comedie et les boutiques

I'm not sure if it's a sign of my own specific personality or whether woman was simply not made to go to museums five days in a row, but after visiting the Tate Modern on Monday for only two and a half hours and attempting to wrap my mind around surrealism and some truly graphic exhibitions about the limits of the human body (though there were some really entertaining rooms, like the Andy Warhol screenprint portraits and the photography exhibit about the New York subway), I was ready for a mental break.

That evening Molly, Amy, Jenny and I walked over to the University of London's comedy club, which was altogether enjoyable. It was great to be around young people who weren't Carls for a change. British "humour" (do you see what I did there?) is, as far as I can tell, incredibly awkward and involves a lot of apologizing on the comedians part. There was a man who read an awkward email exchange, a woman in a romper (very cute) who told stories about punching her neighbor's cat, a creeper, a guy who obviously only meant to offend, a silly college kid, and then maybe two guy's who I thought were a bit more sophisticated, less awkward and a lot of fun to listen to. And of course, hearing jokes about America here is hilarious; it's not very often we get to be the odd one out. I'd say most of the "humour" though came from the MC, who was totally energetic and really worked the crowd, by which I mean to say, he hit on us. His interactions with the audience also led to some funny moments, such as when one hottie said he was getting his masters in terrorism and war studies, and the next guy he spoke with was Iranian, at which point he asked, "Oh, are you studying terrorism as well?" - keeping in line with British awkwardness.

Also, adding to the relief of my brain, I finally went shopping. I spent Tuesday morning on Oxford Street, which is lined with outrageous boutiques, like one that had the latest Vivienne Westwood shoes (truly, truly to die for), and another dress shop where I was absolutely afraid to touch most of the clothing. I found comfort in Pop, a boutique that sells vintage clothes and new clothes made from recycled vintage fabrics. Very moi. Needless to say, I had a field day and bought stuff.  I'm not proud. But I'm very satisfied.

Then post-lunch, Mollie and I went to Harrods. I'm not really sure what to say about Harrods. I expect it's what most people imagine heaven to be like. From the outside, the architecture makes it look like a castle, and it doesn't fail these expectations from the inside either. It has, from what I can tell from the map, over 100 rooms, and each room is dedicated to a particular product. Diamond necklace room? Check. Chocolate truffles room? Check. Elegant, evening handbag and hosiery room? Yep, it get's that specific. Do you need an expensive cut of beef or fish for dinner? Go to Harrods. Is your daughter in need of new pet bunny? Go to the friggin' Pet room in Harrods. I nearly died. I mean, bunnies? Really?

Mollie and I (in future picture, I promise) had the pleasure of sitting at the gelato bar in the Candy and other Sweets room and paying way too much on indulgent Nutella desserts. But that is the consequence of living in the lap of luxury, I suppose.