Girl Least Likely To

Now my heart is full
and I just can't explain
so I won't even try to

I wish I had that sort of self-control, but this weekend was too pleasing to keep hidden.

Thursday

I began my weekend by taking a bus driven by the French doppelganger of bad cop from Terminator 2 to Marseille International Airport. I paced a bit, then boarded a massively empty plane to find my seat located between two of maybe five passengers. Nigel, passenger to my left, and I became fast friend, while passenger to my right right enjoyed his Steven King novel. If I described Nigel, I’d be bragging. Trust, he’s amazing, and what's more, a total wreck. I read his cards, gave him the creeps as well as giving him a couple bites of my meatwich, some Xanax, and breakfast tea. Hopefully I gave him a glimmer of hope as well. Bised goodbye, then trudged slowly onward.
From there, I took the shuttle to Travelodge. Chatted up the gritty shuttle driver and found that he has visited the states 11 times (he said staring me blankly in the face and holding up two pointer fingers for emphasis), but has oddly never reached beyond Orlando, Florida. “I’d really love to live there.” Imagine utopia! Well, I never would have guessed. Anyway, he didn’t understand what the hell I was doing in Manchester when I could be in Orlando.
So, I settled into my hotel. When I realized the double bedroom my exotic host and I would later be sharing was a single bed, I kicked back and started drinking to a reality television show based on children begging their parents to quit smoking by way of singing catchy pop jingles. Brilliant. Waited for Keith. Sweat a little. Ugh God, sweat a lot. Keith arrived. Got over anxiety. Etc etc etc.

Friday

As it seemed like a good idea to be awake at 6 a.m., we started the day early by eating hugely unhealthy English breakfasts. Then remembering it’s a fucking nightmare to be awake at 6 a.m. we fell back asleep and hard.
Spent the day visiting Manchester’s city center, passing the apartment complex living in the shadow of once famous Hacienda night club where our much loved though disheartened English musicians used to get fucked up and entertain one another. I managed to avoid being struck dead by preposterous backwards road rules (thanks Keith). Visited Oldham Road and showed considerable self-discipline in not purchasing insanely rare vinyl, that’s how people grow up, but only due to the fact that I had yet to tap mac. Tasted Keith’s cloud juice. Ordered a veggie delight from Subway, but soon grasped cultural differences between America and England. CULTURE SHOCK. The lack of Italian dressing, pepper jack cheese, and banana peppers made for a dull sandwich of onions and cheese, which I’ve sort of been eating ever since.
Returned home to Loughborough, Leicestershire where I was introduced to Keith’s charming (and in good physical condition) roommates as his American friend, which was generous of him, as I could have just as easily been introduced as his psychotic unclean freeloading four-day burden. Bless him.
Got drunk. Went to... NANDOS! Trip climaxed! Ate pineapple pita delight universally famous flame-grilled PERi-PERi chicken. Got engaged. Went bowling. Witnessed Keith's roommate Robbie go fucking apeshit and break the bowling alley. Managed to escape before being arrested to returned home where I slept for 100 hours.

Robbie and HenPERi and CharlieRobbie The aftermath

Saturday


Watched Mr. Bean in bed, which was topped only by watching http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM. Have you seen this?

Drove about English countryside in minicooper/deathbox. Admired the cloud muffin sheep and magical ponies to the backdrop of dullest grey.

THE RAIN FALLS HARD ON A HUMDRUM TOWN…
ohhhh I couldn't resist...
Learned about “dodging.” Did not go dodging. Instead, went frolicking in enchanted forest. Was unimpressed by High-am’s failed attempts to mount mono-breasted fairy nest/tree.Visited Keith’s pole at Loughborough. Tried/failed to obtain quick and dirty marriage, but settled for marriage hotline number. Feeling effects of mid-afternoon frolic, decided a nap was in order. Did not watch Thundercats. Drank delicious amoretto + coke = Dr. Pepper gone goofy. Walked through rain to string of pubs playing indie rock circa 2001 crowded with edgy haircuts and clothing. Felt sagging grandmother! Returned home to comfort of spandex.


Sunday

Lived in fantasy. Began with double-whopper and small fry breakfast (oh, bad). Headed to Salford, west of Manchester.


Visited Salford Lads Club...


Morrissey's Old House...The Iron Bridge...The Cemetry Gates...

Paid our respects to old Homas, and were off.


I released Keith, then spent 9 hours in the airport terminal next to girl from Pittsburgh. Returned home so tired I was made physically ill by the sound of laughter. Slept for 100 hours.

I’m writing this to say in a gentle way thank you very much.