The last two weeks were lovely in so many ways. I fell in love with London and some people that live there. I am listening to Leona Lewis right now and I really can't get enough. The particular track is "Bleeding Love" and it is quite fantastic. On first arriving there, I couldn't deal with the particular strand of pop music that is played in England, but now it is all I want to hear. I miss listening to "The Hits" station in a kitchen in Bethnal Green in the house of some lovely boys.
I am really excited though about coffee again. It is the one thing that drove me crazy there - the lack of decent coffee anywhere, of drip coffee, of filtered coffee. If a place does sell it, a rare thing, it is terrible, surprisingly so since it is such an easy thing to make, but rather most places just sell espresso drinks and an Americano is passed off as a cup of coffee. Cafe Bustelo, ah, how I have missed you, your garish red and yellow can, your lovely dark taste.
The weather was gray and often drizzly while I was there but it made those bursts of sunshine all the more exciting and there were buds, little greens buds on trees, forecasting spring, and on some trees even flowers, spring already there. I have that to look forward to here, the trees still barren.
It was also nice to have another short fling with David, a boy I had one with about two years ago for a week when he visited New York. I wasn't sure what it would be like to visit him, what that would mean, whether or not we would be sleeping together or just be friends. Things were super nice, better than I had anticipated. There were occasional moments of awkwardness early on, but after spending a weekend with him in Amsterdam, spending one of those nights sleeping outside in a park and in a bus shelter, those moments were long gone and what a joy it was to have this boy every night to sleep with, to go curl up in bed next to him and either have sex or not, and either way having a nice night's sleep, it being with a boy I like. I am daydreaming/scheming about maybe doing some traveling with him this August and need to find some more streams of income so I can make that happen.
Toby also was a dream, this nice pleasant boy who liked to cuddle and dance and go out all the time, a sort of gay tour guide, taking me to nice places, sex places. One of my last days there we went to Hampstead Heath together and that was really fun after its initial moment of scariness, being chased in a big circle through the woods by a scary old man who I guess I was sending the wrong signals to. The sun was setting in a really majestic way, its last gasps, as I was exchanging blowjobs with this sexy blonde man.
I drank lots of vodka from Tesco. I ate lots of candy bars and cookies. I danced a lot. I saw lots of art and pretty old buildings. It was a very lovely time. My last evening there we went to this really fun dance party, "Dirty Fairy," that played really fantastic music - a dream mix almost for me. I danced a lot despite feeling a bit ill from having drunk so much for basically two weeks straight. Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop Thinkin' About Tomorrow," was played toward the end of the night. I was really excited that that was the last song I danced to in London. It seemed very apt and too full of symbolism. However, after getting our coats, I heard Ida Corr's "Let Me Think About It," and though maybe not as cinematic a choice, it makes me lose my mind and so that was the last song I danced to there, danced really hard, making these new white shoes totally grimy and gross. And maybe there is symbolism in that, the dirtying of a new clean surface. Maybe not.