Day 32 (London)

When I first was talking about going to Europe, I was all like, "Man, I'm probably gonna lose a ton of weight, from being poor and not buying food, and from walking around all the time". No. This was true for probably about the first week, while I was in Spain on my own, but after that it's been out of control. My friends are too good to me. They all feed me well, and make sure I'm taken care of. Also, it doesn't seem to help that the last few countries I've been in, they have super delicious heavy or fatty food that I can actually afford. Yes, Paris was expensive, but not the croissants, or the baguettes.

OH! I just remembered. I would like you all to know that I am now fluent in English. You know how I know? Last night, I dreamed in English. BRITISH English.That's right. England is now MINE.

For breakfast I had porridge. Do not be fooled by old novels or made-for-TV movies about orphans in England. Porridge is delicious. Although I did have the advantage of sprucing it up with some fancy toppins. Not toppins like "feed the birds..." (I hope that song is stuck in your head for the rest of the day), but toppins like this:

DE-licious. Next week: gruel.

So Darragh, Flora and I decided to hit up the ol' Notting Hill Carnival. It was sort of a strange affair though. It definitely seemsl like the biggest festival, as it had pretty much all of England in the streets

SO. MANY. PEOPLE. See the little blots that go off way into the distance? More people. It's like this for like 10 blocks, on every street.








Also, there was good food. I had me some jerk chicken and grilled corn, mmhmm. (<--read that with a super twangy southern accent. DO IT.)

JEEEEEERK CHICKEN!!!

GRILLLLLLLED CORN!!

Mama Flo and Darragh eatin' up some sassages. NO, I did not spell that wrong, I wanted you to read it like that. I AM ALL POWERFUL.







The strange thing though, is for such a huge event, there really wasn't that much going on. The parade consisted of a line of semi-trucks blasting Caribbean club-like music, with a few girls in glittery costumes bobbing their heads to the music. The food stalls were all kind of spread out here and there. We were glad we went, but we left after a couple hours, mildly confused. Though we can all appreciate a day where everyone just goes out and gets drunk in the street together. Party on, London. Party on.

Remember how I told you pubs are super rad in London? They still are. We went to one and met up with some friends. They were playing an intense game of Scrabble. We broke out the- wait for it- the dominoes. That's right. After about one game though, it quickly shifted into this:

I've told you before. Perpetually 12 years old. It will never change. It was Sunday, and that meant roast-only day at the pub. This proved to be NO disappointment

Look at this. LOOK AT IT! I'm sorry England for always making fun of your food. I didn't know you had this. Ok, I'm not really sorry, because you still eat things called "toad in the hole". BAD. BAD ENGLAND. We don't eat toads. And we don't eat holes. Unless they are donuts.





That night I made a thank-you dessert for Flora and Darragh. Now I don't usually talk about how great I am, as I'm so humble and all, but dude, can I make a bomb-*ss dessert!

<--- Peaches grilled in brown sugar and cinnamon

Served with vanilla ice cream and an impromptu crumble. Secret recipe.








Dear world: If you take me into your home, I will shower you with desserts. It's how I do.

It was a very full day, and super amazing.

Flora and Darragh are super awesome. And ADORABLE. Darragh has to leave to for Moscow tomorrow morning. He's a writer. You should all buy his book when it comes out. NO BATTLE.

This is my English boyfriend. He has a skin condition.

Dear Mr. Monopoly Man,
Please stop hitting on all the 6-eyed ladies. You're really creepin 'em out. I don't care how many Boardwalks you own. Your money is no good here.