It's a little past 8 in the evening and I'm sitting in my hotel room in my pajamas, feeling like a prat for not being out on the town but being too knackered to do much more than eat, blog, make a few phone calls, read, and sleep. I woke up this morning, thinking that it was surely 6AM and being disappointed when I realized that it was actually only 1AM. I ended up lying in bed for another two hours, fretting about being wide awake in the middle of the night, with not a bit of drowsiness to my name, before I finally and rather miraculously fell asleep again, only to wake up what felt like a split second later to my 6:30AM wake up call (I was both relieved and disappointed that the concierge hadn't forgotten about my wake up call like he'd done yesterday. I know, right??!).
It's been bloody parky out here in London these past couple of days--although I rather enjoy parky weather, I unfortunately failed to pack parky weather-appropriate outerwear for this trip--so I decided to wear a pair of black stockings with my mini dress and boots, only to be revisited by the maddeningly irritating spirit of static cling. Naturally, I'd failed to pack the dryer sheets that MP so thoughtfully gave me on Friday, so there I was, my skirt scaling my legs again with a staticky zeal that drove me insane.
I dialled the concierge and asked him if the hotel carried anti-static spray.
Excuse me? he asked.
Anti-static spray, I repeated.
Express checkout? he asked.
No, no, I said, tugging the hem of my skirt away from electrically charged stockings, AN-TI STA-TIC SPRAY. For static cling, you know? STA-TIC CLING.
EX-PRESS CHECK-OUT? he asked again, his voice carrying cautious optimism.
No, not express checkout! Static cling! Static cling! Like what happens when your clothes stick together? Static cling!
I was getting worked up and ready to go downstairs and volunteer myself as living evidence of static cling but he quickly muttered that he didn't understand (he must not wear stockings) and transfered me to a female attendant at the front desk.
Would you happen to have anti-static spray? I asked, sighing.
Express checkout? We do-- she started and I wondered why the bloody prats who bloody worked at this bloody hotel kept on bloody hearing "express check out" each time I bloody said "anti-static spray."
Anti-static spray. Like what you use when your clothes stick together because of static electricity--
Electricity problems?! Now I understand! You should call--
NO, NO! Static! STA-TIC!
Well, sorry, I don't think we have any of that.
I ended up walking to the drugstore next door, where a kindly female employee, who seemed to know a thing or two about static electricity told me that--get this--it had been years since she'd last seen a can of anti-static spray (what are the Brits doing right, is my question) in London but that I should spray the afflicted areas of my clothing with hairspray.
I sprayed my skirt and tights into a firm hold that even a determined gust of wind shouldn't have been able to move. But, alas, the skirt continued to climb the stockings until I, utterly defeated to nylon, stole to the ladies room and did away with them. Though freezing for the remainder of the day, I was relieved. I was relieved.
Finally, don't eat sushi in London. I bought what looked to be lovely rolls at a Japanese takeout place, was asked to pay extra for wasabi, soy sauce, and ginger and discovered while eating my dinner that the Brits seem to enjoy their sushi with the least possible amount of fish and a whole lot of rice.
This city, however, remains charming and I can't wait to explore it this weekend! Woohoo!