This morning I got up early and met an e-quaintence of mine at Grand Central. About a year ago, I posted a request on a British usenet group for potential British penpals. No one ever responded to that ad, until this year. And it was someone from here!
So M and I met at the beautifully restored Grand Central Station. While waiting for the New Haven train to arrive, I was all but stalking a cutie who was far too handsome for his own good.
M arrived and we headed down to the Village. I brought along my photos from my trip to Scotland, Wales, and England last year, and we went to Tea and Sympathy, on Greenwich Avenue, to put us in a British mood.
The management of tea and sympathy are tough cookies, but I suppose it's for our own good. If your whole party is not present, you have to wait for them. You have to put up with smoking. If you don't like it, "on your bike!" they say. Also, it is pretty clear they don't want an ounce of malingering. The boss dispenses "thank you" in such a way that it is clear you are now expected to leave. Unlike many places, once they see the money out, they swoop down for it and bring the change at once.
At once is British for "right away."
But the food is good. M had the Welsh rarebit, which looked like a cross between a grilled cheese sandwich and a baseball mitt. (Yes, even I had one.) I had a big old country breakfast with eggs, grilled tomatoes, seven-grain toast, marmelade, jam, sausage, lemon tea, etc.
It was a gray and rainy day and we ducked into Starbucks for a few hours and looked at photos. It amazes me how you can sit in Starbucks for three hours and not buy a damn thing. And no one ever complains. Ever.
And that was my day. M went back to Connecticut and I went home. By the time I got home, I was caught in a veritable hailstorm. I ordered Chinese food. There was no way I was going back out there.
What I really like about the Internet is meeting all these people who never would have met one another otherwise. It's a great democratic leveller. Yada yada yada. I know. But most of the non-relatives I met in Britain are from the Internet. A little common sense keeps you safe. Plus, I left a full itinerary with Tony in case Helen Mirren of Prime Suspect finds my left foot washed up on the coast of East Anglia.