Wales, and Finding Yourself in the Clutches of the BBC

Ah! I am sorry for the delayed nature of these posts. I have been busy! And when I come home, the vast majority of the time, I just sort of want to sit, and watch a TV show on my computer, or read on my Kindle.

But! You all deserve to know about the Doctor Who convention, and Wales, etc.

I took a bus from London to Wales, which I was nervous about, given what a hot mess my bus trip from Utrecht to London was. I got to the bus station (Victoria Coach Station) in the early afternoon, and was pleasantly surprised to see how organized and scheduled everything was. Just like an airport. Much, much better than waiting on a concrete slab, outside, wondering if your bus would ever show up, and being insanely relieved when it finally did.

Nice, and organized. Lots of little grandmas waiting for buses that will take them to extremely British places like, "Bath," and "Hertfordshire"

On the bus! Got my Doctor Who stuffs! Got my own seat! Totally pumped!

Happy Kelli! Much happier than the guy behind me anyway...

It took about two and a half hours to get from London to Cardiff. It was a beautiful day, and I was super excited, as I was not only going to an awesome thing the next day, but it was also an adventure, with my big backpacking pack, and my cute skirt...

We pulled into the bus station, and I got my pack. Slung it over my shoulder, and found my way to my hostel, which was, arguably, the most adorable, wonderful place I have ever stayed. And that includes many a hotel!

It was called The Riverhouse Backpackers

My very sweet room, and bed!

Getting ready to go for a walk after setting up my room things.

The cute little kitchen.

 Now, there was ridiculously good weather for this entire trip. It was sunny and gorgeous in both London and Cardiff, something I think many a person will tell you is an anomaly. Still, I just fell in love with Cardiff. I went for a walk after sticking my stuff in my room, and everything I found on my walk was delightful. First, it was really wonderfully sunny, so all these people were picnicking underneath the Cardiff castle walls. I mean, come on! Anywhere where you can go picnicking in the shade of a castle is a cool place!

Cardiff was also so much less busy than London, it was quite a relief to finally get somewhere slower, more like Utrecht. Cardiff also comes with Welsh cakes.

A Welsh cake is an incredible treat, a mix between a biscuit, a pancake, and a donut. They taste, so, so good, and I really had to control myself where they were concerned.

Here I am, eating my first Welsh cake:

They were freshly baked at the little shop behind me - I sort of went walking and found myself in this giant indoor market, like the West Side Market in Cleveland, and voila! Welsh cakes. They were so good. I ate one at this point, and then, I walked away for about five minutes, and immediately went back for more, to eat the next day with my lunch.

As I walked, I decided I would like some tea, so I sat down in this very sweet little cafe/bar/hostel in the middle of the city. It had big couches. I can't say no to a big couch! Also, free wifi. Also, they had cute little flags hanging from the ceiling, and it felt so warm and cozy...And the nice man who made my tea called me "darling." This is actually something that happened repeatedly, no matter where I went in Cardiff. "Lovely," "Darling," and "Sweetheart" were freely used terms of address. I LOVED it. Who doesn't like having a nice, handsome man with a Welsh accent say, "Ah, now. There ya go, darlin'?!"

After my brief walking tour, it started to get cold, so I decided to go home and get my jacket. Back at the hostel, I found some other girls who were there for Doctor Who, and we decided to go to dinner together. They were incredibly sweet, but a little young. I kept telling them things about myself, to which they would enthusiastically respond, "NO WAY. You do that?! That is SO COOL. YOU ARE SO COOL." Hey, if I was 19, and I met a 23 year-old person who liked the same geeky TV show I liked, who was traveling in Europe by herself, who lived in Holland on a Fulbright scholarship, yeah, okay, I'd think she was pretty cool too. NOT to toot my own horn.

Toot.

In any case, we went to dinner at a Welsh pub, and got authentic Welsh food (Warning: It's all sausages and/or fried). AKA, delicious.

Our "waiter" (they don't really do waiters in the U.K., you just go up the bar and order and tell them your table number) was cute. He kept asking me what I had ordered, and then would come over with it, and would be like, "Now, I want to see if you like it!" And I would try a bite, and I would be like, "Hey! It's delicious!" And he would go off again. When I went to go pay my bill, he came up to the table and said, "Now, you didn't go paying for that drink, didya?" And I said, "No, I don't think so. It wasn't on the tab?" "Yeah, now, that's because that cider was a treat from me, okay lovely?" (There we go with the "lovely" again) in his extremely nice Welsh accent. I left him a note thanking him for the dinner as my first true "Welsh" food experience. I never leave notes for waiters! Scandalous!

My first dish - Cockles and Haver Bread - basically fried bread, with cockles (I don't actually know what cockles are!) and bacon. So, so healthy.

Bangers and Mash for dinner - homemade sausages from the restaurant. Yes, please.

Walking back from the restaurant, I, unfortunately, got myself and the girls I was with quite lost. Long story short, we ended up in the bad part of Cardiff, and it was extremely sketchy and scary. The good news is, we made it out completely fine, and I was very, very happy to get back to my bed in the hostel.

I went back to my room to find some new roommates - a girl going to the Doctor Who convention, and a guy who was a surgeon in training, going to a surgery conference. Both very nice. I talked to the Who girl a bit, and we agreed to set out super early to get to the convention center.

We go to bed. Everything is comfy, and peaceful. I am super excited to wake up and have a breakfast that was made for me (Hello, Bed and Breakfast Hostel!). Around 1 AM, Mr. Surgeon wakes up screaming, something about vampires eating his face. Who girl and I are like, "WAAAA, WHAT IS GOING ON?" Except Mr. Surgeon is already back asleep. Who girl (her name was Jennifer) and I are laughing to ourselves, like, "Dear God. Only we would get the room with the guy who wakes up screaming randomly in the middle of the night." To be fair, he was taking his final exams in a few weeks, and he said he has night terrors before immensely stressful things like that. I mean, hey. We all get a little anxious. Except it happened twice that night, again when Random-Girl-#4 came into the room at bloody 3 AM in the morning, and woke Mr. Surgeon up again. Phew. Jenn and I didn't get a lot of sleep. Oh, well! Doctor Who!

I woke up around 6 AM. Yeah, it was early. I took a shower, got ready, curled my hairs (Hey, Nikki! I thought you was gonna come over and curl mui hairs today, eh!?) and put on some fairly normal, Doctor Who-colored (i.e. blue) clothing. I went downstairs to the most AMAZING breakfast ever - I kid you not, scones, Welsh cakes, croissants with chocolate, normal croissants, four different types of cereal, and bread, yogurt, fruit, peanut butter, nutella, seven different jams. Mmm. Just thinking about it is making me hungry. Breakfast food is the best sort of food, really.

Jenn and I made our way to the Convention Center. I had a small meltdown when we got there, and we both started skipping and squealing, and wiggling, and generally being like, "WE'RE GOING TO THE DOCTOR WHO CONVENTION!!"

I could tell you, in intimate detail, all of the things that happened that day, but I think I will just tell you with pictures. And a video (since at one point in the day, BBC grabbed me and asked if I would give an interview). Overall - I was a bit disappointed. The panels weren't outstanding. But! I got to see The Tardis, I gave my fan letter to Matt Smith (The Doctor), and I had a picture with Arthur Darvill (who plays a guy named Rory on the show). So! It was a good day in the end.

That giant metal thing behind me is the Millennium Center, where the Convention was held. Look how NICE I look. I took some of the best pictures of myself this day. That's what fan-dom does to you. It makes you keep up a snazzy appearance.

This group of people were from the Doctor Who Tumblr. I randomly met up with them and stayed with them for the rest of the day.

"Kelli and Ood"

A guy dressed as the Doctor had a funny tete-a-tete with a Silurian.

Woo! Giant poster!

This was in a room full of characters/alien models used in the show.

"Kelli and Tardis"

At the Makeup Demo area, they were passing around some prosthetics. This is a Silurian headpiece.

Steven Moffat, head writer and producer. (Also, don't tell him I said this, but one of the biggest, self-important poop-heads to ever make his stinky presence in this world known)

Ah, but here we are, back to my pretty-photo-taking. This is me right before my BBC interview. Holla!

And so, I was on the BBC. In all it's BBC gloriousness. Really, it wasn't scary, but as Rebecca and I were waiting, we looked at each other and we were just like, "Crap! Oh, oh no. We have to think of really clever things to say! Okay, go!" And then, well. We did. Ha!

After this interview, I went on a short bus trip to get to the BBC set where they keep The Tardis, Doctor Who's spaceship, which looks like a police box on the outside (blue box), but is much, much bigger on the inside, looking like a proper, retro spaceship.

My camera died RIGHT before I went in The Tardis (Murphy's Law), so these pictures were, sadly! taken on my iPhone.

Gadgets! Things that are used in the show! WAAA COOOL.

Everyone who watches Confidential knows this, but! The etchings on this board were made to look like the Time Lord language. Oooober-fan.

Increase the thrusters! We're losing altitude! The Tardis' mainframe is being tampered with! Geronimo! (Etc.)

A constantly flipping calender.

Also for anyone who has watched Confidential - this is the special cafe we sometimes see the actors in. I also ate there. Therefore I am now almost = to the Doctor.

Basically visiting the Tardis was mind-blowingly cool. THAT was well worth the Convention.

I also got a photo with Arthur Darvill. Also worth the Convention.

After the Convention, I went to dinner with a few ladies, and then made my way back to the Hostel. Jenn and I talked for a while, mostly gushing about getting our pictures taken with cast members, and then we went to bed.

I woke up the next day, and got ready. Jenn and I had another incredible breakfast, after which I parked my stuff in the storage room of the hostel, and proceeded to go out and explore Cardiff a bit more. I immediately came upon a giant Farmer's Market...How can I describe to you the things they had? Giant granola bars, loaded with nuts, and fruits, coconut, oats, and honey. Fresh produce, and sausages, freshly baked breads of every shape and size, some sweet, some savory. An untold amount of Welsh cakes, made by little Welsh grandmas. I ended up buying a cup of tea (which turned into two cups as I sat leisurely reading my book and eating my granola hunk), a thick granola bar, a loaf of focaccia bread with caramelized onions and Emmental, and a whole wheat "burrito" with vegetarian chili and Welsh cheddar. After my book-tea-granola break (if you can call an hour in the sun by the river a "break"), I went wandering, and came across the gardens behind the castle.

Cardiff Castle is in the background.

 A charming little garden cafe where I had a coffee. Just me an muh Kindle, chilling in Europe. Like we do.

I took the bus from Cardiff back to London, and basically just went to Suzy's and went to bed. I was super, super tired of traveling, especially knowing that the next day I would have some time to explore London, but that I would ultimately have to go back on that bus...

I will write the next post about my last day in London, and about what it's like to fill a Dutch bike tire, and about my Easter Dinner! Till then!

London: Walking Enough That Your Heels Go Numb

On Tuesday evening, Rachel and I gathered all of our things together, and bundled up, like the intrepid explorers we are, bags slung over shoulders, suitcases rolling. Looking at these photos again, part of me thinks, "Yes, I look pretty travel-ready. But I also kind of look like I'm about to go fishing with that hat on. Lawd." The hat was a gift, and I absolutely love it, but my hair is just a tetch too long to pull off the 1920's bob look with it, so we end up instead with long-hair Kelli, who kind of looks like fisherman-Kelli. Hmm.

I loved it. I looked exactly like what European backpackers are supposed to look like.

To be fair, the hat saved my life after the night we had traveling to London...

And so we begin the harrowing tale of traveling on an all-night bus to London. First, Rachel and I took a bus from a stop near my house, to the Central Station in Utrecht. Once there, we hauled our bags through the station (stopping briefly to obtain french fries with "pinda saus," or peanut sauce, another Dutch delicacy that I just had to make Rachel try before she left) and went to the bus stop for Eurolines, the bus company I bought our tickets to London with. We wait.

We wait some more.

We wait for an hour, and the bus is late.

Fifteen minutes late. And it's cold. We're angry, and upset, and afraid we've messed up somehow, that the bus has been canceled... My feet are numb, again.

The bus screams into the station, finally. The driver bolts out and immediately starts shouting instructions about bags, passengers, etc, in a thick Eastern European accent. It's not the best way to start a 10 hour bus trip. He roughly grabs my papers out of my hands, and asks me "One?" And I say, "No, I'm traveling with my friend, too." And he angrily repeats, "One!?" And I point to Rachel, and I say, "No, I'm traveling with her..." And he shoves my papers back at me and grabs my bag, and says, "One bag?? IS that all??" And I mumble out, "Yes, Jesus, only one bag."

We all pile into the bus. There are a fair amount of people already on, some sleeping, everyone looking tired. A young mom sits next to her baby and young daughter. The man behind her warily eyes the baby, who is practically falling out of her car seat. He nudges the woman, and she rights the child. We shuffle past to the far back, where we sit down, tired but glad to be off our feet. The bus starts up and whips back out of the station.

Immediately, the radio comes on. It's some horrible rap/howling music, not in English or Dutch. Arabic maybe? Who knows. What I do know, is that it's 10:30 at night, and the bus driver should be forbidden from playing music so late. I thank the small baby Jesus that I brought my extremely large headphones. Clapping them over my ears, I put on my "Snuggle" playlist, and try to rest against the window. Rachel is doing the same, headphones in, neck pillow behind her head.

1:30 rolls around. It's late. I'm half-asleep, half-awake, desperately wishing for a bed. The bus has stopped. A horrible "tap-tap-tap" sounds over the loud-speaker. "Um, yes! Hello. It is required by Eurolines that we now have a 30 minute break, that's 30 minutes people. Please be back on the bus in 30 minutes, yes, thank you." I'm so, so tired. I can't even think about getting out of the bus. Rachel wearily drags herself out of her seat and goes to the rest stop. When she comes back, I decide to heave myself out of my seat and do the same. The man behind the young mom is upset, asking everyone where she went off to, as the baby is now crying. I get off the bus, just in time to see the poor young mom running out of the bathroom to get back to the bus.

We get back on, we take off again. We're falling asleep, again, when that horrendous "tap-tap-tap" sounds a third time, driving needles into my ears, and I would give anything, anything, just to go to sleep now, to go away and just have a bed where there would be no noises, no TAPPING. "Um, hello. Yes, we must go through customs now. Everyone needs to have their passports. Try not to take so long, please. Thank you."

I completely forgot about customs. I get up, grab my passport, and head out with Rachel. We look at each other like, "I'm either going to die, or I am extremely close to death." We line up, it's freezing and windy outside. We get inside the customs building, and are ushered to several U.K. inspectors. The one I've been assigned to is grilling the woman in front of me about why she's going to the U.K. It's probably 3:30? I'm pretty sure nobody knows why they're going somewhere at 3:30. The woman doesn't seem to speak English too well, to boot, and she just keeps repeating that she is "So excited to go sight-seeing in London." When the woman asks her who she's traveling with, "I am excited to go sight-seeing, yes!" After about five minutes, the inspector just passes her on. Then I go up. She grills me about who I'm traveling with, about my residence permit for the Netherlands, about why I'm going to England, who I'm staying with, if I'll be doing any traveling. I just want to cry. I am so tired, and so, so unwilling to deal with this woman's crazy questioning. She stamps my passport, finally, and I slog my way back to the bus.

Rachel is looking somewhat dazed and shocked outside the bus, waiting for me. "I'm so tired," she mumbles. I can only agree. We get back on. Ten minutes later, we pull onto a ferry, and the tap-tap man comes back on, telling us we have to get off the bus while we are on the ferry. The ferry ride is about two hours long. I'm too tired to cry. Rachel and I get off, bringing our snacks and jackets with us. We find a couch on the ferry and collapse in an exhausted heap, munching some granola bars and some kettle corn. We pile our jackets on top of ourselves, and slip into a sort of exhausted half-sleep.

Around 5:45, the ferry ride ends, and we uncurl ourselves from the couch, making our way back to the bus in exhausted relief, knowing that at least now we will have around 3 hours of uninterrupted travel. We drive off the ferry, and I marvel at the fact that it would appear we've landed at Dover - seeing as the cliffs above the bus are white. It was beautiful, even in my exhaustion.

Three tired hours later, we arrive in London. I've had about an hour of fitful sleep - once the sun comes up, good luck trying to get me to stay asleep. My body is like the perfect biological clock - wake up when the sun rises, fall asleep a few hours after the sun sets, regardless of time zone changes.

Sunrise over England, as seen from the back of a bus

We get off the bus, and are immediately blasted (mind you, we're already like walking zombies) by the swell and rush of Wednesday morning's rush hour in London. We make our way to the subway (also known as the Tube). Exhausted, we buy two tickets, one way, for the egregious price of 4.50 pound a person (That's like $7). We squirm, duck, and force our way through the steaming salami-crush of people and find the train that will take us to South Kensington. We get off the tube, and start walking to Suzy's (a cousin of my good friend Tom, who agreed to let us stay with her while we were in London). Rachel is not in the best mood. I'm not either, but the sheer, overwhelmingly cool sensation of being in ENGLAND has got me on a sugar-high. I keep thinking, "Jane Austen might have written about this place. Or that place. Or that one!"

We find Suzy's and knock. We're a little early. Suzy answers the door, hair still wet, having just gotten out of the shower. She looks a bit surprised to see us, and a bit flustered by the time of our arrival. We go inside. She shows us around, and I give her the Dutch gifts I have brought to thank her for letting us stay with her. In one memorable moment, she looks at Rachel, who is about to drop, and just says, "You're not a morning person are you?" At which Rachel grunted and went to go lie down on the couch. Suzy finished getting ready, as did her roommate, and both left, leaving Rachel and I alone in the flat.

I went upstairs, and took a shower, figuring that if I laid down, I probably wouldn't manage to get back up again. Rachel is curled up on the couch, asleep. I take our newly obtained flat keys and go out in search of breakfast. Walking around South Kensington is a real trip - it's one of the super posh, rich neighborhoods of London, with Stella McCartney, Ralph Lauren, and other high-fashion name stores littering every corner. But I was clean, with a cute new jacket from Amsterdam, and a nice hat. So whatever, rich people. Eat an egg.

I finally found a grocery store, after much searching, and bought us bagels, and cream cheese, apples, and a coffee for Rachel at a little cafe on the way back. I brought breakfast back, and sat down with Rachel, who was now awake and appearing remarkably refreshed after having taken a shower, to plan out how we were going to get to Camden, where we had lunch reservations at 1:30. Eventually, we figured out the tube route using the various maps and I guides I had bought back in Amsterdam, and we left the flat. It took us a while to find the restaurant, mostly because Camden is centered on the Camden Markets, a giant, weaving marketplace, filled to the brim with artists, vintage clothing, jewelry, and other knicks and knacks. Within this catacomb-like place, we finally found The Cuban, the restaurant I had bought a Groupon for. We sat down, and marveled at the marketplace around us. The Camden Markets really do feel like something out of a medieval faire marketplace. Bustling with activity, and food, people, clothes, dresses, shoes, scarves, necklaces, earrings, paper lanterns...

We had tapas and sangria for lunch. It was marvelous.

The meal included sweet potato crisps, packed sweet potato and goat cheese balls, hummus and pita, olives, onion rings, Calamari, Spicy chicken fingers, and mushrooms with Pancetta and cheese

After eating our fill of tapas, we went out and explored the crazy maze that is the Camden Markets. I bought an adorable pair of hand-crafted white rose-shaped earrings, Rachel bought some old postcards from the early 1900's, with writing on them, for her Aunt's collection. It was basically wonderful. The only not-wonderful part were the skeevier shop-owners, who, every time we would try to look at something in their shop, rush up to us and immediately be like, "How much you want it for, eh? How much?" So, we didn't go away with any clothes.

We left Camden and made our way towards King's Cross Station, for the sole purpose of getting pictures with Platform 9 and 3/4.

A beautiful wrought-iron gate, leading to a small church, on our way to King's Cross

Sunshine! We got lucky - the weather was phenomenal for our entire trip.

Pancras Station, behind which is King's Cross

Oh, yeah.

If only it was REAL.

We left King's Cross and walked towards the Thames and Big Ben/The Houses of Parliament. We walked along the Thames for a bit before going to Verve, a bar/club, where we started our totally awesome, epic London Pub Crawl.

By the London Eye - I really wanted to ride it, but at more than 20 pounds a person, it was just way too expensive.

Pub Crawl! We heard about them on the walking tour in Amsterdam, and we decided to try one out in London! It was very fun, but more bars/nightclubs than pubs. Next time, I want to tour old-fashioned pubs!

We had a good night. We went to something like six bars, paid 15 pounds for the evening, and got a free drink at each bar. It was good. There was a significant amount of dancing later on in the evening. Randomly, one of the guys on the pub crawl was a guy from Columbus, who travels to Athens regularly to DJ, who just happened to be on vacation in London...The world is so small, sometimes.

Thursday morning, after taking a long while to sleep off the awful Tuesday night trip, we woke up, and I went and got us breakfast again. We went into London proper and walked to the Buckingham Palace, where we were saddened to learn that they only offer tours of the Palace in the summer. Makes sense, I suppose. I'm sure that's when it is at its most beautiful!

Outside Buckingham Palace

Ah, Horse-Drawn Carriages in London

Sitting on the steps right across from the Palace. There's a big statue behind us of Queen Victoria, appearing as the triumphant leader on the outward facing side, and the caring mother on the inward facing side. God, to be as cool as Victoria.

We went on the London Free Walking Tour (I love Sandeman's Tours, look them up if you are in a big city and want a good tour for an excellent price - just the cost of the tip!) around 11. Our tour guide was super cute and spunky, a theatre major, so appropriately able to tell us stories about:

The most famous man to break into Buckingham Palace, in the 80's (Yes, the 1980's, folks) was an Irishman. He climbed a fence, broke a window, and proceeded to run from room to room in the palace. When the security guards noticed the flashing lights, they assumed the system must be broken because warnings were coming from every single room (he was running a lot, quickly, all over the place). So, they turned off the security system to re-set it. OF COURSE THEY DID. So, Mr. Irishman gets thirsty, goes and drinks a whole bottle of expensive port, sits on the Queen's throne (shame!), and eats a can of dog food, which he opens with a knife, which he also cuts himself with, seeing as he's downed an entire bottle of port. Drunk, dog-food covered, bleeding Mr. Irishman manages to stumble into the queen's bedroom, where he wakes her up. She, very calmly (she's the Queen, goddamit) talks to him, to keep him calm, all the while, pressing her emergency button, which doesn't work because, oh, yes, they turned the security system off. Finally, he asks the Queen if she's got any "fags" (cigarettes). She says she doesn't, but she'll call down for one. At which point, she calls and tells the security people, "Ah, yes, I need a cigarette for the drunk, bleeding man in MY ROOM." At which point the security team finally comes running, and the man is arrested (but, interestingly, not charged, because at the time, the Palace was public property, so he wasn't technically breaking in!).

And also, a story about how, every 5th of November, the insane plot of Guy Fawkes is remembered when children burn his effigy in a giant bonfire. Because that's not creepy at all. She also vividly described what being "drawn and quartered" means. I will spare you the details.

After our tour, our leader took us to a great little pub, where we had good, English ale, and fish and chips. Because that's what you do when you're in England!

And here we will show you a selection of photos from the walking tour:

The Palace Horse Guards. Apparently Queen Victoria added these men for the sole purpose of being seen around town as representations of the crown. Also, they apparently take ten hours to get themselves and their horses ready. I don't even know how that's even possible. Also, they are supposed to be like, fierce warriors, but I got a good look at some of these fellas, and they just kind of look doughy with chin straps and weird, billowy cloak things. Like something out of Monty Python. Hey...

A horse crossing signal, and a human crossing signal. Only in London.

These guys. Creepily calm, all the time. I just want to like, be around one for a whole day. And then, I want to write them a nice note, like, "Thank you for serving," or something. These guys are actually ninjas, unlike the dough-men of the earlier picture.

I loved the cabs with the British flags painted on them. It's typography, full of words about travel and communication. Cool, right??

Westminster Abbey. Big expensive (16 pound a person to get in). Beautiful.

Also: Huge. Also: Built in, I kid you not, the 1200s. Well, the main part. Those two tower things were added by Queen Victoria.

After fish and chips, we went to the British Museum, which was interesting, but after a whole day of walking, we were just dog-tired, and we had reservations for a fancy dinner-cabaret show at 7:30, so we kind of had to book it out of the museum to get home and get ready in time for the show.

But! Not so much booking that we couldn't take pictures with the iconic phonebooths.

I had a bit of small, teensy breakdown at the flat after coming back from the British Museum, in a rush, and without anything to wear, I momentarily despaired. I had a cute outfit packed for our evening at the cabaret, but to my horror, when I put it on...I looked like big bird, with extra-large fluffy bottom feathers. In the end, after much deliberation, I decided to hell with it, and wore it anyway. Oh, well! We got to the cabaret, and were met with one of the most bizarre places I've ever been - an underground, chill, lounge area, filled with smoke machine smoke to create the effect of a 1920's club. Everyone had their own plush, velvet-couch nook, facing the stage. It was great! Rachel and I started with a duck pate, and a fluffy goat cheese, olive oil with crisp bread appetizers. Then Rachel had sage gnocchi, and I had a walnut-crusted cod. For dessert, Rachel had a delicious pair of ice-creams and sorbets, and I had a cheese plate. We were very full when we were done, and the show was wonderful - like a sexy Cirque du Soleil.

On Friday morning, Rachel left very early for Heathrow, and I meandered around London, waiting for my bus to Cardiff. I was very sad to see Rachel go, like she was taking a piece of home back with her. But I am lucky, because to ease the sadness of her leaving, I had an amazing, thrilling, exciting Doctor Who convention to look forward to, in Cardiff, Wales, one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Till next time!