My dad and his wife were in London while we were in Spain, so they found me a cheap flight to go see them. After about 2 hours of sleep and a bus ride to the airport way too early in the morning, I still had about 4 hours to wait for my flight. Sleep was my greatest need and highest priority, so I wandered around for a while, then found some stairs up to a hallway of offices (all empty and locked, it being 5:30am on a Saturday), and curled up with my backpack in a random corner. The stone floor wasn't a prime choice for napping, but it was quieter and less breezy than it had been downstairs. I just kept thinking, "This would never be okay in America." Of course, it wasn't exactly culturally appropriate there, either, but nobody bothered me and security didn't seem concerned.
Once I got to London, it took me all of 5 minutes to figure out that a) one day would not be nearly enough time and b) I could probably be very happy living in London. We had some communication/location mishaps and lost Julia for a good part of the afternoon, but eventually were all reunited and had a good time.
The accents were lovely, and I saw a lot of places and people that I would have liked to get to know better. Particularly one really cool stationery shop, an Indian restaurant with very tasty food, and a certain highly attractive backpacker (Canadian, I think?) on the Underground...
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