My British Gwag – Pt. 1

Posted by Tilia

I should preface this story with the fact that Jane not only introduced me to my British Gwag, but predicted, weeks in advance, that we’d dig each other.  He is referred to in Jane’s first post about Grey as “Tom.” 

I think this is an awful pseudonym for him, though I’ve been calling him British Guy, and that’ll likely become quite confusing in the next couple of weeks.

So for right now, we’re just going to refer to him as Royce.  I’ll probably come up with something better in the near future, and am really at a loss at how to be clever right now.

Anyway, my first visit to London was in December of last year, for a week, under the excuse that Jane wanted to go back and walk in her graduation ceremony, ie. sleep with the hot Indian guy before it was too late.  

While I do dearly love Jane, and have come to regard her as one of the most compatible friends I’ll ever have, this particular incident rendered her a pretty bad tour guide.  (I’m sorry, love.  I swear I’m over it; it’s just part of the story.)

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a total bust.  We did some fun stuff; saw the touristy destinations, walked around London and night and drank mulled wine, but we didn’t get to meet anyone.  And, I’ve also got to say – Buckingham Palace … most underwhelming shit ever.

Around the fourth day, I mentioned to her (quite whinily) that we’d only gone drinking and shopping, and could’ve done those things in Florida.  When she off-handedly suggested we watch a movie, I burst into tears.

By the mercy of God, there was a play reading at Jane’s old school the following night, showcasing the work of a few of the students.  This would be Jane’s final night in London, though I was staying on an additional two days.  

She told me about this with excitement, routinely hanging up her cell phone after getting further details from Royce, and going on and on about how sexy his phone voice was, and how I was going to like him, but he had a girlfriend.  And, oh, oh, how Jane loves Royce’s girlfriend.

She’s just awesome, apparently.  And a scientist!  And just the most amazing person ever!  Gag.

So, anyway, I was expecting this guy to be some glowing adonis, and was actually kind of disappointed when we entered the foyer to the black box where the reading was going to take place, and a rather average looking, shortish, blonde guy shook my hand.  Not unpleasant looking, or anything, but nothing I’d notice on the street.

However, I almost immediately began to re-assess him once we’d entered the theatre.  He and I found us seats, exchanging comfortable conversation like old friends, and after so many days of feeling so incredibly alienated, this was one comfort button that was exceptionally vulnerable.

Somehow, I ended up sitting on the end of our little group, next to Royce, not Jane.  This was (strangely) just fine, and as the plays progressed, there developed an awkward, unspoken joke between the two of us that we went to drink our complimentary wine at exactly the same time, over and over. At some point, we both sort of laughed, and I just had to put my wine down.

After the show, the coordinators of the event needed to get rid of the rest of the free wine, so everyone spilled onto the floor/stage area to drink it, and Jane flew into a group of People I Don’t Know, leaving me kind of stranded in a sea of cliquey Brits.  

A bit awkwardly, I sought out one of the actresses to tell her how much I’d enjoyed her, and how remarkably she resembled Kristin Davis, and (oops!) stumbled into the conversation she was already having with Royce.  Luckily, they don’t suck as human beings, and allowed me to join in their conversation.

After a while, Not-Kristin-Davis excused herself and left Royce and I to continue talking about my trip, words that are only okay on one hemisphere or the other, and how hilarious British exit signs are.  At some point, it was acknowledged that I’d be here for two days after Jane left, and he invited me out drinking the following night with some of his friends.

Conversation continued, and at some point, he also mentioned that there was a comedy show just beforehand that I’d be welcome to join in on as well.  A little later, we just decided I’d call him around 2, and figure something out.

According to Jane, at some point during all of this, her friend Earl pointed out to her that Royce was hitting on me from across the room.  I just love validation.

So, we ended up relocating to a shady pub in Swiss Cottage, where conversation and booze continued to flow until it was time to go home.  I honestly can’t remember much of what happened with Royce at the pub, but I have a vivid memory of a very dyke-y actress not liking me at all (and I can say dyke, ’cause my mom likes women) and this oddly emotional moment between Jane and me where I told her I was glad that I’d been there with her during her whole drama with Kip (hot Indian guy).

Jane, Royce, Earl, and I piled into a train to head back to our respective destinations.  I got one of those delightful British versions of the cheek kiss from Royce, where the cheeks are pressed together, kissing noises are made, but there is no lip-to-skin contact.  I remember being marginally attracted to him at this point, but not enough to mention it or really think about it past, eh … cute.  

Honestly, I was kind of more excited about a potential new friend.

Anyway, Jane stayed on the train to go on to Heathrow to see Kip off to Bombay, and I went back to our little flat in Queensway (stopping to make a call and get a burger from a horrific little halal with fantastic cheese and lots of angry, turbaned men).  

I read a chapter or four of The Time Traveler’s Wife and probably fell asleep around 3 or 4am, my head swimming with excitement for having plans, finally, with some London locals.

Read on in My British Gwag – Pt. 2

~ by Tilia on July 20, 2008.