The Road to Glasgow...

...Is paved with Beafeaters, gay bars, and Kiefer Sutherland. Or so the old stories say. And I’m here to tell you that the legends are true. Beafeaters don’t eat beef, gay bars do have velvet wallpaper, and Kiefer Sutherland doesn’t mind having a door or two slammed in his face. How do I know? I know because I have traveled the road to Glasgow, and I have lived the stories.

Okay, so it sounds much more melodramatic than it actually was, but it WAS a good time between Christmas and New Years. When we last talked I had called it a night (mainly because it was a night, and not a buffalo), and lay down for some rest before picking Kristen up from the train station.

Our story continues from the cold, metal benches of Paddington Station in London. The benches are cold because the entire place is pretty much open to the elements, and we’d soon be granted a white, albeit brief, Christmas. I had just returned from walking Kelly’s parents to the Heathrow Express (call it fate that we saw each other there) and settled onto one of those cold benches to await Kristen. She was not in the best of moods when she got there, but traveling 8+ hours on a plane and arriving only to realize you forgot your camera, and your boyfriend’s contact information, can do that to a person. It was so nice to see her, and carry ALL her bags, but it’s only fair b/c in them were my presents!

We made our way to the Strand Palace hotel in the heart of the action, near Parliament, the London Eye, Leicester Square, Covent Garden, and Piccadilly Circus. Basically near everything I thought she’d like to see. We got ourselves checked in and, once in the room (which wasn’t too shabby), exchanged gifts (get your mind out of the gutter – ‘sides, that’s none of your business). Between her and my mother’s gifts you’d think they don’t want me leaving the flat. Kristen got me the first two seasons of “Stargate SG-1” (my geek gift) and all THREE “Lord of the Rings” movies (though the first two are going back in exchange for season three of “Stargate SG-1” since I already had them). Plus I got a travel blanket, a sweater (I asked for a moaner), and cologne. On top of that she had some stuff waiting for me back at my flat that, until I opened them, I had no clue what they were. I’ll tell you about those, and the other 2 gifts I’m still waiting for, later.

We settled in for a quick nap as it snowed outside. Yes, we actually napped. After that, and some showers, it was time to hit the town. I won’t detail everything, but we went for a lovely, photo-filled walk around the River Thames, visiting spots like the National Portrait Museum, Yo! Sushi, the Tower Bridge, and in to a nice place on the water for some drinks and grub. We were both cold, and Kristen was quite the trooper, for suffering through my photography (though many were corrupted somehow upon download – bummer).

Here are some that survived:




From there we met up with Derek and Kelly, and two of their friends for the Ceremony of the Keys. But somehow I lost the tickets between the restaurant and the front gate. Luckily the nice Beafeater remembered there was a party of ten (I over-estimated) on the guest list and let us in. We got to see the ceremonial closing of the Tower of London, and the transfer of the gate keys. This is a process that has been going on for a long, long time (though probably without the prying eyes of dozens of tourists and one, quite upset, autistic child). It was a pretty cool experience, and it was free. I’d recommend it. After that it was time for bed.

The following morning we slept in. I’ll say no more. I awoke to find that, not only did I lose the tickets the previous night, I also lost my sunglasses (my FAVORITE sunglasses), but I think they were stolen. No worries. It was off to the British Museum. This place is home to the Rosetta Stone, and so much more. I’d show you pictures but they were all in the batch of those that got corrupted. But I will say this: you should go. We spent the evening taking another stroll around London, getting some nice shots of Big Ben and Parliament at sunset, and in the rain.

Here are those:






It was time to finish our evening with a few pints of brew, which were quite delicious. I’ve turned Kristen on to 1664, which is a good beer from Kronenberg. On our way home yours truly needed to use a restroom so Kristen steers us into “Halfway to Heaven” or, as she called it, “Highway to Heaven” which in a minute you’ll know what highway that is. We take a seat and I head downstairs (most pubs in England have their toilets in the basement) and make my way to the restroom. There are AIDS awareness flyers everywhere and pictures of scantily clad men, too. That’s when it hit me, the wet smack of a gay man’s penis on my forehead. Okay, not really, and thank God for that, but what did hit me was the realization that Kristen had taken us to a gay bar, which turns out to be a recurring talent of hers. I get back upstairs and the first words out of both or our mouths, at precisely the same time are, “I think we’re in a gay bar.” If the pictures on the wall weren’t enough, the fact that there was only one other woman (and I use the term loosely – she was build like Rocky) in the bar besides Kristen helped, and the velvet paisley wallpaper took it over the top. But the beer was good and my bladder was empty.

It was one more stop in this quaint little Italian restaurant/bar for a few vodka tonics before home. Kristen immediately fell in love with the Italian bartender, who was literally fresh off the boat, and also from her favorite part of Italy: Tuscany. I couldn’t get her to hush up long enough to get another drink. After a few drinks I had to pry them off each other (not really) and make our way to the hotel, and that’s when it happened. I slammed the door to the hotel in Kiefer Sutherland’s face.

I was still cranky from the loss of my sunglasses, and a little tipsy to boot, so let me explain. You know when you’re approaching a set of doors and someone is following you in, but you don’t know if you should hold the door for them. They’re either close enough to you to force you to be polite, or they’re far enough away that it’s just a waste of time? But then there’s that little bit of middle ground where the coin could fall either way, and you’re stuck? Well, that’s where he was, and like I said, I was cranky, so sorry, Kiefer. Granted I didn’t know it at the time. I mean, what would he be doing staying in our hotel, where you can’t get your toilet to flush, but can hear your neighbor’s working just fine, and where the buses rattle your windows. But Kristen starts FLIPPING out whispering gibberish to me, which I finally decipher to be, “Kiefer Sutherland just walked in behind us.” I’m like, “You mean the guy with two bags who I let the door shut in his face?” That’s the one. I slowed and pulled to the side to let him pass and sure enough, it was he. It became a running joke the rest of the week where I would say I slammed the door in Christian Slater’s face, or Kevin Bacon, or anyone with a particularly K sounding name.

The next morning (we’re now on Thursday, December 29th by the way) was spent packing our bags and rushing to the train station, where we were to take the Heathrow Express to the airport. Time to fly to Glasgow. And time did fly, so fast. So fast, in fact, we were late, the help at British Airways was rude, and we made our plane with less than a minute to spare after lugging ALL of our luggage to the terminal. Hurry up and wait. Turns out the plane was late in taking off anyway, but I will say this: man, were those leather seats comfortable. The plane was off the ground, I was finishing my third Dan Brown novel, and the next stop was Glasgow.