London (re)Calling

Sorry for the silence. I was in London for work this past weekend: I left Thursday night and returned on Sunday afternoon, so I've been a little busy and sort of jet-lagged. Excuses, excuses.

I spent a good portion of my youth influenced (perhaps too much) by bands like the Clash and the Sex Pistols, and so my younger self expected to one day be living in London (natch) and living the life of an expat beat poet who uses terms like "my flat" and "cheers, mate" unironically.

Needless to say 17-year-old me would think 36-year-old me is a total disappointment.

Not only do I not live in London and spend my days hanging out with punks and acting as the poetic conscience of the anti-establishment, but I actually brought a suit to wear during my trip. Sell-out.

I did, however, spend a good portion of the flight reading Jon Lee Anderson's excellent biography of Che Guevara. So if time travel ever becomes possible, 17-year-old me will be given a 700-page reading assignment.

Enough of all that, as they say. The trip was quick, and I missed my guys. Samson is still a bit shaky on his geography (hey, he's only 4), and when I spoke to him the night after I arrived, we had the following conversation:

Me: "Hi, buddy. It's good to hear your voice. How are you?"

Samson: "Hi Daddy. Are you in heaven?"

Me: "Um, no. I'm in London. Remember? It's in England. Where Grandpa is from."

Samson: "Oh. So are you coming to my soccer game tonight?"

Postscript: Because I was there to work, and because I was only on the ground for about 50 hours, I didn't get to do a whole lot of touristy things. No Tower of London visit; no stop at Ben Sherman's; no hilarious pics of me in the iconic red phone booth.

However, I did get to see a little of the city. I arrived at 10 in the morning and by 11 was on the subway (or tube, if you prefer) headed for Westminster.

I did the obligatory walk-bys of Parliament, Big Ben, and Buckingham Palace. Because London is such a surveilled city, I imagine someone, somewhere was wondering who the latter-day Mr. Magoo was trolling around their city.

I never really did get the hang of the whole "look right at the crosswalk" thing.

It's good to be home. And still in one piece.