My ticket was no help this time because even if the date were on there, I didn’t find it legible. I wasn’t even sure it was still Monday.

In the space of five minutes prior to boarding this bus (yes, I’m on another bus writing another entry) I happened to perform three good deeds–well, there actions upon others, hopefully to their advantage. First, I gave my taxi driver a 40p tip, which I suppose was nice of me because he smiled. I’ve been in a taxi cab maybe twice before in my life and didn’t do the paying either time. I hadn’t planned on taxiing, but there was only a quarter of an hour left before my bus left, and I didn’t think I could walk that far that quickly. So I searched the line of cars approaching me for a cab with an empty backseat, realizing as I did that this is the purpose of those signs that light up on top of cabs. Spotting one, I made eye contact with the driver while plunging my arm out. As if by some act of conjuring, the cab pulled over and stopped. I tentatively reached for the door, looking to the driver for affirmation, just to make sure he wasn’t simply stopping for traffic. He seemed to give the slightest nod. I stepped gingerly into the back seat and then I said, “Victoria Coach Station.: With a nod, he stuck his hand out the window, made a U-turn against lanes of full traffic, and spend off down the road. I had hailed my first cab!

After he dropped me off, and I had given him 3 pounds of the 2.60 pounds he charged me, I entered the now quite familiar Victoria Coach Station and made my way to collect my bag from left luggage. As I pressed myself into the continually moving human mass that inhabits those portions of the station not barricaded by seats, I saw a teenage kid walking toward me with his shirt tail visible through his open trousers zipper. As it happened, the two of us were tossed together rather closely as we passed, so I took the opportunity to whisper, “Fly’s open,” close to his ear. Then I kept walking, as I’m sure he did too, though I didn’t turn around to check. I felt bad ruining his apparent aplomb, as the blind seer (don’t you love that word combination?) probably did while confronting Oedipus. But the kid had a dove pinned on his jacket, so I figure I owed it to him as an older sister. If out of sadism for no other reason.

From there I collected my bag, then not finding Tunbridge Wells on the departure list monitors, I went over to the departure information desk. I’ve been to that desk three times now, and this was the first time it was to ask about my departure. Ahead of me was a man talking to the agent. As he turned to go, a wad of paper fell to the ground, including what appeared to be a 5 Franc note. I picked it up and grabbed the man’s arm, handing it to him when he turned around. He said something I didn’t understand, so I pointed to the ground. He nodded and took the papers.

I’m not sure the wad even belonged to him as there were several people standing at the desk. In that regard, I’m not sure if any of my actions can be classified as good deeds, since the boy surely didn’t want to hear what i had to say, even if he did understand it. I’m not even sure a fly is called a fly in England. And a tip is a tip, though I”m not sure how much one is supposed to tip a taxi driver. But I could have had a good lunch for 3 pounds, and instead I didn’t have anything, but this was because I was running late for my bus, having disembarked the double deckered tour bus early to duck into a store that sold bulletproof jackets and spy equipment.

I’d already spent 12 pounds on the bus tour. Yeah, what do I do to spend time before my coach leaves? I climb on a bus. I’m glad I did though. I didn’t even have time to go on one of the four lines. The yellow line was neat because I was the only one on it. A whole bus to myself! The guide (it was his first day on the yellow line) didn’t bother with the microphone and just sat and talked to me about the city as we rode around on top. That was fun. He’s paying for night classes at law school by being a tour guide. I wished I could have tipped him and all my other drivers and guides, but this “student” skips lunches to save pounds. Makes me want to be actually in the position of making money. Ah, well. There was the taxi driver at least.

In any case, I have seen London. And the more I see, the more I like it. ‘Course, I wouldn’t want to live there because with the kind of salary I’d make, I’d be living in some dirty hole in the worst part of town. Unless I cooked for Mary Alice. Hmmm…

She and James picked me up at the station yesterday. It took us half an hour to find each other. Unfortunately, I wasn’t by my gate exactly when she came by. I saw my first Cyber Cafe (it was even called that) at the station, though at 25p a minute, I wasn’t about to try it out. I also got a hold of Chris and found out about routes to Tunbridge Wells. I was just deciding not to stand in line to book a seat right then when James poked his head in the door. They took me back to their town house, which is just big enough for me to sleep on the fold out couch. We had some parsnip soup and sandwiches and then vegged and read the paper. I may have to start getting London papers from time to time when I get back, just to keep up on British fashion, humor, and wit.

I don’t always get British humour, whether because of idiom or just not being able to understand what a fast speaking person is saying. Sometimes I have to see a billboard 3 or 4 times before I finally get the joke, if at all. As one article in the Sunday paper said, here even McDonalds is forced to make ironic ads.

When I had exhausted every aspect of the Independent (“I got it because it wasn’t quite as bulky as the others,” confessed James), I opened the Wilsons’ beautiful stand up piano. It had that neato middle pedal that slides over and dampens all the strings. I activated it like Mullek showed me and started playing away. I practiced newer stuff, tried to recall old tunes, and experimented a lot, though it all sounded good, since the damper hid most mistakes. I don’t know how long I played, at least an hour, but I’d been playing in my mind, well, listening, for the past… day? It seemed longer. Then I stopped playing and got a glass of water. James, who had been sitting in the next room reading the paper, remarked he wished he had recorded some of it, “It’s so peaceful.” He plays by ear himself, so it it was special to hear him say that.

That evening we attended services at their church. St. Marks is a very free Anglican church that meets in a refurbished old church building. Behind the bass and saxophone players wearing jeans and the overhead showing Matt Redmon choruses were beautiful, old stained glass windows. There was a very unstructured (refreshingly) prayer time “led” by a chick with a nose ring, followed by sharing by whoever wanted to go up and speak for a few minutes. One of the many young professionals who made up the congregation (He’s a psychiatrist,) Mary Alice whispered to me) got up and told about weeding in his garden now that he’s living in a house–with three other roommates. He said as he was pulling weeds he though how much more rewarding it would be if he had something to work toward, flowers and beauty to look forward to instead of pointlessly ripping out what he didn’t want there. “Then God said to me, ‘I feel the same way.’” If we focus on Him and what He is achieving in our lives instead of dwelling on eradicated sin from our hearts, it will be so much easier to become who He is making us to be.

The sharing time was followed by a message by the vicar. The best thing about Anglican services is that the sermons are so short. It was an incredibly well thought out and put together sermon. Of course, I’m much more keen on quietly delivered, intellectual sermons than I am on hellfire and brimstone red-faced diatribes.

Afterward I looked over, and there was Sam! After coffee and chatting with some girl named Nic, Sam invited me to the pub with several others from church. Now that’s my kind of communion. I had a half pint of whatever that house served specially, sat next to the nose-fringed prayer leader and practiced being an extrovert. Okay, Okay… I was practicing being less introverted.