a block away from St. Paul's. We went to the evening service there tonight, and we toured it earlier today. It was a Connie Willis tour, because we are nerds, and we stood in front of the Light of the World and thought about Dunworthy and I swiped the order of service and thought about Polly and I wandered through the crypt and wondered if the fire watch slept down there (no, actually, I'm told they mostly slept on the main floor). St. Paul's is, beyond our nerdiness, an incredibly beautiful cathedral. We couldn't take pictures inside, however.
After visiting St. Paul's, we walked down to Trafalgar Square for the New Year's Day parade. We got rained on and only saw a bit of the parade before we gave up and got lunch, then went on our own little walking tour of London. We saw Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace.
Then we went to Hyde Park, which is partially a Christmas wonderland.
I went there in part for the Christmas festival, definitely, but the real reason for going to Hyde Park was because of, er, well. The--um. How can I say this?
The reason I had to go to Hyde Park is because of the regency romances I've been reading. So I wandered through the winter wonderland and then sat with Melissa on a bench next to the Serpentine.
I tried to convince Melissa that we should have a spat, after which she would go home to her study and think about how infuriating I am. Then in the course of her musings she would realize that she was in love with me and devise an excuse to call on me the next day, and we'd make out in a parlor with a slightly open door. And I would feel feelings I didn't quite understand, but by the end of the book, I totally would.
We just came back to the hotel, though. Melissa is, unfortunately, sick as hell. We've gotten a bit pathetic near the end of our travels--too much standing outside in the cold and rain, I imagine. I am feeling a lot better, but my feet perpetually hurt. Melissa can barely breathe, she's so sick. I am not exactly sure what we're going to do tomorrow--the plan was the British Museum so Melissa can look at more old stuff, but museums wear us out more than anything else, so maybe not. We're just going to see how she feels when she gets up.
Which is not to say that if she wasn't sick I could have convinced her to have a spat and some drama with me, but let me preserve my dream, okay?