A Lady in London

When I first moved to London, everything was expensive. It wasn’t just because the exchange rate was severely out of my favor, either. Things were more expensive across the board. Especially taxis. Going just a few blocks cost a Russian oligarch’s fortune.

My boyfriend developed a theory awhile back that black cab drivers must be rolling in cash with the high fares they charge. His theory was supported when we took a walk through the tony neighborhood of Highgate one afternoon, where we spotted several gorgeous houses with black cabs parked out front.

What does this have to do with a gallery, you ask? I’m getting there.

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Last time I traveled to Barcelona I was 18 years old. I had no knowledge of Gaudi, no passion for food, and no limit to the amount of clothing I was willing to purchase from the stores in Barri Gotic.

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My boyfriend loves to complain that I don’t blog about him enough.  Sometimes when he finishes reading a post, he turns to me and says: “I was only mentioned three times!  At this rate you’ll have forgotten who I am by next week!”

After wiping the giant crocodile tears from his cheeks, I give him a big hug, make him a nice bowl of chicken soup and—no, that’s actually a complete lie.  I just tell him that I was planning on forgetting about him much sooner than next week but that it’s kinda hard when he keeps leaving dishes in the sink.

Nobody ever said relationships were easy.

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I don’t usually spend my free time in cemeteries. It’s not that I have anything in particular against gravestones or funerary urns. It’s just…well…it’s just that they creep me out a little bit.

On Sunday, however, I made an exception. Braving the frigid London cold, my boyfriend and I took a post-lunch stroll across Hampstead Heath into Highgate.

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One of my favorite things about living in a city that is a cultural center is that great art comes to me as opposed to the other way around. Having been on travel hiatus for two straight weekends, I’ve had some time to catch up on the various art exhibitions around London. That’s to say nothing of my December addiction to the Natural History Museum, which I visited no less than four times in two weeks, and January’s V&A obsession, which has seen me there three weekends in four.

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Snow!  Lots and lots of snow!  More snow than London has seen in 18 years!

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