Look out, London...

I've only been in London for about five hours, and I can already say -- I LOVE the Underground. So user friendly, and thank goodness, because this user slept for about an hour on the plane over and has been sleepwalking ever since. So far I have wandered from Heathrow Airport, to Acton, the neighborhood in West London where I will be living starting the end of this week, to King's Cross, where Ashlee House is located.

A few interesting moments so far: A guy got on the Tube a few stops after Heathrow, carrying with him a tiny black kitten named Midnight in a very large carrying case (I didn't ask, the case was labelled with the little darling's name). You could tell Midnight was British, because it was the most polite cat in a carrier I've ever seen. It meowed two or three times every time the train stopped at a station -- I think it was cat for "Mind the Gap."

Once I got to King's Cross, the jet-lag was starting to feel like a hangover... and nothing cures a hangover like a good curry. So I ventured into King's Cross Tandoori, for a delicious and reasonably priced vegetable curry. The furniture screamed Ikea, which was an interesting contrast for the large plastic flower murals on the walls and the small, dark-stained wood of the building itself. There was only one other gentleman dining when I went in, and I began to realize why when the waiter began to make it clear that I was interfering with his afternoon television ritual. Seeing that I was reading a book, he promptly turned on the flat-screen TV (those who have been to India Garden in Pittsburgh are familiar with this fixture of Indian restaurants) right in the middle of a family quarrel. Characters: dying grandfather, mullet- and open shirt-sporting father, mother and daughter in traditional saris. The waiter wasn't thoughtful enough to translate, but this seemed to be the gist of it...

Father: Daughter! You have shamed the family
by [insert ancient shameful rebellion of daughters here]. Now Grandfather
is dying!

Mother: Husband, it is not her fault!

Father: It is! You are killing my father!

Daughter: Why do you hate me so, father? I am just a beautiful young girl with an abnormally large bindi on her forehead, trying to live her life! This is the 21st century!

[More arguing, and then.... Daughter grabs a conveniently placed can of gasoline and begins to douse herself and her gorgeous turquoise sari. Slowly, she lights a match. Camera zooms in on her holding the match in her hand several times. Mother begins to scream, Father holds her back. Daughter drops match to her sari and presses her palms together in prayer. Fire takes an unbelievably long time to travel up the apparently gasoline-soaked material, during which timeGrandfather miraculously regains his strength.]

Grandfather: Nooooooo! [He puts out the fire, still around Daughter's ankles, with a suit jacket which appears at the end of the bed. Then he turns to Father.] Do you know how much I paid for that sari?! How could you let her almost burn it!
[Father gets a bitch-slap.]

Father: Oh, my father, can you ever forgive
me?

Grandfather: Of course! After all, she is just
a woman! [Family gathers in the center of the frame and
laughs heartily.]

Something like that, anyway... oh well, the curry was good. Off to investigate a tour about London's serial killers -- will report back later!