Kickin it in Camden

When Emma woke up the next afternoon after all of our adventures (woman can sleep), we decided to stay cuddled up with takeout, a marathon of watching Grace and Frankie and a constant flow of tea (naturally). I couldn’t have been more relieved for the down time and both of us were totally

content. Me especially because of the pleasingly productive routine I had inadvertently started that morning of toast and coffee while getting some writing done. Centering back in with that much needed “me time” not only gave me a chance to process and chill, something especially important when rocking out with much younger pals, but also kept me tolerable for everyone else.

Balancing out our shenanigans with the day of chilling required nothing beyond laughing, shooting the shit and cuddling Trevor. It was just what I needed and a fur-baby requirement by Bernard and Emma, or “Burma” if we’re using a rediculous-but-fun combined couple name. It was also twice as entertaining because of the eyebrows we had drawn onto that four-legged bundle of excitement and love. The scene over all made me nostalgic for the hangover days of my teens in which my sister, our friends and I would lay around in front of the TV all day on the mattresses I would drag down from the beds on the second floor. I’m not sure if we ever actually watched any of the movies playing on the TV back then, the old days of VCRs, but it sure was the best bonding time I can remember.

Fully rested and ready for a little Sunday Funday after that, Lucille had found a reggae event in the once ghetto but now up-and-coming hipsteresque neighborhood of Brixton. Popping bottles of Prosecco in the tube and almost giving another passenger a corresponding heart attack, we were once again up to no good of the best kind.

Giggling while observing the honorary sister badge these two had so obviously earned over the years, they bickered about which way to get to the bar as we sauntered around enjoying the sunshine until finally finding that elusive reggae event. Making it too late for the happy hour and the corresponding free entry, the music was also a bust, but it was still entertaining in that it further added to the comical scene of the three of us just wandering around London slightly perplexed until meeting back up with Bernard and getting more PROSECCOOOO! After that was another awesome night of partying until dawn. It was just as much fun as the first night (from what I remember) if not more. I’m tempted to tell you, my dear readers, but some things are better left censored *giggle*. I will give you a hint by saying that there were naked massages and I’m still being teased about accidentally going way too hard.

A couple days later was Camden. Oh Camden, how I love thee.
Walking up to the colorful, edgy and ultra-eclectic neighborhood of the Stables Market (as in used to be horse stables), the cobblestoned neighborhood’s array of personality quickly made it clear that my eclectic-arse had found the spot in that city that I was most likely to feel at home. Located along the Regent’s Canal, the district’s touch of hippiness, pubs, street vendors and a trace of the seedy side of it’s history combined with upper-scale options like the Indian-chic/Pan-Asian fusion restaurant, Gilgamesh, and festival-futuristic store, Cyberdog, to produce what could be the most diverse array in one place that I have ever experienced. Add to that one of the best grilled cheeses I have ever had from The Cheese Bar (CHEESE IS LIFE), the personal history Emma shared and the streets she pointed out that best represented what it used to be before gentrification and I was beyond enamoured. Even the creepy Amy Winehouse statue added to it’s strange and awesome magic.

It was such a lovely day. They all were. For the Grand-London-Finale in the next post get ready, ladies and gentlemen. It’s time to laugh your tails off.