To Be, or Not to Be...A Londoner

Picture this...



A vacation of high tea in splendid grandeur, surrounded by romantic renaissance architecture, gestures of European affection toward pastry treats, and Shakespearean worthy adventures in the Cotswolds. Bored yet? Envious yet? Shall I continue...yet?


Honestly, Los Angeles seems like a fetus compared to such a cultured city of mouth watering fashion, highly performed British speech and note-worthy theater outings in the overseas market of London town. I'm almost embarrassed to talk about what LA has to offer compared to what I have just experienced!


After having taken my extravagant adventure in order to find the Hugh Grant to my Julia Roberts in Notting Hill, I was also cordially surprised to find that I could possibly become quite the alcoholic in a society based around having a pub on every corner. How fun! Ten pounds later and I'm re-thinking that thought. Perhaps London-born folk aren't that healthy, but they sure know how to enjoy this sordid short life we all live. Remember, I come from the land that makes starvation in Africa look like child's play, and enjoying life means hitting the trendy clubs where "The Hills" ladies "might" appear. Ooo La La-uren Conrad!


Why isn't LA like Europe? What is wrong with having a bit of culture, history, and God forbid, CLASS. Europeans have this way of housing a secret affinity for cultured awareness. The most surprising of individuals can tell you the history of a 15th century pub owned by Henry VIII back in the days where vulgarity was a virtue, and gluttonous stuffings of the face were fancifully rewarded, but the pub still lives regardless of either one getting in the way.


I had a marvelous host though, which makes all the difference in the world. Sharing a pint of Bitter, my new favorite drink, with the Hugh Grant of Hugh Grants (before Devine Brown) fulfills that European fantasy, doesn't it? Forget Hollywood glamour, I'd rather spend time with a dapper commonwealth chap ready to play a drinking game before a cultured theater event. The best of both worlds!


The Cotswolds:
I'm sure the romantic fantasy of moving to a small sheep town emulates mouth watering notions of Jane Austen's Wentworth Miller coming to rescue you ladies on his white horse and I have to admit, it isn't far from the truth! Could have sworn I was courted to milk a goat one morning followed by a jaunt to the country estate. All in one day? Why, but of course!


Lets pretend for a moment that you have tickets to a horse race. I'm not talking about the sleazy Hollywood race track and casino, I'm talking about something along the lines of THE ROYAL ASCOTT. Don't get too excited, I wasn't there, but I did see the posh folk who happened to be dressed in their finest racing tweeds that morning at tea. While their high Brit greetings of "darling" and "chap" perfumed the morning's aura of seemingly having just arrived from tea with the Queen, I was...well...trying not to feel embarrassed, nor stick out like a sore thumb by reference of my American drawl asking for more milk in my English Breakfast...tea, that is. I did "try" to resume my famous posh impression of Bridget Jones' accent several times while embarrassing my host, I'm sure! Brit in my last life? Perhaps.


Other than the beautiful Cotswolds, High Tea at the Wosley (doesn't that sound posh?) and splendid hours at The Victoria Pub where Princess Di used to date young chaps, one must wonder if this is how Londoners actually live. Perhaps this is the UK's version of a mature Disneyland, minus Mickey and Minnie unless those are the names of your race horses at Ascott.


I can always go back when I finally get sick of rummaging through my glamorous life in LA. I make the most of pretending to be a movie star half of the time, but Europe is different. I didn't have to pretend to be anyone but myself. Such a satisfying bonus of contemplation and self reflection.

Hey London...time for tea!
Ms. Heels