Three things.

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Thing one.

Last night I finished class, was starving, cold and ready to come home, only to find that my train was cancelled. I had to then take a different train into London Bridge, get on the tube to Waterloo, and then take another train to Clapham Junction. Keep in mind, this all at 9pm. I'm hungry and tired. I did however, find it amusing, that despite all of this, I kept catching myself skipping through the various stations (well..not really skipping with the broken foot), feeling pretty awesome, and thinking, "I'm in London". Yes, "I'm in London". It felt similar to the Chinese Fortune Cookies that you open up, read your fortune, and then everyone at the table chants  "in bed!"to the end of it (sure enough making every fortune that much better).

I can't believe that after three months in this new world the novelty hasn't worn off.

"My train was cancelled and I just had to take three trains home....in London"....bloody brilliant.

Thing two.

On a similar note, I have yet to tire of seeing foxes in the city. I know that they are scavengers, similar to raccoons, and skunks (in Vancouver), but still get excited every time I see one. When I come home late on the weekends, I keep my fingers crossed that the neighbourhood foxes will be out on the prowl. As long as it's the wee hours of the morning, they usually are.

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Early this morning (5am),  I heard a repetitive tapping / scratching noise. I looked out my window to see two young foxes wrestling each other on the deck. They were somersaulting over one another, up and down the multiple platforms. At home, I would be angry that I'd been awoken from my sleep, but here, I sat and watched them for ten minutes before laying my head back down on the pillow.

After all, these were foxes...in London!

Click here to see the down side of the city's fox population.


Thing three.

And then this happened.

Yes, I went for my appointment at the fracture clinic this morning (as my foot wasn't healing), and they insisted on putting a 'plaster' on it. So I am now with crutches, hobbling around ('Tiny Tim style'- not the North American armpit crutches), on public transport. I'm scared to check the weather (as I have no clue how one uses an umbrella with these puppies), and I'm resisting the purchase of a back pack. Surely I can figure something out?

I had a quick session with a (cute) physiotherapist in the hospital, and now you can find me talking to myself while attempting to navigate the stairs in the various stations, "good foot first up, bad foot first down". It took me 20 minutes to crutch home from Clapham Junction (a walk I had down to 11 with my walking boot on).

The next three weeks will be interesting.