"Shane, don't jump on the ancient monuments, please..."

...says Father to Shane as he runs and jumps on the Stonehenge Cursus (a long enclosure of parallel banks) within my earshot. I snort.

Stonehenge and tiny ant people

Stonehenge Day! I honestly don't know what to expect. I'm curious but not necessary drawn to see it. Stella's friend went and said it was not to be missed so we decided to go last weekend but Stella had to work both days and that's the downside of having a job. That's why I try not to. I'M KIDDING. But it's true. 

The first thing I find is getting to Stonehenge is more expensive than I anticipated. My preferred way to go would have been taking the train to Salisbury and then catching a bus from there. This way I could play in Salisbury, visit their farmers market, see their church, be in charge of my own timetable and NOT take a (roll of the eyes) Tour Bus from London where I get none of the above. After pricing my way, I decide independence is overrated and opt for the Tour Bus. 

810a You know what challenges the directionally challenged? Construction. It encircles my tube stop like a moat. I'm happy I left early. I check in and join the back of the line. I wonder what kind of seat I'll get. I don't have to worry because in a COMPLETE REVERSAL the check in lady leads the back of the line into a bus behind us. Lines matter to me. I respect them. I also respect authority and things working out on my favor, and I'm making way too big of a deal about getting to be the third person on the bus instead of the thirteenth. 

God, that single girl sucks.

825a By the time the stragglers join and fill the bus I'm feeling pretty smug. You know what rules about traveling alone? Spreading out across two seats. I'm just saying. I love space. 

830a The boss lady who engineered the line reversal climbs on board and calls my name. I'm on the wrong bus. The right bus is "over there". I run to find my correct bus. I Am The Last Person In Line. Because I'm actually writing this in real time, I'm hyper aware of what a child I am. But I still get my own seat, so there. 

905a No, I do not still get my own seat. There is a second passenger pick up. The last person in that line chooses my open seat instead of the open seat across the aisle. And her arm is rubbing against mine. Right. Now.

1110a We arrive and you have the choice to take another shuttle or walk across nearly a mile of grass pastures to get to Stonehenge. The walk is perfect: quiet, solitary and beautiful. A friend of Stella's was able to beat the glut of people waiting for the shuttle to get a peaceful view of Stonehenge. I was hoping to be able to do the same, but with all the kids being out of school on holiday until Easter, the place was packed. Which made the walk to and fro that much more necessary. 

Gorgeous walk to Stonehenge

My Buster

Great Bustard

Near the pedestrian gate to Stonehenge proper, I see a radical bird. Let's call him Buster. I'm excited because I've never seen anything like Buster before and I'm hoping to get a picture of him for my dad. I do! I drop to the ground to get a better angle and Buster seems to look at me. Then, it looks like Buster is walking in my direction. Then, I'm not enhancing this story in any way, Buster walks straight at me and does a mating display. It's the most attention from a boy I've received in at least a year, if not five. It was too good not to video, so click here to meet Buster, the best flirt I've ever encountered. 

A photographer nearby tells me this is a Great Bustard. They are being reintroduced to the

area, and Buster is likely a wild (uh, yeah) offspring of parents that were reintroduced to Salisbury last year, because he's not tagged. Great Bustards would have been a native bird back when Stonehenge was built. I think I understood the photographer correctly, but I'm not fact checking anything so if I'm wrong, sorry. 

Finally, finally I'm at Stonehenge. I take the opposite route around the monument to try and avoid the bulk of the crowd. (Can you detect a theme for my life?) It doesn't really work (Another theme. Jesus, this isn't about me, sorry, I'll shut up.) but it works enough for me to get some people-free pictures. I listen to my audio tour and it's super interesting! 

Stonehenge & people panorama

The fact I'm most interested in is Stonehenge started out as a burial ground. Because I do the tour backwards, I don't find this part out until I'm walking away. To pay tribute to the souls buried here, I walk back to have a quiet moment with the monument. It is nearly

Barrows like this are all over the place here.
They are old school crypts, sort of.

impossible, especially when a lady asks me to scoot over because I'm in her shot even though I've been standing in the same spot for at least five minutes. I have a moment of real disgust for all of society, I'm not gonna lie. I reel my brain in and really try to connect with the history and the spirituality of Stonehenge and every thing it has been witness to and every thing it will be witness to. I achieve a glimpse of perspective and I'm able to turn away with my heart at peace. Five seconds later a father and son lumber at a snail's pace in front of me and my brain says move, and I'm back in the world. BUT I HAD THOSE FIVE SECONDS, Y'ALL. 

Honestly, I feel good. That was a groovy connection moment. I highly recommend it. 

Someone didn't wash her hair to pay her respects to the ancients...

The greatest

The day I got to London, I was hauling all my crap through the

Eeeeeee!

Underground when I saw a poster for Edward Albee's The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? and I gasped out loud. Not only is this one of my favorite plays of all time but Stevie is my dream role. I would do anything to play that part. (Universe, let's do this please!) Tonight, I watch Damian Lewis and Sophie Okonedo KILL IT. I'm seated in theater's version of Coach, touching and breathing all the people around me, but I'm transfixed by both of them so that I'm between them onstage, not in my seat, thank God. Shout outs to Jason Hughes & Archie Madekwe for also being wonderful. Man, I love theater!

"That's not a thing!"

...Stella and I chorus to each other as we watch the latest episode of Girls together. God bless Elijah.

Barthelemy Togue's Purification 2012, in the 'Citizens' room of works used in political debates

Today is Tate Modern Day. But before I do that I hit the TKTS booth to see if I can score tickets for Les Mis. Sadly, they're not one of the shows listing last minute seats and I wonder if they ever have a show that isn't sold out. I walk from Leicester Square to the Tate Modern. I get lost for a bit and find myself in Trafalgar Square. I've been here before so I try to get my bearings until I see a giant thumbs up opposite the statue of King George IV. I have no idea what the hell a thumbs up is doing at what I consider to be somewhat serious-and-important sight. Not that I know, but it's big and in Europe so I'm assuming. 

Top pic: self conscious, bottom: real happy

I become a jerkoff and take a selfie in front of the thumbs up, hating myself, hating the selfie, hating my urge to make the picture snide. Then I find the placard that explains the statue's intent and I'm instantly humbled by the wish to make the world a more positive, optimistic place and I take a better picture. I don't even take multiples to try and make myself look better.

As I walk over the Golden Jubilee I take pictures of Britain's sights: Big Ben, Parliament, the Eye of London, and a proper posh Englishman complete with top hat and umbrella cane. The sun ruined his picture, but he could have been in a British museum he was so perfect. 

The Tate is extraordinary. The only thing I remember about my last visit is the huge sun installation which is gone now. The thing I'll likely remember most about this visit is how I came within a couple of inches of knocking down a city made of quinoa when I tripped over the safety boundary lines. Pictures of other highlights below. 

Who just leaves this out for me to almost ruin? Silly museum people, that's who.

On my way back across the river I decide I'm hungry but I don't feel like stopping for a big meal. I swing into an eatery chain called Eat and discover Broth Shots. £1 for a coffee cup of yummy broth on a chilly day? America get on this please. 

Golden Jubilee Bridge

I spend the afternoon looking for (and after getting lost a couple times, finally finding) a used bookstore I discovered online and watching Raw at Picturehouse (Love! Still!!!). I've been wanting to see both equally. I'm shopping for a book for my bus ride to Stonehenge tomorrow (Stephen King's It if I can find it), and I've been hearing about Raw for weeks. Both are good. 

Eye of London. They used to
call it the "eyesore"

I want to say more about Raw, but I heard so much about it before I saw it, I can't like it as much as it deserves. I suck at that. I've ruined many movies for myself by either reading too much about them, or listening to one hundred people tell me how much they liked it. I need to learn to wait a year to watch something so I can really enjoy it. I acknowledge Raw was well done, had a dynamic story, and intriguing relationships, and it was good, but... I already knew it would be good. Wait a year, forget what I've said, and then watch it and let it rock your world.

One thing that's not oversold is the Picturehouse. I took pictures this time! Soooo prettyyyy...

Picturehouse Central. See? I wasn't lying.

Look kids! Big Ben! Parliament!

Lorna Simpson, one of my new favorites artists

Cildo Meireles' Babel 2001

I forgot to get the name of the artist or piece,
but it has to do with digital something-something

This artist (not this lady) used spiders
to symbolize her mother

Mmm, also forgot to get the info on this...

This was human hair! It made
me nauseous, but was also cool

This made me eyes vibrate, as did the
other pieces in this optical illusion room

Another form of art: the Sweets Wall at Picturehouse Central!

"Somebody here has definitely murdered someone..."

Okay ladies, now let's get in formation

...is what I say to Stella in the park today because we are surrounded by so many people that this is 1000% true.

On Saturday Stella has to work, but its only for a few hours across Hyde Park so we take advantage of the gorgeous morning and I walk her partway. While Stella works I meander around the park, I visit Peter again, I try to get decent pictures of all the different kinds of ducks for my dad to see, and I fail. Stella wants me to get her some flowers from the farmers market a couple blocks from her flat, so I swing by. Last Saturday we went to the Portobello Market instead, so I’m wholly unprepared for what I find.

Farmer's Market haul. Not pictured: fresh pasta

It’s fresh everything! I know that’s the point of a farmers market, but somehow I’m acting like I’ve never been to a farmer’s market before and also like I haven’t eaten in a week. I’m drunk on REAL butter and REAL fish (There! Looking at you! Smelling like the sea!) and REAL apples. The lovely Italian man in front of a table of 10 different kinds of pesto encourages me to eat as much of his samples as I want and I almost deliver his first born child on the spot (he's very young). I buy the most beautiful food I’ve ever bought, and I almost forget Stella’s flowers because I'm So High.

THIS IS REAL BUTTER!
FROM A REAL COW!

I eat half a loaf of bread and butter and a tub of the richest yogurt in existence as soon as I get home, and my senses return. I am SO HAPPY that I’m not lactose intolerant. 

I meet Stella after work in the park. How is that possible when the park is enormous and I can’t use any data because my international charges are trying to bankrupt me? Old fashioned Spidey sense. 

The park is like a spring celebration. At least a quarter of London lays in the sun, white skin turning pink with exposure. The city vibrates with Spring. I’m wearing a T-shirt only for the first time since I arrived. Life is good.

Springing in the
streets

Life gets even better at dinner. We eat at St. John with some work friends/friends of friends of Stella’s, and it’s one of those rare dinners where I meet people for the first time and feel like we’ve been friends for years. Also, I eat a bread pudding with butterscotch for dessert that makes my skin melt. And having abandoned the No Dessert wagon for the night, I finish all the community desserts (poached pear & brioche, salted chocolate & caramel tart, blood orange cake) because somebody has to. 

Holy… As I write this I’m realizing last night was so good, no one took any pictures. Not of the food, not of the cocktails, not of ourselves, not even of the bread pudding. That’s the golden ring, y’all. 

Mini Mums

On Sunday, Stella and I go to a screening of Woody Harrelson’s “Lost in London”, a film he wrote and directed. The screening is at Picturehouse Central which, it turns out, IS MY FAVORITE MOVIE THEATER IN THE WORLD. The caps-lock might seem like a lot, but you weren’t there. It’s so nice and pretty! 

We walk upstairs to behold a wall of candy, and I try every sour gummy candy they offer in the name of science and vacation. (Hell, I just realized I didn’t get a picture of that either. Trust me, its glorious.) We discover that sour candy, like all things except Mexican food, is better in Europe. 

Woody provides beer, wine and champagne for the screening, and that with our candy and popcorn makes up a pretty satisfying lunch. The whole event is so fun, even though Stella says she saw a mouse in the theater. I’m not saying I don't believe her, I’m just saying I didn’t see it. 

Stella and I walk all the way home from the Picturehouse. It's the warmest day of the year so far (70s) and picture perfect. Not a single Londoner stayed inside today which makes for a rush hour-like walk home. I’m not complaining, I'm observing.

These are probably pigeons

As Stella and I walk through the park, the throngs of people get more space to spread out which eases both our moods. People, babies, and dogs alternately play and lay all over the ground. Flowers are everywhere. It really is a stunner of a day. 

Away from the crowds, we relax and chat and smile again. 

Then. 

Out of nowhere. 

Clompy footsteps rush up behind and around me as a Peaked Man in Black with a Black Satchel approaches Stella with a breathless, “I saw you and I have to say…”

I can only assume the rest of his sentence is “I’d be honored if you’d be my wife,” because that is the level of his intensity. I don’t hear him, however, because Stella zooms away from him and I follow. She says he was homeless, I say he could have been a traveler. Two breaths don’t pass before we spot a guy peeing into a bush. We conclude that London is telling us to get the fuck out of the park already and go have Thai food at the pub. So we do. Thai or die!

"Good luck madam..."

...says the daily circular girl to me outside the grocery store and I wonder if she's a soothsayer, because she seems to say it deliberately. 

Today I do the most important thing. Nothing. Which is everything. 

I wash clothes, I clean, I run in the park, I grocery shop, I cook, I nap, I paint my nails, I write, I cook again, I drink wine, and I start a new show (Riverdale!)

It’s hard for me to have a day like this. The voices in my head whisper, “Do more, make it count, make it look good…” Even the writing I do today is an hour of "work" to prove I exist and serves as penance for not sightseeing. (This, written in words, looks so stupid.) Something Stella said to me last night when I returned home keeps coming back to me: “It’s all part of the journey.” Which is code for, “You’re good.” I love my best friend.

I’m good :) No big stories from me today, just some pictures from my pretty morning in the park.

Queen Victoria, moated badass #goals ;)

Elfin Oak

Scenes from the oak, carved from the oak

Elfin drama

Elfin romance

a visit to Peter: he loves me, he loves me not...
(really getting into this daisy gimmick)

"You're on the wrong train, unfortunately..."

...says the train attendant an hour into my trip. More on that crap in a minute...

I'm tired this morning. My jet lag reset is actually a return to factory setting, meaning I wake up stupid early no matter what time I go to sleep. It's great when I go to bed at 10p or earlier. Otherwise, it sucks. 

I'm too cold and tired to get out of bed and I'm not feeling especially motivated to do any sightseeing which makes me feel guilty. Starving children in Africa would kill to go sightseeing.

I thought she was real
as I walked around the corner

one, two, Freddie's
coming for you...

I finally, finally drag myself out of the cold house and into the freezing city center to check out The Museum of Childhood. I've had this place in my sights since I arrived in town and this morning is the first time it's been open. The museum is dedicated to all things children, mostly toys. The collection is vast, all pre-1950s. 

There are five galleries of exhibitions, so when I arrive I cut to Gallery 5 to try and get away from the crowd. This gallery is full of child-sized mannequins in different outfits and scenes. I'm taking pictures of the mannequins, imaging the different ways they would murder me, when the chilling sound of children's voices singing a nursery rhyme lilts into the room. This wakes me up. 

The other stand-out is the Doll Room, or "Creepy Dollies" as everyone keeps remarking. Most of the dolls are from your worst nightmares. What I find most interesting is a display of dolls from around the world. The display includes voodoo dolls, a gourd in a "dress" which is essentially a napkin, and other tribal dolls used to trap the souls of royalty when they die or encourage pregnancy or other useful day-to-day purposes. 

dibs on the Cat's Eye remake with one of these nightmares

Buoyed by the creep factor of the Museum of Childhood, I'm ready to attack The Palace of Holyroodhouse. My phone keeps trying to autocorrect to Hollywood, and I do, too. The word will not come out of my mouth correctly. If it sounds like I'm dragging my feet to go to the Palace, I am. The two major attractions in Edinburgh are the castle or the Palace. I'm only medium interested in the Palace, but I'm even less interested in the Edinburgh Castle for some reason. There is something about the military aspect of the castle that I find less inspiring than seeing the Queen's Scotland home. Plus, The Queen's Gallery is right next door to the Palace and art always wins.  

ceiling facade

Palace carpet game is strong

I buy my combo ticket and hit the gallery first. The Queen's Gallery features an exhibition called Maria Merian's 'butterflies'. Merian was a German artist and entomologist from the 1700s. The exhibition takes me ten minutes, and that includes checking out my audio tour. Obviously it's not a bad exhibition, I just can't muster the interest or patience to stand and listen to the audio tour. Weirdly, I find the brochure more captivating than I do the actual hung pieces. So I keep the brochure and I head to the Palace. 

contraband picture: just the Royal Family's family photo table NBD

artsy pic of myself &
His Royal Higness' bed

The Palace is way cool. I listen to the whole audio tour as I walk

busted being a D-bag

through and gape at the paintings and textiles (see, I appreciate art). The thrones, the paintings, the facades on the ceiling, the jewels, the abbey- the Palace is well worth the price of admission. I take pictures until one of the Palace people tells me to stop and reminds me that every room has a no photography sign. I look. She's right. I feel like a douchebag, especially because I was, of course, taking a picture OF MYSELF in a mirror when she busted me. 

I head to a pub called The Regent for lunch and I eat lasagna that is hotter than the sun. I don't know how the U.K. makes food twice as hot as America does but I crave it, even though I tend to spit my first bite back onto my plate. Comfort food is so much better when it's so hot you feel the burn down your esophagus. 

Holyrood Abbey

The Regent's got WiFi so I'm using the opportunity to text my girlfriends. I really miss them. It used to be that I didn't only prefer traveling alone, but if I had to travel with people I only did so out of absolute necessity. Now, I don't know. Maybe it's the way I scheduled my trip but I feel like I'm missing something. Don't mistake me, I love what I've seen of Edinburgh but it's not inspiring the rabid devotion I've heard from so many people. I keep thinking if I wasn't traveling solo that I would feel That Thing that everyone else seems to feel here. Maybe Edinburgh is a city best experienced with friends or maybe I'm not the lone wolf I thought I was. 

squint and you can see the Palace beyond the cemetery

The thing is, my Air BnB house is practically a hostel. If I wanted to, I could hang around the common rooms and create my own travel buddies. I've met all my housemates at one time or another and they're lovely. But instead of running downstairs in the morning when I hear them making coffee and chatting, I stick to my room and eat my peanut butter and rice cakes, careful not to make too much noise so they don't think I'm avoiding them. I don't mean to be antisocial, but it takes me a while to warm up to my best friends in the morning, much less strangers. Being shy can be the pits. 

As I sit in The Regent drowning in neurosis, a woman sits near me with her gorgeous dog. I remark on the dog and we chat and exchange Facebook info and just like that I make a new friend. (Hello, Nikola and Finnegan!) I feel like I'm not such an awkward freak after all and maybe I should just shut the hell up now and spare us all. 

dedicated to someone for something (sorry)

I get lost again on my way back to my Air BnB to pick up my luggage and happen upon two different cemeteries in the space of five minutes. I had opted against going to the cemetery at Holyrood Abbey because I was running short on time, so I'm thrilled to stumble upon these. (In going back to confirm names, it turns out the first cemetery I find IS the cemetery at the Abbey I meant to see! But it's called Carlton New Cemetery. And the 2nd cemetery is the Old Carlton Burial Ground.) Plots are from as early as the 1700 & 1800s and they each feature a watchtower that guarded against body snatching into the 1930s. (Whereas digging up people wasn't precisely illegal - though it was frowned upon - keeping any of the dead person's clothes or jewelry was absolutely against the law. So when burglars did steal bodies, they were always careful to leave any possessions in the grave. People would dig up fresh buried bodies and sell them to the medical schools for a huge amount of money at that time. PS, Thank you, Merkat Ghost Tours for that helpful info!)

damn, I love old cemeteries

I'm tired and happy to get to my seat on my 4p train. I immediately fall asleep until the train attendant comes to take my ticket about an hour into the trip. We both discover I'm on the wrong train. My train was supposed to leave at 430, not 4. I'm blown away by this. I've had 4p carved into my head for so long, I never bothered to look at my ticket. Upgrading my ticket to stay on the 4p train would be "extremely expensive", so the attendant agrees to sell me a train ticket from Edinburgh to the next stop (Newburyport?) and I can get off there and hop on my correct train when it rolls through that station. 

Once I got a fix-it ticket in Burbank for a burned out tail light. I fixed the tail light the next day and threw the ticket away. Months later I was receiving warrants for my arrest with $600 fees in the mail so I went to court to contest them. When I told the judge I never proved to the City of Burbank that I fixed my tail light, he rolled his eyes, cancelled the warrant, and reduced my fee from $600 to $50. He called it an 'Idiot Tax'.

My ticket from Edinburgh to Newburyport was about £50. Maybe all Idiot Taxes average to fifty bucks. Jesus. 

"Look, he's licking his butt..."

...says Karam, my new son/boyfriend, and shoves his stuffed penguin's face in its crotch. I can't wait to tell this story, but first...

I wake up after ten deep, uninterrupted hours of sleep. No more jet lag! I'm cured! I better be cured. 

gorgeous things like this just hanging around
the city like it's no big deal

I take my time getting out of bed because it's cold. Really cold. I-used-my-Northface-as-blanket cold. Sidebar: Thank
God for my Northface. I could never imagine spending hundreds of dollars on a coat (Texas girl) until I was depressed and miserably cold enough on a job in Alaska to treat myself. Once the temperature dips into the 40s this coat becomes my second skin. I bow down to my Northface. 

My Rick Steves' book has a little Urban Hikes section, and I decide to hike to Arthur's Seat in Holyrood Park. Arthur's Seat is a vent of the 350 million year old volcano that is responsible for Edinburgh's existence. (Edinburgh Castle is perched atop another vent of the same volcano.) Steves' description of the hike is moderately strenuous- "for People," is my attitude. Not me. I'm active, I kickbox, and hiking is a low demand sport. 

When I get to the park I see people walking up a steep grade. I know the other way up is supposed to be easy, so obviously I follow the people up the steep grade because I'm me, and if it's not the harder way, it doesn't count. 

This hike is no joke. The first time I stop my heart is pummeling my chest, trying to escape it's cage. I'm walking fast because it's the only way I know how to walk, and I notice a little boy walking with me. At first I think he's mistaken me for his mother, but he keeps waiting for me to catch up to him and then darts away so that he's always ahead of me. I've done this. It's racing against an unwitting opponent.

Panorama mid-hike. Eddie Munster beating me on the left.

His look reminds me of Eddie Munster. I decide Eddie is probably my son in another dimension based on nothing but his brown hair and quick feet. I chat with him a bit and find out he's from Canada, that he's very fast and that he's winning and I'm losing. I check behind me and his mom and sister are so far behind us, we lose sight of them off and on. I hope she doesn't think the weird single lady is trying to steal her kid, but at the same time I don't want to leave Eddie alone. 

They finally catch up with us and she thanks me for looking after him. We go our own ways. But we're all heading the same place, and I run into them again at the summit.

Arthur's Seat, on top of the world

By the way, this whole hike is waaaaaaay harder than I was prepared for. By the time I've reached the summit I've scaled rocks and burned out my thighs. PS it's gale force winds in 50 degree weather. I'm moving so I'm warm everywhere except my hands and face which is getting stiff and chapped. At Arthur's Seat you know what the wind does? It tries to kill you by whipping you around the peak of a volcano. PPS The view is breath-taking. But so cold.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'

I finally officially introduce myself to the family and they are all effing adorable. I forget the mom's name the instant she says it but she's from Israel, she learned English 2 years ago, and has been traveling with the kids for months. Bital is the little girl, I'd guess 7 years old, and Karam is my 6 year old Eddie Munster fake son. We walk down the long way down together which takes us well over an hour. At one point the hill gets steep again and grassy- steep and grassy enough for the kids to log roll down. I can't help myself and I join them until I get dizzy. We laugh and laugh, and this is the highlight of my trip so far. 

 I fall in love with Karam. He speaks non-stop and when he's not telling stories, he's asking questions. Examples: Why do you smile all the time? How old are you? Do you have a husband? (To this one his mother says, "Why, do you want to marry her?" "NOOOooooo!" Karam yells. Me thinks he doth protest too much...) Do you have children? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you know what my penguin's name is? What are you doing today? Where do you live? Can we stay with you in London? Will you stay with us tonight? Do you want to know what I wish?

Karam & Bital & a new puppy friend

The answer to his last question: "I wished I made a big friend to play with me and it came true because it's you." 

I almost kidnap him right then and there. We discuss how I might find a shrinking machine to get him small enough to keep in my pocket and he says he's going to trap me and take me home with them. I have no idea what his mother thought of our love affair, but she kept taking videos of us. I assume she was either cool with it or she was gathering evidence so when Karam disappears she has something to show the cops. 

Saying goodbye to my new friends was sad, but I wanted to leave things on a high note. We had big hugs before we parted ways. As I walk away I imagine when I turn around I'll see Karam watching me leave and we'll have one last wave. I turn around. He is playing with his stuffed penguin, having already moved on. 

My whole "urban hiking" experience is over three hours in the freezing wind. I enjoy the hell out of the spaghetti bolognese I have for lunch and stop in a pub to write for a bit before my next thing. The pub is called Brass Monkey, and my bartender last night recommended it to me because I told him I liked cider. I love this place. It's warm, the bartender is a love, and the music is good 80's, not overplayed 80's. 

Brass Monkey chill

My next thing is a Ghostly Underground Tour that takes us down into the haunted vaults under the city. It's effectively scary (real history, proven spooks, and a couple of legit weird unexplained noises) and so much fun I almost buy another tour to do immediately after- but I don't for some reason and now I'm trying not to regret it. Boo. 

I get lost for the 126th time as I try to find a particular pub for dinner. I'm convinced there are rips in the space time/space continuum in Edinburgh because I'll swear I'm on the West end of town and suddenly I'll be dead center at the train station. Or the map says a street is supposed to be a block away, but somehow I miss it and next time I walk down the same road, there's the street! There are different street levels, stairs that go who knows where and curvy roads and "ways". I could get lost in a one road town on a good day, so Edinburgh is like a Mensa challenge for me. 

On my way to the pub I somehow find base camp for Avengers 3 and it makes me miss production a little. Then I hear they're wrapping at 6am and I get over my nostalgia. 

I can't believe I leave tomorrow. Poor planning McGee, that's me.