X and I have been to London again, and safe to say, it was absolutely lovely. I'm falling in love with the city more with each time we're visiting, and going there with my lovely fiancée tinted the entire experience with love, friendship and a truly non-linear experience of another city and culture. X's a rainbow.

This time, we booked Umi Hotels in London, which turned out to be great value for money. Our room (#112, incidentally) was tidy, clean and neatly tended by staff during our four-day stay. Speaking of staff, the concierges working the reception were magnificent, aiding us throughout. The price was very affordable, especially if you book your room non-refundable; granted, it's a risk, but pays off (if you make it). There was really only one thing to complain about: the window didn't close properly. Hence, it was at times very cold in our room and I got a very sore throat as a result. Still, I'll gladly book another room at their hotel the next time we visit!

I'll tell you, being placed smack in the middle of Notting Hill wasn't bad at all. Sure, I've yet to discover most of London, but this part is undoubtedly my favourite. It's as if that region of London is filled with so many goodies in so many ways, it's ridiculous. I can't get enough. Could also be because it's utterly unattainable even though I wouldn't mind living there for a while; apartment prices are completely ridiculous except for the ridiculously wealthy. X and I live in Stockholm, sharing a quite roomy 56-square-meter apartment, which would cost appx. 15-30 times more if it were located in Notting Hill.

Anyway, I haven't told you about the flight. Flying by Ryanair is always the same thing. You know exactly what you'll get: a cheap flight and a feeling of being treated like cattle. Well, I think that reflects on staying at any airport really. Morrissey said a few choice things about this in the documentary "The Importance of Being Morrissey" that I highly recommend for all purposes.

Following a nightly coach ride, X and I found that the Victoria subway station was closed, which meant we had to go by taxi. Our driver was quite lost and actually went by the hotel we stayed at last time we visited London, but in the end we reached our destination. We spoke briefly with the very nice concierge, got the key, left our baggage in our chilly room and found a nearby pub where I tried to order a beer that didn't exist; I pointed to a good-looking tap - a brand I didn't recognise - and the bartender told me "Oh, that tap isn't real". Yup. X and I settled in, then went back "home" and to bed. First night in London, check. Excellent! Hitting the bed after a few hours of sitting and standing, ushered about, had really taken its toll on me.

The morning after we came to the conclusion that no matter which of the three different settings we set the shower-head to, any visible trace of water was sprinkling at most. Jumping out from the shower was a brisk experience: the cold air in the room definitely woke me up! We ventured to the hotel breakfast, where we were handed little leaflets with check-boxes next to the eatables we desired; I was reprimanded for checking more than four items which was against hotel law, but left unscathed mostly thanks to the butter croissants which got me completely hooked for the rest of our stay.

Portobello Road

We left the hotel and quickly made our way to Portobello Market, which is only available on Saturdays. There you'll find insane amounts of English-looking trinkets like plastic pocket clocks, bracelets, jewels and rings, and also a lot of English-looking antiques in a variety of shapes and sizes, e.g. canes with ivory bulldog heads mounted on top, old leather rugby balls, hand-written deeds drafted centuries ago all cobbled next to loads of books and clothes. X and I found a very old edition of Virginia Woolf's "The Waves", with this cover. I still wish we'd bought it, even though the price might very well have been set insanely high. Part of me wishes I'd check out some Sherlock Holmes paraphernalia before the trip so that I could gear up, but then, I think I'll save insanely collecting for my golden years...

I saw a turquoise, wonderful little ring with a gold-covered sprawling metal base; I instantly knew that X just had to have it; it suits her perfectly. I also got a ring for myself, one with a rectangular amber-tinted glass, quite overtly glamorous in style. So we both left Portobello Market with something new and old.

We bought some coffee and sat down on a bench in Hyde Park while enjoying the late summer sunshine, watching people walking about. Many languages spoken by many different people inadvertently parading in front of us. I was reminded of how sweet life really can be: a wind chime was heard vaguely from over a hedge and the atmosphere was blissful. London often feels that way to me. Complete calmness reigned. As we left the bench, I had to say hello to a little puppy; "She loves being photographed!", the dog's owner exclaimed and so of course we had do oblige.

We then headed somewhere even more tourist-y than Portobello Market, which means Oxford Street. Thousands upon thousands of people were ready to court the shops; even though people are so very nice - saying "sorry" all along the way, which of course came as a shock to the Stockholmian in me - I was completely mentally finished by the oncoming legions of people everywhere. Following a bit of shopping we went home. The evening finally ended in each-other's arms.

The day after was followed by a lot of walking (after the ubiquitous hotel breakfast). We surveyed the art on display throughout Bayswater Road (every Sunday) where we found a few nice items. A few of the artists were quite remarkable, both in positive and awful ways. I always like originality in paintings, but airbrushed pictures of pop culture stars done so bad that you can tell who the characters are from having seen the iconography a thousand times before but actually not from the paintings...which is really bad. Like Pacino in "Scarface" or the legendary portrait of Che Guevara, eyes contorted or everything looking Mr. Potatohead.

In Hyde Park, en route to Buckingham Palace

We then started venturing through Hyde Park; we actually made our way to Buckingham Palace which was marked by a lot of tall metal fences painted in black and gold, with the little santa-like guards standing around in the background, perennially standing stiff while tourists take their picture. The union jack was moving very little from a flag on the roof of the building and quite sadly as the entire thing felt like a comment on the former British Empire, now shattered and expressed through the greedy English royal family. Still, Hyde Park is Hyde Park, i.e. beautiful.

A little cottage part of Kensington Park Gardens

X and I left and on our way back heard ABBA:s "Does Your Mother Know?", a song that always seems to follow us no matter whether it's through Okkervil River covering it or it's radio playing it. It's always that same song.

We ate at Pret and I felt extremely happy. Right across the table was X and I couldn't be happier. Sunlight in a jar! I thought of all that we were about to experience together in London, things we had not planned in detail, and it felt as though all the pieces of a big puzzle were falling in-place all the time. Just walking through London gave me so much. X and I talked a lot, took pictures and basically lived life far from work and have-tos. I know it probably looks insanely stupid written down, but that's how I felt and I can't express it any better. Sunlight in a jar, indeed!

In the evening X and I went to a local pub called The Swan. It was brilliant! Quite big but still held an intimate atmosphere. While X drank Strongbow I had Fuller's London Pride, both on tap, which was absolutely brilliant! It was all really enjoyable to just sit there and take it all in.

We then went by subway to the Thames, as The Thames Festival was just ending and we wanted to catch that; sadly we ended up on the wrong end of the Thames so we missed out on the carnival, but we did snag a great spot to stand and watch the fireworks that lit up the sky and ended the festival.

Before the storm

We waited some time in the cold while the water splashed a few meters below, and then it kicked off.

During it

I felt warm inside and thought of the parade of fireworks that used to fire away from the Stockholm Water Festival that shut down in 1999. I always saw those fireworks that ended the entire festival and this awakened some sentiments, especially while hearing the crowd "ooh" and "aah".

We went back home by subway and the day after spent a lot of time indulging in shopping, walking around London and basically continuing to adore and live life. We hadn't been to Whiteley's before, so it was good time to. I snagged LCD Soundsystem's "Sound of Silver" at for £3, wee.

Later on, we went to Kings Cross where we met up with Agnes. Yes, dear Aggy was going to see Okkervil River with us! But slightly before that I recognised a figure skulking around Scala, i.e. the venue where Okkervil River were to play. Travis! Nice to see the man and catch up before...before after the show. It was so lovely to meet up with Patrick too, as always. He's such a pillar of niceties, a gentle and truly kind person. And Will, Scott and Justin are such gentlemen.

Here's the band entering, kicking off "A Hand To Take Hold Of The Scene":

Catching Pat's eye during the show just made us laugh. I mean, seeing Okkervil River live is such a joyous occasion, even throughout the sad songs. It's like seeing an old friend return with all of his/her power, energy and joy. And I'm really looking forward to hearing new songs after the band's break from touring and all that is the music industry grind.

After the show we all met up at a pub. A funny anecdote is that while X was speaking with Patrick, a girl came up and sat next to me and even though I didn't even look at her I remember thinking "oh no" when she asked me how come I was at the pub, really hoping that it wasn't somebody who was in the least interested in me. I quickly replied that I was with some friends and that I'd seen a band. She told me that sounded nice and told me that she, incidentally, played in a band. What? I looked at her. She was Lauren. Lauren, as in lead guitarist in Okkervil River Lauren. We laughed after I told her that I'd just seen her play live. X and I spoke with her about everything and nothing, and she was so very nice and kind, no exaggeration. It's too bad that during the gig, the venue marred her performance through technical problems. The guitar-sound came and went, and every guitar-solo was severely muted. Still, the gig was all in all fair for the group. I still feel like I really want to hear some new songs, though.

X and I really wanted to stay as too much time always passes between meet-ups with our Texan friends, but we had to go. Hence, we waited until the last minute, threw our good-byes to our friends, stopped a taxi, picked up our stuff at the hotel and were taxied further on to the Victoria station where we were standing in rain that continued to grow in strength with every minute that passed. And so the time came when the bus was supposed to leave, but the people who commanded the Terravision bus were looking quite comfy indoors, seemingly doing nothing but shying away from the rain. Then suddenly a man opened the door from the inside of the bus and started shouting at people in Italian. "Only 2:40 tickets! Only 2:40 tickets!" followed by what seemed like a hailstorm of Italian curse-words. That was our kind of ticket, thankfully. At that time, we hadn't slept in the least. Luckily, we slept some on the bus and later on the plane. Landing in Skavsta airport almost felt totally OK, and I slept some more on the coach that took us to Stockholm. It felt really weird to take the subway train to our final train destination and then walk to our apartment. Just too weird. No cats at home, as my parents were great and nice enough to tend them for us while we were away.

As a sort of postscript, even the most mundane stuff regarding London is wonderful to me. Just watching the following footage of the subway makes me recall smells (good and bad), the comfort of being guided by the very detailed and simple-to-follow directions in the labyrinthine underground system and feeling that the London subway system is superior to the one in Stockholm, at least speed-wise. Everything rushes back to me through photos and film, and through more abstract feelings as well. This was one of my best vacations ever, and I love it. From London to you: