Xiker has been to London a few times before, so he wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. It didn’t take very long for Xiker to start ignoring my frequent, random outbursts; I squealed every time I spotted a familiar name and jabbed him in the ribs repeatedly. You can just imagine what I was like in the Poet’s corner at Westminster Abbey.
“Tennyson? Chaucer? …Dickens?!”Even the memorials excited me.“Milton! Wordsworth! Austen! And look, even the Bronte sisters are here!”
My voice rose a few octaves with each name and Xiker had to shush me a few times.
In the end, though, I loved London not just because of my longtime fascination with her, but for her eclectic, offbeat charms. She was a blur of life and energy and color, despite the gloom and rain.
Her people express themselves freely, loudly and with gusto.
Hands gesticulate, beer slops over the tops of glasses, people cackle with their whole bodies, and if someone isn’t laughing, they’re mouthing off. For a random good time, just head into the nearest pub and order a pint. Seriously. Awesome things will start happening the minute you step up to the bar. (Just leave the ego at home and laugh it off, ok?)
I eyeballed everyone who passed me in the streets—there were the vain fashionistas, the intelligent-looking hipsters, the patched up gypsies, the vintage Londoners, greyscale peeps with neon colored hair, and the regular moms and pops who seem as if they came from some tiny village–some kinda shire–outside the city.