We arrived back at Waterloo station sometime around 4:15, and the first order of business (for the both of us) was finding a place to pee.

[rant.mode=on]

And the bathrooms at Waterloo station are friggin' pay toilets! You actually have to pay 20 pence to walk through a turnstile to get into the bathroom! In this day and age... can you believe it! And it would be one thing if the bathrooms were clean, but dammit if these weren't the nastiest toilets I've been in since we stopped somewhere in East Bumble, South Carolina on the way back from Charleston! The entire bathroom smelled like one big fart, and the floors had a couple of centimeters of "water" in every direction. In addition to a few stalls - surely the source of the fart cloud - the men's room had one of those trough thingies, yet the water running to it was either broken or on a timer, 'cos it simply reeked of coffee pee! Blech! Most men that regularly wash their hands after using the bathroom have a code; this code has but one simple rule: if it's that disgusting, just leave. And I did. But had I wanted to wash my hands, I'd have a time of it. There were around a dozen sinks, yet British wisdom put soap dispensers only at either end of the row of sinks. So if you're stuck with a middle sink you either have to a) put soap on dry hands and hope some jackass doesn't cut in front of you for the sink; or b) rinse your hands, walk away to get soap, and again hope some jackass doesn't think you're done and hijack your sink. And on top of that, although there are a dozen sinks, there are only four of those hand dryers, so there's a line of men that haven't yet just wiped their hands on their pants and walked away.

[rant.mode=off]

Man, it's amazing how hypercritical you can be of a toilet once you have to pay to use it!

Anyway, a day or two before all this, Lisa was reading the Time Out Cheap Eats in London guide back in the hotel room and came across a piece about the Borough Market. If you've ever watched any of Jamie Oliver's shows you've almost certainly seen this market, as it's his favorite place to buy meats, fruits and vegetables. The market was located not too far from where we were at the moment and seeing as I'd never spent any time whatsoever on the south side of the Thames, I figured "why the hell not?" So off we went!

The sights, sounds and smells of the Borough Market were just captivating! Everywhere you look, there's something new and delicious waiting for you. Like most any farmer's market, there are plenty of stalls offering fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, seafood, cheeses, breads and "homemade" products like jams and jellies. If these vendors aren't small "family farm" operations, I saw few things that made me think most of the vendors aren't much bigger than a family farm. Take, for example, Northfield Farm. It's a small operation run from the Leicestershire in the East Midlands that specializes in making the best meats available. And since they charge around $57 for 2.2lbs of filet, you know it's gotta be good, right? Anyway, this farm has a stall at Borough Market. This stall not only sells raw and cured meats, it also sells fully cooked burgers made from beef, pork or a mixture of pork and Stilton cheese. Since I was getting hungry *and* am a sucker for anything with Stilton cheese in it, I just had to check it out:

Oh my God... Oh my God... Oh my God! Although the picture I took of the Stilton burger isn't exactly yummy looking, I just don't even know where to begin to describe the deliciousness that is Northfield Farm's creation. I guess the only way I can truly convey it is like this: have you ever been denied food for any reason, then started to daydream about what you'd eat once you had access to food again? Maybe you went camping one time and accidentally got completely lost for a week and had to survive on tree bark and wild berries or something. And while you were desperately searching for a ranger station or a main road, all you could do was dream about eating a big, juicy hamburger or huge slice of pizza. And when you finally got that burger or pizza a few days later, it was like the gates of heaven opened up and delivered it to your mouth personally! You could almost hear the angels sing when you bit into your food, your mouth exploded in a burgergasm and you almost broke into tears of joy. It was like that, folks! A big fluffy roll was sliced, grilled onions were put on it, along with a perfectly formed patty of the freshest ground pork you can imagine, mixed in with a heaping dose of England's most famous veined cheese. Tastebuds I didn't even know I had were awakened after a long sleep and I savored every tiny morsel. Hell, I would have gotten two or three more of these little morsels, had I not spotted yet another stall...

This one was Mid Devon Fallow, "specialist producers of prime fallow venison". Their stall doesn't cook anything, so there were no enticing smells to lead you there, but I was piqued by their sign, which offered cold venison wraps for £3. Since I've only had venison in chili and Brunswick stew (two dishes that, by definition, mask the taste of the meat within them) I decided to give it a shot. Unfortunately, I was running low on £1 coins, so when I approached the saleslady with two £1 coins and a gaggle of 20p, 10p, and 5p pieces, she just rolled her eyes and said that she'd take £2 for the wrap - score! Now the "official" description of the wrap is "venison, cured in sweet pickle brine and the smoked over beech chippings with mayo, salsa and salad". My God, the mouth waters just reading that, no? And I wasn't disappointed with the wrap, although it wasn't nearly as good as the Stilton burger. I think that the main problem with the wrap is that there was simply too much of a taste from the sweet pickle brine. It wasn't overwhelming, but the sweetness came in at the end of a bite, just after the slight gaminess of the venison. It wasn't a horrible clash, but then it might have tasted better without the mayo and salsa getting in the way. But that's just my opinion. 

So anyway... by this point not only are we thirsty, but our feet were tired. Lisa and I both needed a rest, and for that we popped off to a pub just opposite the market. I bought her a chardonnay and myself a John Smith's bitter and we enjoyed eavesdropping on the two classy English girls next to us who were more than a little tipsy. They were hanging out with their gay friend... Well, OK. I don't know that he was gay. But he was wearing a turtleneck, used the word "dish" (as in, "to gossip") more than once, and seemed entirely too concerned about the interior design of an apartment of another of his female friends. I guess in the greater scheme of things it doesn't really matter, but this experience does bring up a good point: American gaydar is completely useless in the United Kingdom. And the only reason I care about that at all is because Lisa doesn't have a gaydar, whilst mine works pretty well. I usually pride myself on my gaydar being correct 99.7% of the time, yet in the UK all my gaydar reports is: "undetermined", "not enough information" or "far too much information". I just thought it was funny is all.

Anyway, since the market was still open, Lisa wanted to check it out some more and also score some mulled wine that she had spotted earlier.

Well, by now the clock was approaching six and the market was beginning to shut down. I spotted a stall called "Turnips" that had piles of apples and bought myself an orange pippen apple, which is apparently "regarded as the finest of all dessert apples in England". And I've gotta say, it was pretty damn tasty. The apple tasted almost like grapes, and its flesh was something between a pear and a Granny Smith. I can't imagine that you'd see these apples in a US market any time soon, but they're some tasty little buggers, so if you do, snag some!

By this point, Lisa and I were hungry again. And this highlights one thing you'll get used to if you ever visit London: the feeling of never really feeling "full". You might wonder why I was hungry, given that I'd just eaten a burger, a venison wrap, some of Lisa's chips, an apple and a pint of beer. But when you're in London you eat and then walk two miles to the nearest Tube station, then walk two more miles within the Tube station itself to get to the train, then walk two more miles to get to your destination once you alight from the train. Well, perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit, but you get my point. Even with all the food I crammed into my belly on this trip, I think I might have actually lost weight!

A couple of days ago - when we stumbled into the St. James' Tavern, the site of my previous absinthe ugliness - Lisa noticed that they offered some special on food, something like "2 mains for £7.50" (translation for the less cosmopolitan of you: "2 dinners for around $15"). Since she liked that place so much, we hopped on the Tube back to Piccadilly Circus...

[rant.mode=on]

I had to pee before we even got on the Tube, so by the time we got to the Piccadilly station, I was about to bust a gut. The men's toilets (within the station) were open, so I ran there as soon as we cleared the exit turnstile. And guess what? They're free. And sparking clean. And free of odor. And have soap dispensers at each and every sink. Take THAT, Waterloo station! 

[rant.mode=off]

Anyway, people were getting off of work around this time and the pub was insanely crowded. We were lucky in that we only had to wait a couple of minutes for a table. Lisa checked over the menu and told me what she wanted, so I went to the bar and ordered the food and some drinks. Little did I know my "bangers and mash" would eventually arrive at the table looking like this:

If you click that picture to see it in all its glory and if after doing so you think to yourself "Man, that looks like a dog turd on a pile of mashed potatoes"... well, you wouldn't be the only one that thought that. The missus and I could barely wait for the waitress to leave before we burst into laughter, and it was made all the more enjoyable by the fact that nothing was said between us. I looked at the plate, looked at Lisa and we both just started laughing. Ahhhhh, good times. And even if my sausages didn't look good, they sure tasted pretty good. Lisa had vegetable lasagna, which looked much better than my dish:

After such a long day, my feet were dog-tired, I took off my boots there at the pub and settled in to stay for a while. Lisa and I didn't go nuts or anything, but we did have fun just hanging out and drinking a beer or two... or, in Lisa's case, a cider or two:

After a bit of rest, Lisa asked what was next... I knew that she had expressed some interest in seeing Chinatown, so we agreed to that as our next destination. So I put my boots back on and we started walking yet again!

If you're familiar with London's geography, you'll know that Leicester Square is close to Chinatown, and since Lisa had never been there we made a stop there, too... where a carnival was taking place:

Now, I would be remiss if I didn't mention anything about the differing styles between American and British carnies. As anyone in America that's been to a state or county fair knows, the people that run the "games" at those things are usually loud and obnoxious, playing upon your male insecurities to get you to play. Apparently you just don't really love your girlfriend if you don't spend $30 throwing bean bags at milk jugs to win her a Def Leppard mirror. She'll just have to wait for some other, more virile, man to come along and win it for her, since you're such a loser. Or something like that.

But it's not like that at all in England. There was a ring toss game there in Leicester Square, and the person working the microphone was a woman. And instead of being loud and obnoxious, her voice was calm and relaxing. In fact, her voice was quite beautiful. Over and over and over she repeated her mantra:

"All you have to do to win a prize... is just put one ring right around the square. Now we've had lots of lucky winners today and we'll have lots more winners as the day goes on... Who will be next? We have portable DVD players, Sony PSPs, a pack of 200 cigarettes, Moet champagne, and even £100 in cash... Who will win them next? All you have to do to win a prize... is just put one ring right around the square. Now we've had lots of lucky winners today and we'll have lots more winners as the day goes on... Who will be next? We have portable DVD players, Sony PSPs, a pack of 200 cigarettes, Moet champagne, and even £100 in cash... Who will win them next? All you have to do to win a prize... is just put one ring right around the square. Now we've had lots of lucky winners today and we'll have lots more winners as the day goes on... Who will be next? We have portable DVD players, Sony PSPs, a pack of 200 cigarettes, Moet champagne, and even £100 in cash... Who will win them next? All you have to do to win a prize... is just put one ring right around the square. Now we've had lots of lucky winners today and we'll have lots more winners as the day goes on... Who will be next? We have portable DVD players, Sony PSPs, a pack of 200 cigarettes, Moet champagne, and even £100 in cash... Who will win them next?"

After a few minutes of listening to her calm English voice, I was ready to just hand her my wallet!

And speaking of female English voices... does anyone out there know anything about a London neighborhood called Willesden Green? We were on a Jubilee line train earlier that day en route back to Piccadilly Circus when the pre-recorded female voice announced that we were on a "Jubilee line train to Willesden Green". The thing that struck me was how the voice said "Willesden Green". She put an upwards inflection at the middle of "Green", so it sounded something like "Willlllesden Greeeeeeeeeennn". For some reason it really reminded me of the way Joan Fontaine so wistfully kept referring to "Manderlay" in Rebecca. The voice made Willesden Green sound like the most beautiful place on earth, as if it were some stereotypical, pastoral English landscape... full of playful beagles, befuddled vicars, country gentlemen, and rosy-cheeked children concerned with nothing more than getting their lashings of ginger beer... For all I know it's some suburban shithole... But it sure sounds nice.

Anyway, the missus and I were now starting to get a little tired. By this point, we had walked to the southeastern edge of the square, which is populated by lots of takeaway places. This one Chinese place smelled so good that we just had to stop and get eggrolls. After munching them down, I inadvertently led Lisa to Trafalgar Square, pointing out the Church of St. Martin in the Fields and Nelson's Column along the way. After negotiating the Charing Cross tube station, we hit a Bakerloo train back to Edgware Road, the hotel, and a comfy bed.

End of Part 2 of Day 4. Click here to go to Day 5!