The end of my fake London routine

London Travel Blog

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    Today was my last Alexander Technique lesson in the city with Mr. Anthony Paul Kingsley. I will miss working with him, and also my attempts at this particular central London routine: pretending that I’m going to work or a dreadfully important appointment while taking the tube from the Picadilly line to the Central line at Holburn, acting like I’ve done this for years and rolling my eyes at the tourists who get confused about the entrances to the Central line at bottom of the long, wide brigade of escalators, then getting off at Bond Street, perhaps to grab a sandwich and my favorite juice from the small Prêt-a-Manger booth on the way out, and then, realizing that (as usual) I’ve arrived much to early for my lesson and that I must go shoppini beforehand (because, after all, I’m already on Oxford Street, and how else ought one pass one’s time around there?), so I run through all these stores gawking at all the cute clothes I can’t afford, and before I know it, I check my ghetto green-screen phone and see that I’ve only got a few minutes before class starts and that I’d better get a move on, so I run over to the alley behind the “I heart London” knick-knacks and pashmina stands and and go into the Wellness Center, taking a few breaths and shedding some layers as I spy on the ballet dancers in in the entry room, and then to run up the stairs to the fresh-smelling lobby, check in with the French lady, and proceed to sit in the waiting room and look at the extremely random assortment of books on the shelves adjacent to me as I wonder why I always try to get there so early when he is nearly always late... after learning a lot, feeling vulnerable, and shelling out an ungodly amount of pounds, I bid him farewell, and walk out feeling nice and light and extremely proud and motivated, and wonder if anyone else is noticing how strong and tall I must look as I walk back to the tube station, which I then enter and descend into the underground layers of concrete with hundreds of others, and squeeze into a car to sit back on the tube once again, nibbling on my Prêt-a-Manger goodies as I hope that I’m not grossing anyone out by eating next to them, and pondering my life and my acting progress (I seem to do all my important thinking on the tube-- I don’t know what I’ll do without it) while I scratch thoughts down on pieces of paper and shove them back into my purse, all before I get back towards my neck of the woods when the car starts to get lonelier and lonelier, and I start getting anxious about what the heck I’m going to do for dinner that night.

    Good times. 
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photo by: ulysses