With the painful memories of my previous journey across London, laden with luggage and struggling without help to haul it around the Tube, still raw, I packed a small holdall this time and gave myself a pat on the back for making such a wise choice. The journey was transformed. No longer was it taking me ten minutes just to change trains, no longer was I sweating with anxiety and sheer effort, no longer was I bringing every turnstile in the station to a halt as I jammed my case in a barrier. No longer was I an object of pity. I instead looked at others, largely foreign students with gigantic cases, with pity. No, more than that, I regarded them with empathy, with the understanding that only one who has been through such a traumatic experience can. I could imagine precisely the sort of pain they were going through and, knowing how glad I was of it when the one man offered to help me with my case, I proffered help whenever I thought it needed. Despite the relative ease of the journey, I was relieved when I reached my destination. Luggage or no luggage, the London Underground is not a pleasant place to be in the summer given its lack of ventilation, crowds and sticky seats. The cool evening air that greeted me as I left the station was more than welcome.
After a quiet night in, The Cousin and I were ready to expand our minds and so we headed across to the Victoria & Albert Museum, the world’s largest museum of decorative arts and design. Possibly my favourite museum in London, the V&A is vast, covering 12.5 acres, 145 galleries and spanning 5,000 years of art from Europe, North America, Asia and North Africa. Best of all, it’s free! We spent a wonderful morning wandering around just one of the galleries before heading down to the fashion section where we had bought tickets to see a temporary exhibition featuring Grace Kelly’s legendary wardrobe, including couture dresses, hats, shoes, jewellery and the original Hermès Kelly bag. Suitably inspired, that signalled the end of the culture section of our day and the beginning of some serious retail therapy. Oxford Street proved to be too busy, however, and we spent most of our afternoon battling crowds and waiting in endless queues for the changing rooms. Being a tourist mecca, it is also one of the worst places in England to while away your time by eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. I heard more European and Asian languages than I did English, so my attempts at prying into other people’s lives proved fruitless.
After a long day pounding the mind and the feet, I was in need of some vino so, having met Cousin 2, we hot-footed it to Sainsbury’s to stock up on the essentials – wine, hummus and pita bread for the evening, and bacon, eggs and bread for the morning after. We then retired to The Cousin’s flat and began the fantastically female process of getting ready which, in my opinion, is one of the best parts of a girls’ night out. Three girls squashed into one room, choosing outfits, straightening hair, putting on make-up, all to some cheesy pop with a glass of wine at arm’s reach. I have definitely missed that. It was a brilliant night, starting with bubbly and nibbles at the flat, dinner at an Italian, cocktails at a lively bar, followed up by a spot of dancing. And didn’t my head know about it the next day. Hauling myself out of bed later than intended (when I first woke I was definitely still slightly inebriated so I judged it wise to get a bit more kip), I hurriedly showered, dressed, packed my bag, and said my goodbyes. Staggering out into the sunshine, my eyes automatically averted themselves from the sky. I was dreading getting onto the sticky, sweaty, crowded Tube in my condition but at least it would be dark. I looked out through foggy eyes and kept seeing two of everything. There were several moments on the train that I thought I might collapse but I somehow managed to get myself off at Paddington and onto the train to Bristol. This was not boding well for the planned shopping trip ahead of me.
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