What Up, Vienna? when a girl and a guy from los angeles move their asses halfway across the world

i need a raincheck, england (part two)

And the saga continues. So after my weak few days in London, we finally headed off to Alex's first stop in his two-stop world lecture tour, The John Innes Center at the East Anglia University in Norwich. We opted to take a cab to the train station just to reserve my movin' around energy for the potentially gruelfest of a train ride. And much like the plane ride, I built it up so much in my head to be so terrifically uncomfortable, that it was actually quite tolerable. Granted, I took some awesome PRESCRIBED drugs before the trip. And on the train ride, I partook in my new favorite British OTC drug, cheese and onion potato chips crisps. I was bananas about those things. You know what, eff bananas. From now on, when I like things, I am CHEESEANDONIONCRISPS for them!

It is really a shame that I was such a cripple (oh, lighten up) for this whole trip. I vacillated from five minutes of "This discomfort is completely manageable!" to "I will never ever get better ever again." And when you have back problems, everybody wants to tell you some dire tale of lifelong chronic pain. Even when that tale is told with a British accent, it is not cute. Here's a tip for all the people of the world: Somebody's very present tale of woe is not your segue to tell any story other than one that ends in puppy dogs, rainbows and chocolate bars. Please retweet.

We took a taxicab from the train station to the inn where we were staying. It was pretty super duper. The property had an attached garden. Before we departed the next day, we decided to take a saunter through it. We had already brought our bags down so we asked the innkeeper if she would watch them at the front desk while we took a walk. She obliged ,however, she then inquired as to whether we had any sort of problem with frogs. "Frogs? No, not really. I like frogs," I said. Then we actually went to the garden and realized she had omitted a detail in her strange frog warning. These frogs was doing it. Or as my mother as a child used to describe cows mating, "Oh, look. That cow is giving the other cow a piggy-back ride!" And I welcome the clarification we're guaranteed to receive in the comments from said mother.

The rest of this day involved a cab ride back to the train station, train to London, long cab ride to another train station in London, train to Warwick and then a car ride to our B&B in Stratford-upon-Avon. This was a day that all the drugs in the world could not save. When we got to the second train station in London, I was pretty much ready to call 999. Somehow by the grace of Vicodin, I made it all the way to Stratford.

We were there for two nights. I know I'm sounding like a whiney broken record, but I didn't really do anything of substance for those few days. Stratford is known for being the home (and death) of Shakespeare. When we originally made plans to stay here, we were going to do all the requisite touristing about town. The next night, we did make the short walk into the town center for some dinner which involved a walk by Shakespeare's alleged birth house. Had I been a bit more mobile, I would probably have hit the theater there to see a play and then also gone to see Stonehenge which is supposedly a bus ride away and partaken in a bit more of the scenery at a pub or three. However, whine, whine, complain, complain, woe is me, I didn't do any of those things because my back is a jerk.

Before we took off the next morning, we had our last deserved breakfast which is, in name, 50% of the agreed deal. And I felt that because breakfast was included, I had to partake in everything that was offered to me. This involved a nice appetizer of a bowl of granola with milk. Followed by a full English breakfast and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. The B&B lady visited with us a little as she brought us our heavy plates filled with scrambled eggs, sausages, rashers of bacon, cooked tomatoes, mushrooms and toast. I don't remember what I said but knowing me it was some sort of kiss-ass compliment about how much I love English breakfasts. She then responded with a diatribe how the British are the only ones that do cooked breakfasts. On and on, she went. Now, I do love English breakfasts because I do love breakfasting, however, she has obviously never heard of the American institution of IHOP. Call me when you have fruit-and-whipped-cream-topped-cheesecake-stuffed pancake stackers in your full English breakfast.

We took the train back into London. We had one more night there before leaving for Vienna. I had really hoped by this last night, I would have been recovered enough to take in a few sights. However, all the traveling about England really threw a wrench in my progress. So we just got a nice hotel room at the InterContinental in Mayfair and we stuffed our faces with BBC and room service. BBC America provides a nice sampling of what you can get but nowhere near the breadth and depth of what there is to be had at the source. Highlights were some hare-brained Andrew Lloyd Weber casting a production of Wizard of Oz American Idol-y show, this awesome game show Mastermind (?) and a marathon of this reality show to see who the could host the best dinner parties. It was all pretty great and made me a lot less sad I never got to try and make those guard guys at the palace place laugh.

Don't worry, England. I'll be back. And I'm going to rip shit up properlike. Promise.