School Daze!

Evidently I have an odd (some may say neurotic) need to learn stuff. This isn't a bad thing, right? Except for my bank account... but I digress.

Now don't worry, I'm not going to drag you into my class. That would be wildly boring. And no one really cares.

Now for the goods. 

Breakfast at The Penn Club.  A selection of juices, cereals, muesli and fruit then a hot cooked breakfast of the full English variety. Yummy. 

I started off with some fresh-ish fruit. Canned pears can be forgiven I suppose. And the thimble of orange juice was a little tinny, but that's okay too. 

I didn't eat any of the cereal selection because it was still cold outside and there was a wonderful light rain. Instead I opted for hot porridge. I like oatmeal, so all was fine with me. While that was cooking, I got some apricots, grapefruit and pears. As most of The Penn Club's clientele are in their golden years, there was an entire bowl dedicated to prunes. This amused me to no end. Does that make me a bitch? Yeah, probably.

The cute little waiter guy came around and asked how I wanted my egg or eggs. I didn't know the British term for sunny side up, so I asked.

"Sunny side up? Do you say that here?"

"Fried egg." 

Well, I felt stupid. But that's what I ordered.

So here was my plan: Eat the sausage, the weird potato thing and veggies then with some toast make an egg and ham sandwich to bring with me for lunch.

Which I did. Yay! In theory anyway.

Here's the hot breakfast.

Off to school! It was drizzling and cold-ish but I wasn't complaining.
I get inside and wait for the class to start.
The class starts and I really enjoy it. We worked for 1/2 a day. Then lunch time. Seems I'd forgotten my egg and ham sammie back in the room. Looking back now I realize there was a chance I had time to go back and get it. Well crap! I was cramming for the stuff at the end of the day after having gotten my replacement books the day before, so I was more than pre-occupied.

I went to:

and had

and

It was gooooood too!

So back to class for the last half of the day. It was fun, but of course I have an insatiable need to know stuff and I didn't feel like I learned enough. But that's my fault not the class's.

I get back and it's still drizzling. I ring the doorbell for the door. 

Evidently this was an egregious mistake. The Harpie was behind the desk again. Oh for the love of God!

"Are you staying with us?" Because she forgot that she screeched at me the day before.

"Yes, I am."

"Then you need to use the key!"

Huh... well the little dude the day before neglected to mention that little tidbit. He told me to use the key after hours. 

"Okay... Um, sorry. Oh, and I tried to log on to the internet last night and the code wouldn't work, I was wondering if I could get another one? The message said the code was already used?"

"Well, there isn't anything wrong with the code! I can tell you that. There may be something wrong with the internet or your stuff, but the code is fine. I'll give you another one though, but the code is fine!"

OKAY THE CODE IS FINE!!! WTF is this broad's issue? Seriously?

Now let's think about this for a minute... If you've read this blog you know that I've put up with a lot. No less than rats, blood spatter and bed bugs, but I have never written a bad review. Until now. Yes, this broad ruined this place for me so badly that I had to let the world know that to stay here was to put one's self into the path of a mythological bitch. But I  yet again digress. Apologies.

(If you want to read my review, you can find it here: Trip Advisor Review Scroll down to TravelDoggie9997 from Baltimore Maryland. I wasn't about to leave my real name an location.God forbid The Harpie have super powers.)

My friend Joey (We'll call him Terracotta Distribution TD for short) had his film festival that week and I promised I would attend a show. 

I bought a ticket for A Thief a Kid and a Killer. 

I don't know what's going on between Youtube and Blogger, but if you're interested, you can see the trailer at this post:

A Thief a Kid and a Killer trailer

I found the venue online, because the code was working (hurrah) and made a note of the way to get there.

I was in a little bit of a panic because I had to get to the Mall. Of course the designated tube station was closed, so I had to get off at a different one. I left the tube and was met with a plain street with no signs. I was at a loss.

There was a guy standing there smoking so I asked him how to get to the Mall?  Seems like a logical question, right?

He tilted his head and looked at me, "Do you mean The Mall?" 

He pronounced it 'maal' as in malware, where I pronounced it Mall as in shopping center.

"Oh... MAAAL. Yes, please, how to get to the Maaaaal?"

He gave me a general direction to take. Now I was familiar with what The Mall (as in malware) was because I'd recently seen an episode of Top Gear where they lined up all the vehicles made in the UK along The Mall as a tribute to the motor industry. So I knew more or less what I was looking for.

It looks like this:

And I had to go through or around Trafalgar Square to get there.

I remember playing with the pigeons in the square as a kid so I was rather happy to be able to check it out, even for a nano second.  As I walked by, I noticed that there was a GIANT BLUE CHICKEN in the square.

Why? Why was there a giant blue chicken in Trafalgar Square? No idea, but I took a picture.

SBG was there when I arrived to introduce me to her friend she refers to as 'the old man'. Not 'her' old man, per se, but a good friend of hers she teases about being a home body. 

He was very nice. I was glad to meet him. :)

SBG and OM opted out of the film. But not I.

It wasn't bad. In fact, it was surprisingly entertaining. Not surprising really because TD has good taste.

After the film, as usual when it comes to TD's superpower of persuasion, I was poked, prodded and cajoled into joining them for a drink. A DRINK!  I was very adamant on that point. 

After trying a couple of places we ended up at a place called The Pheonix Club.

This is a members only club for artists. Yeah, I'd probably join if I lived there. I'm not quite sure what that means but 'members only club' sounds spiffy.

It was nice. I got to catch up with some friends from the UK and, interestingly, France. I told my Parisian friends about my fiasco in Cannes and they too had horrid experiences there. I was quite happy it wasn't only me.

I met the sister of a friend of mine. Her name is Laurence and she is lovely. We found that we had to band together to defeat TD's superpower of persuasion and left around midnight. Laurence walked me to a bus stop with a night bus and sent me in the right directions. I was feeling rather Blance DuBois-esque at the moment, but it was fine. I found my way back to the Penn.

It was after midnight and I was crazy tired, but I had to be on the tube by 7 so bathing that night was not an issue.

I dragged my butt up the 65 stairs and got my bathing stuff from my room. I opened the door to the bathroom and nearly passed out!

There was old man clothes hanging on the door stinking up the place. Just the clothes, not the old man himself. This concerned me for several reasons. 

1) Did he forget his clothes here after a shower?

2)  Did he think hanging his clothes on the back of the door to a closed bathroom was going to clean them?

3) Was there a naked old man creeping around this level of The Penn club doing God Only Knows What?

I quickly closed the door, drew in fresh air, cleared my head and went to find another bathroom. 

Success!

It wasn't much, but the water was hot. 
I took my shower. I then headed back to the room to pack up what I could and get a very few hours of sleep.

Ahhh... 

TFEFF14: Thief a Kid and a Killer trailer

Training Day!

There wasn't any way in the world I was sleeping that night so I passed the time watching the news.

In the morning, the sun came up and the pudgy guy across the way was enjoying a cigarette on his balcony and wearing an orange vest. It could have been his flat or part of the hotel or anything really, but I wasn't that interested. Yes, okay, I was being voyeuristic, but too bad! I was bitchy and tired and had to wait till after 5 to get back to Gatwick to catch a train.

Okay, I admit it, I was being nosey.

I caught the first train out. It was a nice ride for the most part. All filled up, but a nice quiet ride.

I got to the exit and I was trapped. The doggone turnstile wouldn't let me out. WTF????
I was then accosted by a turnstile nazi - because there is such a thing. Turns out I took the wrong train. Of course I did because I didn't have the info of the right train due to all of my crap being stolen. Fine, whatever. I had to cough up an extra 12 pound before I was released. Whatever, it's just money, right?

I hopped the Piccadilly line and made my way to my next port of call, The Penn Club.

I'd heard really good things about this place and it was recommended by the Pastor of my now defunct church. (In all honesty, I've closed down 2 churches - DON'T JUDGE ME!)

I arrived at 8:30 knowing full well it was way too early to check in. I figured they would have some type of baggage hold so it should be fine.

I wheeled my case up to the door and tried to open it. I had to ring the bell. Okay, they're security conscious. No problem. I wheeled inside. 

There was an attractive woman at the desk. I smiled as I approached.

"Hi. I know it's early, but I have a reservation..."

"You can't check in now. Go away and come back after 3:00. If you come back after 8:30 pm, you can't check in." This was spat at me with an Eastern European accent.

"Um... okay. Can I leave my bag?"

"In the common room. Just put it there." At which point she walked away. Not the best of first impressions, let me tell you.

Pretty close, actually.

With a little bit of trial and error, I found the common room. I took out all valuables, (not that I was worried since it was a Quaker place - or had any valuables for that matter.) and left my bag in the corner. Okee doke... now what?

I was to have a meeting at 10:00, but I still had to replace the stuff I needed for my class the next day. I set out for Waterstone's.

I knew it was around there somewhere and without too much of a hassle, I found it. 

Three items and fifty pound later, I left the establishment to go to my meeting.

I sat and waited for the guy who never showed up. Reception kept calling his office, but he never answered. I didn't really have that much of a pressing time matter, so I waited around a while. Oh well, not meant to be. The world won't end. 

*It turns out that we were both there, but for some reason the wires were crossed. Too bad.

I had some travelling to do, so I took the tube to King's Cross station to hop the train to Hertfordshire.

The confirmation code was one that I had to re-print in Cannes. I dug it out of my new zipper portfolio - the one I just purchased - and typed it into the machine. The machine spit out a ticket. 

I'm not an idiot, I swear, but I had no idea at all what this ticket said.

I made the mistake of asking an attendant. He told me that my ticket may be incorrect and to go to the Customer Service and check.

I DID NOT SEE THIS!!!!!!  DAMN!

I stood in line at the Customer Service desk for a little bit. The guy finally told me to go to Platform 5. So, I go to platform 5.

I get onboard, and the train takes off. Exciting!

One or two stops later, the dude comes around checking the tickets. He gets to me, looks at the ticket, looks at me, looks at the ticket and informs me: I'M ON THE WRONG TRAIN!

What to do?  Get off at the next stop and get the next train back to the station. Fine.

I get off the train at the station and of course, can't get through the turnstile to find out where to go. A nice lady attendant opened the thing for me. I found out that I needed to be on Platform 9. Now the original guy may have said Platform 9, but maybe I didn't hear him right or his accent messed me up. It happens. Whatever the case, I get to Platform 9, ask about 7 other people if I was in the right place, was assured 7 other times that I was in the right place and got on the doggone train.

Off the train goes!  I don't know how long of a ride it was, but finally I got to Hertfordshire Station. A really cute, tiny little place. I get off the train and go in search of a taxi. There was construction going on everywhere. I mean everywhere. It seemed like a big money injection was shot into the town and they were doing their best to use it. Good for them! I took a taxi to the back exit of  University of Hertfordshire.

I won't bore you with the details, but here are two pics.

Now of course by this time it was mid afternoon and instead of heating up like it does at home, the temperature decided to drop. A lot. I mean it must have dropped about 10 degrees in 10 minutes. I asked a guy (who gave the impression of being a Big Man On Campus- pompus ass that he was) where I could buy a sweatshirt and he directed me to the Student Forum. I go in, find a nice soft sweatshirt and a Chicken and Mushroom Ice (because it sounded gross) with a diet coke and tried to pay.

DENIED! Yes, once again my credit card was denied. This time it was because it wasn't a chip and pin variety, and just a stupid card. Crap. I had to go around the corner to the cash machine and pull out cash. Again, only money, right?

So I did that. Paid for my purchases, donned the sweatshirt and found a place to sit and enjoy my fat filled, over processed and really, really not good for you lunch. Notice I took no pics of the nutrition information on the back.

The thing was just a pasty and not too disgusting at all. Why it was called an 'ice', I still don't know.

Throughout this whole day I had been trying to get in touch with Heather and Thomas, the most perfect couple in the world. The plan was that I was to go up and see them. 

This sounds perfectly reasonable, doesn't it? Of course I kept trying to email them and let them know of my progress- be that as it may. Why wasn't my phone emailing? I don't know. Did I have a number for them? Of course I did, but it was STOLEN! So, no, not at this moment in. I continued to try to contact them via email to no success. My plan was to get to their train station and try to find a phone book. As if anyone knows what those are anymore.

I found the right bus to the train station after asking several people on the campus - none who's first language was English, not that it matters - and shivered waiting for the bus.

I got to the station without incident. I bought a cocoa since it was freezing and I had a 20 minute wait. Eventually it came, so I got on the train.

Of course I didn't know what station to de-train, because that was in my portfolio too. So what do I do? Ask of course.

"Hurry, go across there and catch that train." Was the answer so  I did that.  There was a cute sign in the train.

So now what? You guessed it, I was on the wrong train! Again! I don't know if the guy didn't understand me or if he was just having fun screwing with a tourist, but either way, I ended up at a station with what looked like a Gaelic name I couldn't pronounce. CRAP!

I sent one more frantic email explaining to H and T the situation and begging forgiveness. I was freezing, had no idea what time it was and I was lost. I got off that train, crossed over to the platform with trains going the other way and found one that said 'Kings Cross'. Ah. I'm familiar with that. I waited for the train.

Turns out there was a soccer/football game/concert/something in the city that night so the station was filled with drunken revelers. I usually don't mind this, but I was cold and upset so I went to hide in a corner by an old lady and wait.

About two hours later I arrive and King's Cross. I decided I better get back to The Penn Club and check in.  I go into the tube station and tap my card at the thingy. I make a tube station change and get off at Russell square and tap the thingy again.

I walk back to the Penn and check in. THANK GOD there was a cute little guy behind the desk this time and not The Harpie. I get my key, retrieve my bag and huff it up the 65, yes 65 stairs up to my room. I'm not out of shape. I'm really not, but this had me winded.

The room was small but clean and it had it's own heater. I couldn't complain. There was a common bathroom on the floor, but it was only a few feet away. 

SBG invited me to join her for dinner. After the day I had, I was thankful. She gave me directions to the place and I followed them to the T.

I found it. The dinner was delicious! Ahhh, blessed lean protein. Blessed vegetables. So happy to see these old friends. I was beginning to think I would never see a 'clean' meal again. Thank you SBG!

After dinner, SBG sent me off with specific instructions including:

"Get off at Victoria. Walk directly across the way. Directly. Do not talk to anyone, do not ask questions. Get right on the Piccadilly line."  I did just that lo and behold I made it back in once piece. 

I tapped my Oyster card on the thingy and out I came. Walked to the Penn, up the 65 stairs, a quick shower and into bed.  I used the code that I got at check in to go online. No dice. It told me the code was already used and pretty much to go F myself.

I had every intention of studying, I really did. What I did was set every alarm and timer on all of my devices and quickly fell asleep.

Thank God that day was over!

Crossing Over

Since I left the window open through out the night, I was awakened by a cool breeze. I looked outside to a gray sky. A gray sky!

Could it be? I can't really be that lucky, can I?

I didn't have anything to do that day either, but I did have to check out of the hotel before 11.

I went down to breakfast a little later than the day previously. In retrospect, that may have been a mistake.

Blurry pic of brekki. Sorry. :(

The breakfast area was almost full. I took the same seat I took the day before and grabbed my muesli, coffee, compote, baguette and cheese- ready to fix a breakfast and a lunch. 
The second I sit down, a very large woman begins to talk to me in French. She seemed to be friendly enough, but when I said 'Je ne parle pas le français', she laughed and said in French 'you speak enough!' and continued to talk at me. And continued to talk at me. And continued to talk at me. Don't get me wrong, with all the travelling to foreign countries I've done over the years, I have the 'dumb look smile and nod' down. This technique is most commonly used in Asian countries, and by Asian girls to pretend they don't speak English. I've observed it and practiced it and can do it quite well. Even this technique didn't deter this woman. 

Despite this, I cut open my baguette and spread the cheese inside. I was hoping to be able to use the napkin as I had done the day before and save it. But NOOOOOOOO this woman WOULD NOT SHUT UP! Not only wouldn't she shut up, she wouldn't stop LOOKING AT ME. I had no idea what she was saying, and since I had seen her yakking at the manager/owner of the hotel I had no idea if she would rat me out. I was guessing there was a good chance she would. What could I do? Well, there was nothing left to it but eat the stuff. I nodded and smiled (sorta) through the whole process. I thought I was going to die. I was filled to the brim. And do you know that not the SECOND I had swallowed the last bite, that broad said in English "Good Idea", slit a baguette, spread cheese inside, wrapped it in a napkin and with a 'shhhhhhh' in my direction, slipped the whole damn thing in her bag!

Oh yeah, that happened.

 I rolled my stuffed self back up to my room to repack all of my crap. It was a little chilly so I put two sweatshirts on and crammed everything else into my roller bag. I had a nice supply of coins in my pocket. Of course I didn't have a portfolio to worry about... but I digress. 

I checked out of the hotel and hiked it down to the bust stop. Just as I was approaching, it started to drizzle. 

The sky was nice, so I took a few pictures.

It must have been a Cannes rush hour because there were a lot of people on the bus already. I had to take a seat facing backwards at the front of the bus behind a heavily perfumed and pungent man.

The riding backwards, cologne and starting and stopping did nothing for my over stuffed gut. I had to use some serious powers of concentration to keep all the breakfast down.

Eventually the smelly guy got off the bus and the almost fresh air helped. When we got to the Palais, it was a good full on rain. I love rain. I really do.

I got off the bus and moved to a different bus stop with a better view. There's just something poetic about sitting at an empty bus stop in the rain. 

I sat under the awning of the bus stop enjoying the rain and reading an ebook for at least an hour. It amused me to no end to watch all the people covering their LV or other couture bags/clothes running from the rain. Maybe I'm a bitch inside my head, but I did enjoy that, 

At some point an old French lady walked by and screamed at me. I don't really know why, but since I'd been screamed at so much by this time I'd gotten used to it. I pretty much just looked at her and went back to my reading. She went off, presumably to scream at someone else.

Eventually GC was able to get away to say goodbye. We chatted for a bit and found the express bus back to the airport. I realized that wasn't the bus I was looking for and set out in search of it. It was only a few yards away, conveniently by a snack shack selling glasses of wine for 1 euro. I couldn't resist a 1 euro glass of wine, so I pulled up my roller bag under the canopy and sat down to read and enjoy my wine.

Here are some more pics of the Cannes rain.

I was enjoying my book and wine when this interesting fellow decided that I'd be someone fun to talk to. From what I could gather from the bizarre info dump, he is a Golf Professor (which I'm guessing is the European version of a PGA trainer) who was born in the Bahamas, raised New York, works in Italy, is very wealthy and hates to fly. This conversation was constantly interrupted by way too frequent calls from a wayward girlfriend.  The guy (whose name I was never really clear on) bought me one or two other glasses of wine. I endured the odd conversation for as long as I could. watching the bus I needed come and go several times. An hour or two later, he directed me to a pay toilet in a shop next a liquor store. When I returned, I got on the next bus out.

It was during this long ass bus ride back to the airport when I had an epiphany. I realized then why the French so enjoy carbs. Cheap wine, coffee and bus rides do not mix. Despite the fact that my gut was already filled with cheese and carbs, I still felt like I'd need something to settle my stomach.

I was on this super modern bus that let you know where every stop was and how long it would take to get there. Despite this welcomed modern convenience, I fell asleep and opened my eyes just in time to jump off the bus. Don't do that. It's rather upsetting. Whatever the case, I got off the bus, walked to the airport and took the shuttle back to the other terminal. 

I tried to check in so I could go through security easy when no one was around, but could I? Nooooooooo! 

EasyJet has a policy where you can't check in until 60 or so minutes before your flight. That really sucks.

Ok, fine. So I had to go to the food court to get a snack. The cheapest thing I could find was a ham sandwich and sparkling water. I think this was right under 10 euros. 

As I sat there munching on my snack, something caught my eye. Oh what the hell? A pigeon had gotten into the terminal. Or maybe it was more than one. I'm really not sure. I did follow him for a while.

I got caught taking a picture of the vermin by a French business man who said, "A perfect example of hygiene in France." Of course I burst out laughing. He got up and moved away. I wonder how he knew I spoke English? 

Finally after about sixty billion years of waiting, EasyJet opened the gate and I could check in. Which I did. I breezed through Immigration and headed to the lounge. I really should get paid for visiting lounges. Seriously. 

Anyway, the lounge was nice and as expected, full of carbs. And more carbs, and various wines, coffee, liquor, cookies and weird pastry things. The soup or whatever the hot option was was no longer with us, so that sucks.

My stomach was still really pissed at me, so I didn't go for anything evil. Just a play-dough tasting pastry (seriously, WHAT IS THAT???) and a Diet Coke, in honor of Edie Baby. 

I enjoyed the lounge for all of 15 minutes when these other Americans, loud, drunk and really in love with themselves entered the lounge and ruined everything, I get it. Americans are rude and loud. Ah well. 

Due to weather, we kept getting updates that the flight might be delayed. And it was. I couldn't stand the Americans anymore, so I went down to sit at the gate. Even the promise of the solace of wine couldn't calm this annoyed breast. I felt like I was going to rip off a face or two.

So yes, the flight was delayed. And delayed. And yes, delayed. 

Finally, and I do mean FINALLY, we were able to board the damn plane. It had to be after midnight by this point. I was too tired and too annoyed to even bother looking. 

On the plane, I sat next to a teenage girl and her mom, so that was okay. I tried to sleep, but turbulence wouldn't allow it. Why would it?

Two hours later, we arrived at Gatwick. I didn't check my bag of course, so I just rolled myself to wait for the hotel shuttle.

Hmmm... what's different here? Oh yeah... It DROPPED ABOUT 30 DEGREES!   

And raining. Don't forget the raining. WTF? England? Everything was great when I left. I even worked up a sweat walking around. Now you betray me? You rat bastard. Fine.

About 30 minutes later a shuttle came. Is this the shuttle for my hotel? Well, yes it is, but he had to go to another hotel, then back to the airport. It will be about 45 minutes. BUT, I can take the ride if I like. Oh yes, I like. I do like. I will take this option.

I hopped onto the over heated bus. He drove to the other hotel. No one got off. No one got on. He drove to the airport. No one got off, no one got on... Sigh. 

Whatever. We were on the way to my hotel. Thank God.

I get to the hotel (The Gatwick Britannia, the same one as previous) and checked in. This had to be after 2 am. Again, I was afraid to look.

I get to my room, turn down the sheet and...

BEDBUGS!!!!!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This really isn't happening is it? I had to consider my options:

I could scream. - Maybe.

I could cry. - Probably.

What I did was call the front desk. At first the guy at reception didn't know what I was talking about. Finally I said BUGS... INSECTS IN THE BED. Which lead to the question of: "Where in the bed?" Does it matter? There are BUGS IN THE BED!!!! It makes me itch just thinking about it.

A guy came to take pictures of the bugs and escort me to an upgraded room in the other building. He was almost apologetic, but not really. 

I'll only post a couple of  pictures so you won't be too grossed out. 

The upgraded room wasn't all that worth writing home about anyway. The guy told me to go look at the bed and make sure it had no bugs. I did, and invited him to do the same. We decided that it was bug free. 

It didn't matter how damn bug free the room was, there was no way on earth I was going to be able to sleep that night. I only had about four hours or so to doze, so I left my socks, jeans, and two sweat shirts with the hood pulled up over my head and tied tight. At least I could see the bugs coming at me, which I couldn't in the chair. 

So there I was, curled up like the Unabomber, (the poker player, not the nut job), trying to rest a little.

And that ends this very long day.