It wasn’t until I checked into my first hotel on this trip that I put pen to paper and started my journal.  It’s a little stiff at first, but with time I find my stride.  My first impression of London was that it was more like a dismal scene from Dickens than I was expecting.  Things turn around.  Here goes.

Sunday, 13 May 1984 – 2:30PM, London:

What better place to begin this story than Room 6 of the Aadams Hotel, 17 Belgrave Road in London, a story in itself.

London- A rather gloomy start to a stunning trip.

I’ve been up about 22 hours, but still feel compelled to start this thing. To catch up, the flight from Los Angeles was alright, lasting 10 hours, all of which time I remained in the upright position due to the broken seat. Traveling companions weren’t too bad. One, an English grad student from USC going home, and the other one a young lady going home to Ireland.

All of the other passengers typified the British terms of “twit” and “mum” as I was surrounded by dozens of grey haired grannies rattling on at length about their “holidays”. The twits were not worth discussing.

On the train in from Gatwick, I was amazed by just about everything I saw. The living quarters of the people are almost exclusively brick, and dirty looking, making it kind of depressing. To make it worse though, each building was almost identical; in uniform rows, with uniform trees, gardens, etc. etc. It reminded me of my fast drive through Philadelphia and Boston– and the excesses of worker housing in the industrial revolution.

Anyway, I’m still confused about which way to look when I cross the street. So far so good. (Until the next day!!!)

I found the Aadams Hotel though a booking service at Victoria Station.  For £15 pounds, I got a room with 2 beds, a sink and some drawers, toilet down the hall, bathtub a bit further. It should be interesting. I had to splurge though because I’m so tired. It’s kind of drafty in this room. I think I turned on the heat– we’ll see. (I didn’t.)

The neighborhood is south of Victoria Station, and I don’t really know what to make of it yet. More later, very tired. (Rows and rows of Georgian town homes.)

A husband and wife team run this place and are very helpful. I just tried to make a phone call and they were a great aid.

British money bugs me. The paper notes are different sizes, £1 being the smallest, and the 50 pence piece is the same size as the 10p. The phone was bizarre too– but kind of fun.