Sick...London Day 2

        So maybe staying up for 35 hours is NOT the best idea. I dont regret that first day at all, but I definitely felt it the next day, and it was bad. Slept in til midday, and woke up to not being able to move my legs because they were as sore as I think they've ever been (I dont really understand how I could have negated all the walking I did at UVA over the course of the year during just three and a half weeks at home. I was hurting in places I didn't know I had), swollen lymph nodes all over (my scientific brain really wants to give you the low-down on the specific areas and nodes that were affected, but I'll spare myself the embarrassment of going all scholarly on whoever is reading this.). I had meant to go with Frank to the National Portrait Gallery, check out Camden, and then see where else the day took us. Instead I stayed in bed for much longer as Frank went to get some work done at SOAS. Being sick on vacation seems like such a waste you know? I had the entirety of London (not really) to explore, and yet I was still burning up in bed. But two hours later I couldn't just stay in the entire day.
          Alors (throwing in a little french in order to prepare myself for the next part of my trip haha), I got up and set off to find cheap lunch. McDonald's it was! Except, McDonald's here isn't really that cheap, its a little ridiculous. And I didn't notice until I got home that they don't give you ketchup. They didn't even offer, so I guess you have to ask for it. I'm sorry, is there a ketchup drought in the UK such that you wont offer me my second favorite condiment? Ugh, so annoyed. So I went on the hunt for the ketchup but decided to leave it and go since I just looked like a creepy lurker checking out all the nooks and crannies of this little McDonald's for a little packet of ketchup. Thankfully, due to the switch to all white meat from the mystery meat they used before, chicken nuggets basically taste good no matter what. So I got back home and honestly wasn't feeling any better, even after eating. Frank had wanted to make plans to see some of his friends, so I decided not to be a spoil sport and said that I would just make due at the apartment and that he could go off to do what he wanted. So after two more hours of just laying around I decided to make the most of the day. The sky was actually blue (as in not its usual gray) so I wanted to go down to the park and play some ukulele while I could. As I went towards the elevator, I met up with Frank's friend and hall-mate in the apartment building, Anna. Anna is this super awesome Swedish girl who studies at LSE. She'd just taken three exams and was doing her laundry, so she wanted to get out for a bit herself and offered to walk me over to Hyde Park. We walked by the beautiful gardens (gaaaaah I love British grass) and the ponds to a wilder grassy area where there was a little bench. For the next hour or so we just talked about everything there was to talk about while I intermittently played her some of my songs (I played the most normal ones...I'm always a bit worried that the weird/stalkerish ones wont be received well if you dont know me). It was a bit chilly but overall pretty perfect during the entire time she was there. After she left to finish her laundry I stayed a while longer to play some more and people watch (something I'm pretty good at). It was pretty easy to tell who the other tourists were and who the Brits were. I saw the perfect young British couple. He kind of had a Hugh Grant look to him, like he was making a witty or self-deprecatingly humorous comment to his lady love, and she was just your classic English rose (although she was wearing a really classy and knee length skirt, which was a bit odd to see. So far all the young English girls in the street have had their hair parted straight down the middle, which I usually hate but they could all pull it off, and wear floral print rompers and short dresses. Seriously. All of them). Just gorgeous.
        It was all fun until I felt a bit of a drizzle, and decided to make my way home. After about a minute, the drizzle turned into me looking like this numerous times:

When it rains it pours, man. But of course that didn't deter anyone from smoking. Seriously, everyone here smokes. Old men, old women, young men, young women, teenagers. I'm pretty sure I saw a baby rolling up (jokes). At this point my head was throbbing, and I'd forgotten to bring my Tylenol, so I made my way to the corner store before going home to get some Paracetamol, the British name for Acetaminophen. I inadvertently put on a British accent to the man while I was in the store, but I'll say it was pretty impressive because he didn't bat an eyelash like "wtf is this girl doing". So then of course I was due for a creeper to pursue me since it hadn't happened yet. I'm like a minute from Lillian Pension Hall, and this dude in a car is stopped and says "hiya, where you going?". I looked at him like "Are you kidding me?" and kept walking. I couldn't believe it, but I was too cold and wet to be bothered enough to give it too much thought. Abena : 2, Taken attempts: 0. I'm like a kidnapper's worst nightmare, huzzah!!
       When I got back, I took the Panadol and some of my naturally potent cough mixture, and figured I would just try to sleep off whatever I was feeling. Anna came by to check on me though and provided me with some stuff that got me through the night. Peppermint tea, some "La vache qui rit" cheese (my third favorite type of cheese), and a trip to the Bar downstairs to pick up a movie.

           I got "In Bruges" with Brendan Gleeson, Colin Farrell, Ralph Fiennes, and Fleur Delacour from the Harry Potter films. I had started watching in on the plane, but didn't get to finish. But wow, what a movie. It just had so much stuff that I like. Harry Potter people (whattup Voldemort), witty banter, and of course, hitmen doing what they do. For whatever reason, movies like this one and like RocknRolla are the ones I really like. Its probably something about the juxtaposition of the ruthless killers and the human beings that they are on the inside that I like. I dont even flinch when the blood bursts onto the screen. I think I'm more afraid of the psychological thriller kind of movies than I am of the gory stuff.
         Finally, I finished off the night with an episode of Geordie Shore, which I'm starting to think is even better/worse (depending on how you look at it) than Jersey Shore. Having now actually met someone from Newcastle (one of Frank's friends), I'm sure that these people on the show are probably the wildest possible caricatures of the people that live there. All the characters are nuts, but somehow extremely likeable despite being completely full of themselves. For example, take James. James is a self-proclaimed lady's man (fanny-rat as he calls it) and claims to score with the ladies on the reg. He also says he's probably one of the best looking lads in Newcastle. This is James:

I'm sorry, what James? I couldn't hear you over your shirt. Its quite loud. And its a women's extra small. I mean seriously. I'm sorry. I'm being rude. but that is A WOMEN'S SHIRT. I KNOW BECAUSE I OWN IT. (and mine is about four sizes bigger than that)

So you know what? It wasn't that eventful of a day, but sometimes those are the best kind of days.