O, summer, wherefore art thou never here?

I arrived in London on Tuesday after a surprisingly restful transatlantic flight. (Never again will I underestimate the soporific effects of 2 mini bottles of wine and Tylenol PM!), and hopped on the tube to my hotel near Victoria Station. After suffering through a gray London winter 6 years ago, I was eagerly looking forward to seeing the city bathed in sunlight, not to mention the 10pm sunsets. What I found as I emerged from the tube, however, was a bitter blast of frigid wind and (surprise!) gray skies. They tell me it’s been raining here for the last month. Seriously, how do people live here? I admit that I am somewhat UV-spoiled in LA, but these conditions are inhumane!

I spent that night trying to stay up long enough to stave off the effects of jetlag. I was aided in large part by the glorious BBC, which aired a primetime game show about… wait for it… grammar! Only in the UK would you find a program called ‘Never Mind the Full Stop!' complete with segments like “Are You Homophonic?” and “To ‘e’ or not to ‘e’” – the latter having been inspired by our esteemed former vice president’s potato/potatoe debacle. The show is hosted by a somewhat cantankerous Brit who seems to feel it’s his moral responsibility to fight “linguistic lunacy.” The same country that produced the OED has now given us Grammar TV. Now I remember why people suffer through the crappy weather here…

And yet, even the weather surprises here occasionally. I woke up to sunny skies and moderately warmer temps yesterday. After a lovely full English breakfast (why does a grilled tomato for breakfast seem like such a stroke of genius?), I headed out for a walking tour of the city. Completely confident that I had avoided any traces of jetlag, I had so much early morning energy that I nearly jogged my way past Buckingham Palace and St. James Park, then to Westminster Abbey and the Thames, and up to Trafalgar Square, and then on to one of my favorite London spots (partly because it’s free) the National Gallery. I spent of a couple of hours wandering through the museum, finding the favorite works that I always made a point of seeing 6 years ago. (I love Rembrandt’s two self-portraits… one as a brash, confident young man of 34, the other in a much simpler style at 63, the last year of his life.)

And then, at some point during the 1700-1900 European section, jetlag unleashed its full fury. I started feeling nauseated, dizzy, and very tired. Since it was only noon, I forced myself to listen to the choir rehearse at St. Martin’s in the Field next to the Nat’l Gallery –- perhaps hoping for some kind of divine inspiration. But it never arrived, and I finally dragged myself to the tube. The rest of the afternoon was spent napping and searching vainly for reruns of ‘Never Mind the Full Stop.’ I felt relatively better by the time I met my friend, Paul, (soon to be my travelling buddy in Italy), near Covent Garden to see the London production of ‘The Producers.’ The show was a hoot – even though we were in the nosebleed section sitting in seats that were clearly designed to torture prisoners at the Tower of London.

Now, it’s Thursday, gray and cold again. I’m heading out to see some relatives-in-law in Essex this afternoon, and then I’ll be spending a lovely night in a quaint little B&B called Stansted Airport, so I can catch my flight to Sicily at 6am tomorrow. Next stop: Palermo!