via @erinjeanne

June 4 I am holding my visa and I never want to let go of it.

June 10 I MADE IT! This tweet is coming to you from London (and not just the detainment office at Heathrow…REAL London)!

June 15 Thanks for the congratulatory beer @TheAndrewLang after my first day!

June 18 I love working in a place where we have midday celebratory champagne and are told to leave early due to the #WorldCup

June 25 On the VIP list for London’s largest summer fashion show tonight. My life is hard.

June 26 Did tears well up in my eyes when I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time? Yes. Did I just have an amazing day in Paris? Oui!

July 1 Newly addicted to UK Big Brother.

July 8 Just got home from Legally Blonde with @mogar07. Drinking Strongbows and reminiscing on an exciting week in London.

July 11 My feet hurt so badly I could cry. Sightseeing is wonderful but rough after a long night of dancing.

July 13 Spent all evening at the Swarovski Cyrstalized Lounge in Oxford Circus setting up for our Autumn/Winter launch event tomorrow. So excited!

July 21 Tonight @theandrewlang and I are making Ann Sathers pancakes with mix and sauce shipped all the way from Chicago. #comfortsofhome

July 23 After a hard day of pushing a press release on journalists yesterday it feels good to wake up to coverage this morning.

July 29 Lovely champagne and a beautiful gift from @Lucre__ to commemorate my (almost) last day. Thanks for a great summer!

August 1 “It’s like the Irish Jersey Shore in here.” Perfect description of this pub from another American at the bar.

August 4 Kissed the Blarney Stone today. Waiting for that ‘gift of eloquence’ to kick in.

August 8 Pale little Irish girls should not be allowed in the Grecian sun. Ouch!

August 11 Snorkeling in the Agean Sea is a pretty good way to spend a 21^st birthday, I think.

August 12 Even on a gloomy, rainy day I can’t how I’m going to say goodbye to London.

 

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I left Lucre after my last day of work a little teary-eyed but armed with a thoughtful gift and a glass of champagne as the put me in a taxi on the way to the airport. After a special encounter with a friendly man in the Aer Lingus executive lounge and a quick flight to Dublin, I met up with my dad for a week in our ancestors’ homeland. We toured a rainy Dublin, seeking shelter in colorful pubs with even more colorful patrons. We sipped Guinness straight from the factory, more delicious than even the Guinness in the pub down the street. We went to a “football” match expecting soccer only to find rugby and met many lifelong (and vulgar) fans.  We prayed for our safety driving too fast down the left side of small, winding country roads. We visited the Cliffs of Moeur and went spelunking in a cave.

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The title of this post is a line from the song “Defying Gravity”. I used it in the blog bio I created before I left for London, anticipating my solo adventures. Little did I know what wonderful solo adventures lied ahead of me.

I began my last week in London in the same way that I had started my adventure; alone. On Sunday morning after a wild night on the town with new friends I embarked on a solo journey across town to Primrose Hill in North London on a suggestion from my boss. I sat on the highest point of the hill, surrounded by families and couples soaking up some rare London sun, surveying an almost-birds eye view of the beautiful city I have come to know and love in two months.  I sat on the hill for hours eavesdropping on families enjoying their weekend, watching couples nap in the comfort of each other’s company, and mostly just begging the English sun to soak into my poor pale skin. Sitting on Primrose Hill by myself I couldn’t help but smile at how much I was actually enjoying it.

At the beginning of this summer I was not used to being alone. In my college environment, I am never far from a roommate to watch a movie with or a friend to meet up with for lunch. I can rarely even walk between classes without running into someone I know. To go from being surrounded by the comfort of loved ones to sleeping alone in a small dorm room, eating in cafes at a table for one, and only communicating with friends and family via Skype was a shock to my system. For weeks at the beginning of my summer I had a hard time adjusting to life on my own. I was lonely and scared, appalled at the situation I had gotten myself into. I spent too many nights Skyping across the Atlantic rather than exploring the city at my hands.

In time, my one London friend grew to a larger group, all students from my university, studying abroad for the summer. I am thankful to the people for not only providing me with much needed comforts of home but also for introducing me to London in the best ways possible. Without them I wouldn’t have discovered London’s hidden gems like the wonder of Sainsbury’s grocery store or eclectic outdoor music festivals. I never would have explored the city’s nightlife or fallen in love with sitting in Piccadilly Square after the clubs close in the early hours of the morning.

More importantly though, without the experience of exploring London with my new friends I would never have learned how much I like exploring on my own.

When I set off looking for London adventure by myself I can explore on my own terms. That’s how I’ve ended up pushing through crowds around Buckingham Palace on the queen’s birthday, spending an entire afternoon reading a book in Hyde Park, riding the Tube for fun, and cruising through the Victoria and Albert museum in just thirty minutes before abandoning it for a cupcake and glass of cold milk in the window of Hummingbird Bakery. When exploring on my own I found myself doing a lot more experiencing London than just seeing it.

Of course, I still got lonely and when I did I called up a friend to make pancakes with mix shipped from my favorite restaurant at home. But when I was ready to explore the only companion I needed was my Oyster card.

At the beginning of the summer I would have climbed to the top of Primrose Hill and sat for just a minute before my mind got wrapped in thoughts of homesickness until I could no longer see the beauty in front of me. Sitting on Primrose Hill at the end of the summer I smiled, proud of the great strides of maturity I had made in only just a couple months. As my little bottom became increasingly more uncomfortable on the hard ground of Primrose Hill I got up and retreated back to the Tube stop. On my way home I got off a couple stops earlier and wandered the rest of the way back to my dorm through Regent’s Park, without an agenda, simply enjoying my own company.

 

They speak another language over here. “British”, I’ll call it. “Proper English”, they’ll call it. Either way, I thought I would be fluent but I was terribly mistaken. Everyday, more than once a day, I have a “what the heck did he/she just say?!” moment. And although those moments still happen to me just as much as they did when I arrived a month and a half ago, I now often hear things come out of my mouth that sound very faintly British. So, after cursing “Oh, bugger!” when I chipped a nail today I decided to write this blog to introduce those of you in the States to some of my favorite new British phrases.

Cheers, mates!

1. Cheers: I have determined that there are absolutely no rules for using “Cheers”. “Cheers” can mean thanks (ex. “Cheers for sending that email, love.”). “Cheers” can mean goodbye (ex. “See you tomorrow! Cheers, mate!) and is often, I find, used as a sign off in emails. “Cheers” is sometimes a “here you go, now get out of my face” expression I get from customer service employees. And of course, “Cheers” is always used when enjoying a cold pint with friends.

2. Brilliant: Everything in London is “brilliant”. Whether it’s good, great, appreciated, or just smart, “brilliant” is always appropriate. And, if you’re cool, “brill” for short.

3. At sixes and sevens: Mom and I learned this term while in Bath and it perfectly suited many of our travel experiences. It means to be in state of disarray, confusion, and messy thoughts. (ex. On Monday I was in sixes and sevens trying to sort through a press release, make phone calls to journalists, and mail samples all at once.)

4. Knackered: tired (ex. After staying out at the Absolut Vodka Ice Bar until 2am and then catching a 6:22am train to Lyon I was completely knackered.”)

5. Sod: “Sod” is essentially every American curse word in one convenient three-letter package. (ex. “Oh, sod.”, “Sod it!”, “Sod off!”, “Sod you!” and even “That sodding sod!”)

6. Taking the piss: Americans notoriously find British humor offensive. “Taking the piss” means to be made fun of. British humor “takes the piss” out of people for laughs. Americans apparently just can’t deal.

7. Queue: a line, and when you’re standing in one you’re “queueing” (ex. Sarah, Andrew and I “queued” for 2 hours to get into a pub for the World Cup match.)

8. Posh: Though you may have heard the word before I guarantee you’ve never used it as much as the Brits do. It originally means high class but is used to describe anyone who is very trendy. (ex. My new Hunter wellies are so posh.)

9. Biscuits/Chips/Crisps/Muffins: This can get confusing, bear with me (another phrase I’ve picked up). Biscuits are cookies. Chips are french fries. Crisps are chips. Muffins are English muffins. I’ve yet to figure out the name for muffins. Stay tuned.

10. Fag: cigarette. On second thought, best not adopt this one into your American vocabulary.

After spending a few more days in Lyon with Linda, Megan joined me in London to end her summer abroad. This story deserves to be told from a first-hand perspective. Enjoy this guest post from Megan Ogar.

I, Megan Ogar, am a planner. So I obviously had a plan for my arrival to London last week. I would land at Gatwick airport at 10:30 p.m. and take the Gatwick Express into the city with enough time to take the tube to the hostel I had researched and booked prior to my departure from Spain.

As Erin once found out, though, London can have other plans in store. My flight came in late, of course, but I hopped on the Express and met Erin at the train station. Because my flight was late, the tube could only take us the first leg of our journey, and the night bus didn’t run to the location of my hostel. Erin, always one to save the day, hailed a cab, and we headed toward Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.

Let me press pause for a minute.

One of the pictures of the Hyde Park Hostel online. The picture is also framed and hung in the hostel's check-in area.

I’d been to London a few times before, and I was familiar with the Kensington Gardens area. I was careful in selecting where I stayed, not wanting to end up in the movie Hostel, so I used a booking site I trusted and carefully read reviews. The pictures for the Hyde Park Hostel looked nice.

Play.

As soon as our driver pulled up to our final destination, my stomach dropped. My research had failed me. The few letters left on the Hyde Park Hostel sign threatened to fall at any moment on the drunken hostel guests below, and Erin and I kicked aside beer cans and other miscellaneous items to make our way to the front desk.

Dingy, dirty and scary are the adjectives that hit me immediately upon entering. We also immediately decided that staying there for three nights was not an option if I wanted to live. As it was nearly 2 a.m. and Erin’s room had a strict no guest policy, I knew I’d have to tough it out for at least one night. Erin, being the gracious, wonderful, amazing human that she is, offered to book a bed for that night so I wouldn’t stay alone.

This is what the hostel really looked like.

I asked to cancel my last two nights. Front Desk Man said he didn’t have that authority and I’d have to wait for the morning crew. Erin asked for a bed in my room. Front Desk Man said there were two empty beds but they were reserved. I pulled out my credit card to pay for my bed. Front Desk Man said they only accepted cash. Add sketchy to the adjective list.

No place to lock up my belongings, so Erin, wearing her halo once again, took all of my luggage back to her room.

Front Desk Man gave me my singular bed sheet and room key, and I made my way up to my room on the fourth floor, cringing and repeating to myself the whole way, “I can do this, I can do this.”

A stained mattress and half-naked man greeted me upon opening the door.

I couldn’t do this.

I sat in the lobby wrapped in my singular bed sheet researching places to stay for the next three hours. My options didn’t look good – everything was either booked, too expensive or more of the same sketchball variety. I decided to brave the room once more for some shuteye, but my attempt was fruitless. I clung to my purse for dear life, and my eyes sprang open anytime someone in the 12-person room moved. I was out of there before the tube even opened.

At Erin’s dorm, I was able to change, gather my belongings and Erin even made me a sack lunch. “Play nice with the other homeless kids,” she reminded me as we parted.

Being homeless in London really isn’t so awful. I ate my lunch on a bench outside of Kensington Palace, took a nap in the Natural History Museum and spent several hours in the Victoria and Albert Museum, where they have free Wi-Fi.

Megan and the lunch I packed for her

I spent the day contacting anyone and everyone I knew who had ever been in London to see if they knew a place I could stay. Erin and her mother, from whom she must receive some of her angelic qualities, also went on the search.

The later in the day it became, and Erin and I decided that my best option was an all-women’s hostel, which was located on top of a Russian nightclub and restaurant. Let’s face it, when you’re homeless, your options aren’t great.

Just as Erin and I were about to check in for another sure-to-be-interesting night, a miracle happened. A few members of my sorority from Stephens University had seen my homeless Facebook updates. They were studying in London and insisted I come stay with them. I’ve never been more relieved or more grateful.

Thanks to Erin and my friends from Stephens, I was able to enjoy my last two days in London, ending my own study abroad experience with a bang.

And to be real, I may have been homeless, but at least I didn’t get deported.

London is great. I love it. I really do. But homesickness is inevitable and sometimes it hits me hard. So, after my mom returned to the States a few weeks ago and I was feeling very far from home I got on Facebook and quickly planned a weekend trip to meet up with some of my best friends for a small dose of the familiarity of home.

Megan has spent her summer studying in Madrid and Linda in Lyon. Miraculously we all found a weekend of mutual availability and booked tickets to Lyon, France. Ah, much healthier than my habit of eating McDonalds when I’m missing the States.

The trip from London to Lyon was a breeze.

Stop. Did you really believe that? Has travelling ever been uneventful for me? Of course not! My train left at 6:22am on Saturday so naturally I made the wise decision to stay out at the Absolut Vodka Ice Bar until 2am the night before. Even on just two hours of sleep I managed to wake up, hail a taxi, and get to St. Pancras train station in plenty of time. I was so impressed with myself that I went on a search for a victory hot chocolate. As I was walking past customs I stopped dead in my tracks and shouted an expletive. I forgot my passport. I went into crisis mode and ran outside to jump in another taxi. I paid a fortune to have the cabbie drive me back to my building, wait for me outside, and then drive me back to the train station. Luckily, he sensed my urgency and sped through the deserted  streets of London. I made it to the check-in counter with two minutes to spare. The ride to Paris was equally exciting. We hit a terrible storm that knocked a power line onto the tracks, stopping us behind seven other trains for over two hours. I missed my connecting train in Paris and was booked on another one. In Paris I suffered through the language barrier and was seriously cheated out of ten Euros by a greedy taxi driver. Finally, I made it to Lyon. Linda had given me a wrong phone number for her, though and I wandered around the station for 30 minutes before waking up the world’s best boyfriend to login into my Facebook to find the correct number. Finally, Linda and I were reunited with a giant bear hug and Megan joined a few hours later after her own travel nightmare.

Linda, the perfect tour guide, showed me the historical beauty and natural charm of a true southern French city. We enjoyed French pizza at an outdoor cafe, took a tram up a very steep hill to the Basilica and got an aerial view of the gorgeous city, watched street performers, did some shopping in the city’s center Place Bellcour, and enjoyed a pint on an outdoor patio while a brass trio played “La Vie en Rose”. Perfect.

Linda and I fountain jumping at Bellcour

Once we met up with Megan we went to a bar where Linda had made friends with the Canadian bartender, Angus. Quite the charmer, he kept the beer coming and even tempted us with Jagerbombs (don’t worry Mom, I didn’t partake). Once Angus put the three of us on DJ duty the party had officially started. After the bar closed Linda’s host sister picked us up and took us to a nightclub where we met up with all of her friends. More free drinks and LOTS of dancing! The night took an interesting turn when a stripper began her routine in the middle of the dancefloor…in a six-foot tank of water. Not used to the French clubbing culture, Linda, Megan and I fell asleep around 3:30 or 4am but stayed til close at 5am. Going to bed at 6:00am after only 2 hours of sleep the night before was another unwise idea on my part.

Megan, Linda, Angus and I

In the morning…um, afternoon…when we woke up we joined Linda’s host family and their extended family for a barbeque in their beautiful garden. I practiced my limited French skills and enjoyed authentic French food, dessert, and wine. Did you know that Lyon is the gastronomy capital of France?

After a whirlwind weekend together it was time to say goodbye to Linda and Megan. Though I thanked them for the fun weekend I’m not sure either could understand how much it truly meant to me to spend time with my friends. Both of them have been in study abroad programs with other students. While I’ve met friends in London, coming home from work to be alone all night every night is hard and I really needed that time with people who truly know and love me. It gave me the strength to make it through the second half of this experience.

We could have done without the stripper, though.

Only Lyon

Based on my Facebook pictures, tweets, and blog posts you may believe that I’m spending the summer skipping around Europe. Well, that’s partially true. But on Mondays through Fridays from 9:00am to 5:30pm I promise I really do go to work. I’ve been an intern at Lucre for almost three weeks and in that time have already gained invaluable experience.

If you’re new to my blog I’ll bring you up to speed: Lucre is one of the fastest growing public relations agency in the UK with about 50 clients and two offices in London and Leeds. They’re a generalist agency meaning that they have clients in many industries including, but not limited to, insurance, fashion, home goods, hotels, jewelry, and online shopping. I have been working on collecting and mounting coverage, doing research for pitches, helping plan events for many different clients and have even attended a magazine’s breakfast briefing for PRs. However, from day one I have been mostly focusing on a client called The Earring Boutique. My day-to-day intern duties for this client include writing press releases, gathering samples to send to journalists who request them for photo shoots and calling journalists to ask if they to be sent any need high resolution images for features pieces. So, what does this mean? Well, when you see a pair of hoop earrings from The Earring Boutique in a feature in Grazia magazine this week stating “Gold is hot for the summer!” it’s because last week I wrote a snappy press release about The Earring Boutique’s summer collection of gold earrings, sent it to hundreds of journalists in the UK and Grazia picked it up.

It’s a bit surreal to think that even as a lowly PR intern I have that kind of influence over fashion magazines. Me, the girl who wore the same pair of Target leopard print flats everyday until there were holes in them…and then bought a replacement pair and started the vicious cycle all over again. Today, I sent samples to a photographer doing a shoot with Sienna Miller. I decided the earrings that Sienna Miller will possibly wear in a big name magazine. How cool is that? What’s even cooler is seeing my hard work pay off. Hours of writing, editing and reediting press releases, carefully selecting samples and images to send to journalists, and being diligent about keeping in touch with them all adds up to great coverage for the client. Even just a picture and one line in Grazia magazine makes me feel very accomplished…and it makes the client happy too.

The most important thing I've learned so far: always say you're VIP, whether or not it's actually true.

Of course, it’s not all work and no play. My job certainly has its perks. Last Friday night my boss and I joined a new client, a very young and unbelievably hip fashion designer, at Clothes Show Live, London’s largest summer fashion show. VIP, of course. We sat third row from the runway and saw British television and music stars present and perform before a seriously impressive fashion show. I smiled and giggled and snapped pictures like a little girl for two hours straight. It was a one-in-a-lifetime experience. But the fun didn’t end there. As R. Kelley so eloquently put it, “After the party there’s the after party.” We jumped on a coach bus to a London nightclub where free drinks were being served to the guests of Clothes Show Live. God bless the VIP list.

I’m so lucky to have this opportunity (and not just because of the occasional free mojitos). Because Lucre is small in numbers but big in clients I am able to get experience working on many different kinds of accounts and learning every detail of conducting good PR. When this experience is over at the end of the month I’ll have thick portfolio of writing samples (with REAL coverage) and a long list of skills attained. I’m working hard and learning a lot and mostly, dreaming about the day I’ll be able to have a PR career of my own.

I can’t even count how many times last week Mom and I were asked, “Why are you going to France for just a day?” Apparently the American assumption that Europeans just travel all around the continent in the same way we travel all around the country is wrong. But, when you’re committed to having the summer of a lifetime, when you’re just a short train ride away, and when you’ve always dreamed of going to Paris with your mom, why wouldn’t you go to Paris for the day?

And so, we did.

After a foolishly late night, Mom woke me up at 6am to catch a 8am Eurostar train to Paris from St. Pancrass station. The ride was lovely with full breakfast service, hot towels (fancy!), and decadent hot chocolate. My only complaint was that the ride through the Chunnel was not as exciting as I had been imagining it to be for twenty plus years. In just over two hours, voila we were in Paris!

Once we left the station Mom and I were so excited to finally be there (and together!) that we got a little lost wandering around in amazement. We quickly recovered by finding a Metro station, mastering the ticket machine and maps, and rode underground to the tourist office. Now, before you get the wrong idea, I promise you neither my mother nor I are supporters of “touristy” things. We prefer to discover a city by getting lost, mingling with locals, and trying our very hardest to never look like foreigners. BUT…when you have only seven hours in Paris the best way to see everything is a tour bus. So, swallowing our pride, we joined our fellow ugly Americans and hopped on a neon green double decker tour bus..earphones plugged into the audio tour and everything.

Mom and I looking cool with our tour bus headphones.

Our first stop was the Louvre and oh, what a place to begin. But, before I could fully appreciate the beauty of the museum campus I turned around to see the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen: the Eiffel Tower. Call me cheesy, call me predictable, but tears welled up in my eyes when I saw the landmark that had previously only existed to me in postcards, movies, fantasies, and my high school French textbook.

Mom and I wandered around the pyramid, cooled off by the fountain, took some one arm out self portraits, and hopped back on the bus to continue our whirlwind tour of Paris. Up next was a beautiful ride down the Seine River to our next stop at Notre Dame where, who would have guessed, I ran into my  friend Andrew! It is a small world after all. Mom and I stopped at a cafe called Quasimodo near Notre Dame (of course) for our first French crepes. It was also the poor waitress’ first day making French crepes so we cheered her on as best we could. In the end, my sucre limon (sugar and lemon) crepe was divine. Getting away from the city’s hustle and bustle, we wandered through a flower market to take in the serenity. No time to spare, we hopped back on the bus and made our way down the Champs-Élysées with as much determination as Lance Armstorng in the final stretch of the Tour de France. Circling around past the seriously impressive Arc de Triomphe, down charming French streets, past families sharing un déjeuner (lunch) at sidewalk cafes, finally we approached it…the Eiffel Tower. I got completely gidded and snapped about 50 pictures of it at every chance that I could.

C'est moi et la Tour Eiffel!

Getting off the bus and approaching the massive structure was even more emotional. About 30 more pictures taken, matching Eiffel Tower bracelets bought, and we were back on the bus again, this time on the serious mission to find lunch. I ordered un croque monsieur (a grilled ham and cheese sandwich) because it’s what I used to fake order when practicing our food vocabulary in French class. It was just as delicious as my classmates and I had always imagined it would be. On the bus again (only a little lost finding the right stop) we headed back to the train station. For the first time in our London/Bath/Paris adventures Mom and I were not only on time for the train, but early! We celebrated with Haggen Dazs, obviously. Confused as to where we were actually supposed to get the train, we ended up missing it because we were in the wrong place. The best laid plans, right? Despite a screaming child on the downgraded train car back to London, sleep came easy and even easier when I finally laid my head (and my poor aching feet) in bed that night.

Though I have the pictures, train ticket stubs and bus maps to prove it, even in writing this post I feel that I’m simply recalling a wonderful dream I had. The trip was such a whirlwind, so perfect and so magical that I truly can’t believe that it actually happened. I’ll be sure to get back to Paris one day, to do it right this time, finding the locals’ favorite spots and actually exploring the museums and monuments. But for now, I may be the happiest girl in the world to be able to say, “Yes, I’ve been to Paris. Parce que pourquoi non?”

Surprisingly, Emma Thompson was not even the best person I saw this week! On Thursday my mom, who is my favorite travel companion, joined me in London. Though she says the purpose of her visit is business I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s here to play with me. And play, we have!

On Friday night I met up with Mom who surprised me with a new duvet and pillow case to “Erin-ize” my pathetic looking dorm room. In walking from the tube to my dorm we got lost in the shopping of King’s Road that I had found so difficult to avoid until now. Of course, I picked up a pair of Hunter wellies (American translation: rain boots) so that I am one more step to becoming as Euro-chic as Kate Moss.

showing off my own unruly mane outside 'Hair'

We must have gotten a little too lost in shopping as we had to scramble to get to the theatre where Mom had bought us tickets for Hair. If we had known that we would be sitting directly behind Emma Thompson and her family we would not have been so uncouth as to arrive fifteen minutes late. Hair was great, perhaps because of the music and charismatic actors, but perhaps because of the full-frontal nudity at the finale of Act 1 and the weed smoking on stage in Act 2. I promise, if you see it, it won’t be like anything you’ve ever seen on stage before. After the show Mom and I found a lovely French cafe where we shared fried Brie and soft bread and finished off with a trio of creme brulees while we watched the horror of drunk and angry England fans from the window (another tie, not The Three Lions’ best showing this year).

On Saturday, after an ugly battle with The Underground’s multiple weekend closures, I missed the bus for my visa sponsor organization day trip to Bath and Stonehenge. To console myself I found Krispy Kremes, an American comfort, for breakfast and retreated to my dorm where I slipped into a deep coma. I suppose the week and a half of constant exploring and starting a new job on top of terrible jetlag had caught up with me and my body simply demanded sleep. The beauty, I’ve found, in spending the whole summer exploring a new town is that you can afford a lazy Saturday here and there.

Determined to make up for missed adventures, Mom and I hopped a train to Bath on Sunday morning. Of course, because the weekend was full of imperfections, I spilled an entire bottle of orange juice down my brand new skirt just 20 minutes before getting on the train. With some expert soaking and dabbing with water by my mom and 30 pence to use the hand dryers in the station’s public bathroom (silly Europe!) I got on the train looking as perfectly Kate Moss-y as I did when I got dressed in the morning.

Mom and I loved Bath. It’s a beautiful small town 100 miles from London built around the temples and hot spring baths built by the ancient Romans. Though littered with tourists, the town had a quiet and serene sense about it that was a nice escape from the stress and hustle of London.

Mom and I outside of Bath Abbey

We window shopped down winding cobblestone alleys with funny names, ate lunch in a sunny, cheerful traditional English restaurant, visited the Jane Austen Centre, wandered around a park listening to a brass band in the gazebo, and ate ice cream cones in the grass. It was warm and sunny and the perfect way to compensate for an imperfect Saturday.

After a quiet train ride home we slipped into mom’s hotel bed early exhausted after a long weekend and ready to start a new week of working and exploring. And Emma Thompson? Well, we’ll be sending her the screenplay of my mother’s movie biography soon. I think Kate Moss could pass for Emma Thompson’s daughter, don’t you?