The strange thing about being a confirmed bibliophile is that, no matter where you are, a book seems a welcome alternative to the real world.  This leads to awkward moments with other people who share reality with you because you're more interested in printed words and imaginary friends than flesh-and-blood humans.  It's not my fault that my two-dimensional friends are more interesting than the three-dimensional ones, but maybe I shouldn't forsake everyone as much as I do.  It makes things more awkward than they need to be when I'm confronted with a situation in which I need to be personable in order to keep things from descending into uncomfortable silence.

This morning was another late start.  I woke at around 9:30 for real, though I'd woken up earlier to the sounds of Diogo getting ready in the morning and fallen back asleep.  I bummed around the Internet for a little bit, and then continued with my last book of this voyage, which I'd intentionally left in London so that I wouldn't be tempted to read it.  The Learners, by Chip Kidd, in case you're interested.  Once completed, it will make seven books read in a month.  Perhaps a personal best.  Eventually, I rolled out of bed, and got into the shower.  If anyone's counting, that makes the first one in about two days.  It was time, since my hair was literally an undifferentiated sheet of grease, which may be very attractive, but not so easy to style.  My shower was leisurely, though the hot water went out about halfway through.  All the better, since London is super hot right now, and cold showers wake up your circulatory system much better than their hot counterparts.

After getting dressed, I went into the living room/kitchen to prepare my breakfast.  Rashed was still in, though awake, so I felt slightly awkward intruding on his personal space in his room, but it was time to wake up, anyway.  I sat with my book, my carrots, hummus, and some tea, trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence.  Gill came in, and I asked for a nail file, because my nails have been completely out of control due to travel.  My skin also isn't faring too well.  I sat there with different nail files for a good two hours, perfecting my manicure as well as I could with no clear polish.  It's a very sad state of affairs, but I'm days away from home, where I'll be able to have a proper mani/pedi done, so I can deal for the moment.

The initial plan for today was to go on a day trip somewhere like Bath, or Oxford, but the buses take three hours each way, and seem ultimately not worth the effort, so we stayed in London.  I decided that I would literally kill myself if I stayed in the flat for the entire day, so Gill and I planned to go to Tea in a proper teahouse in Kew at around 4.  It was one when I decided I couldn't within reason file my nails any longer, and Rashed left, so I couldn't sit in the same room as him and make awkward conversation between requests for music.  I remembered a show Gill had mentioned a while ago, and asked her to find me a way to watch The Only Way is Essex on my computer.

Due to the virus my PC contracted on the first day in London, I had her find a safe channel through which I could watch the show, and I sat down to the UK's answer to The Jersey Shore.  It's pretty glorious.  Between vagazzils, botox, reem, jeals, spray tans, and useless cheap drama, I was thoroughly entertained for the remaining two hours before we left for Kew.  I threw some supplies into my "I love Giovanni Paulo II" bag from Rome, and we went to the metro to top up our Oyster Cards and get on the train to tea.

I was glad I brought the Chip Kidd book, because we were on the train for about an hour, or 21 stops.  Once in Kew, we passed large families who'd been barbecuing in Kew gardens (you could call it barbeKewing) and some very pretty buildings.  Kew is the sort of place I think of when I think of a classically English town.  It's in the more suburban area of London, and has lovely houses with flower boxes and quaint lilac trees.  The entire borough smells overpoweringly of flowers.  I took many pictures, and here are some.

When we arrived at the tea house, it was fairly crowded, especially since it was such a warm day outside.  I've always been a firm believer in drinking hot drinks when it's hot outside, because then any breeze turns into the most refreshing cool-down imaginable.  Also, you sweat more, so you're actually releasing heat.  Apparently, a good number of people in the area of Kew agree with me.  We ordered two for tea, and received a large tea pot, a plate of two scones each (complete with England's best-kept secret product: clotted cream, and jam, and butter) and a choice of any cake we'd want, as if the intense carbo-loading wasn't enough.  Everything was set off very prettily with doilies, blue china, and silver trays with adorable little spoons and antique knives.

Delicious and adorable.  Yes, the roses are real.

We're very happy to be here as Gill poses with the clotted cream ;-D

As you can see from the pictures, the interior of the tea house is all pink all over.  The curtains are gaudy with huge roses, and the waitresses are all adorable in their flower-print uniforms and sweet little aprons.  There are pictures of Henry VIII on a majority of the walls, as well as old black-and-white photographs of people in old models of cars, family portraits, and general kitschy antiques, which somehow comes off as legitimately adorable.  We had a leisurely tea, which lasted about two hours, at the end of which I felt as though I'd burst.  We waddled back to the train station, where I bought more dates, and we set on our way back to the flat. 

The tube was very crowded on the journey back because, apparently, it's rush hour at around seven PM.  I can't say much for the cleanliness of the city of London in general, or in the state of the sanitation in the underground, but everything runs very smoothly, and logically.  All the stations are announced clearly, in very proper English, and the interior rails of the trains are all painted to coincide with their colors on the maps, which makes locating the correct train for your destination much simpler than it usually is in foreign countries.  I did some more reading, and was very careful with my bag, which doesn't close very well.  Kind of an open invitation to enterprising pickpockets, but it comes with the territory.

After our tube ride, we walked back to Gill and Diogo's, where Rashed wasn't.  Gill had mentioned he was going to make curry for dinner for all of us, but that plan was clearly scrapped, and Gill made penne and broccoli for dinner.  I needed to digest for a while, so I went back into my room, and watched more of The Only Way is Essex.  They're so trashy, it makes me feel a lot better about my life.  They all have fake boobs, fake tans, huge lips, and touched-up noses, not to mention their general lack of any sort of maturity or common sense.  It's amazing.  Also, Diogo's student came over again, so being quiet and alone was the name of the game.  Eventually, I ventured forth to get some food, ate, and went back to watching this silly, addictive show until I finished every episode of this season.  Then, I sat down to blogmakken.  I should sleep soon, since it's almost one, and I decided that we'd go to the National Gallery tomorrow.  Should be pretty amazing; three full floors of Renaissance and Neo-Classical art.  I do love museums.  I especially love art museums, and free ones at that.  Good night!