think of a day part 2. oh yes.

And so I continue...suspense builds...This can't be read without reading part 1...

Jon and I went for a drink to analyse my photos and the finer points of life. We sat in a pub next to the Golden Hind overlooking the Thames. As the conversation digressed we found ourselves mocking the appalling attempt Oxford Street has made at Christmas lights. Laser beams that beam different colours in the air, and are supposedly seen throughout london only, becuase of light pollution and smog they are disappointingly faint. Really, designers of this callibre should know better. Not only this but they beam at 8:12, again, apparently, the Olympic Rings to encourage 'back the bid'. Yes, it's happened. Christmas has been turned, not only into the commercial tragesty we've known about for years but now some advertising campaign. In order to assess this for ourselves we headed underground.

Once on the tube I taught Jon the finer craft of tube surfing. I may dedicate a whole blog to this in the future. Talking of olympics, this should be included. Another marvel of the tube is the little machines that sell 'snap maps'. This, is for anyone who wants to be easily identified as a tourist. It's small and compact but with one 'snap' it becomes an all singing, all dancing (and very big to boot) map of all central attractions with bus, tube, and pub (eh?) routes. I bought one earlier in the day and impressed Jon with it's impressiveness for the rest of the evening. We found our way using this for the remainder. (Not that we needed to, but it's always fun to pretend)

In Oxford street, we laughed and we were probably insulting to those designers who think that beaming coloured lights from the tops of pieces of scaffolding with pictures of characters from Harry Potter (like, why?) makes for good Christmas decor. I think not. Jon wanted to see the England book that had caused me so much hilarity. So into Borders we went, found the book and laughed (me with tears running down my face!) at the photos. Then Jon bought the book for me. what a sweetie. I think we may have freaked a few other customers out...

We walked down Regent Street, much more impressed this time by the lights, into Carnaby street, whose lights just about take the biscuit. They actually are stunning. No really, they are. We window shopped the shops of finer things. Then found a lovely little alley way with sheets of lights and cooky restaurants and bars. But the rest of london was waiting. So on we marched. Onto picadilly and then leceister square. cokes from mcdonalds and then to trafalgar square.

Then somewhere in the middle of trafalgar square Jon looked at his watch...

'Becci do you have a lecture tomorrow?'
'Yes at 10... (methinks, 'he's being interested in my day tomorrow. that's nice') ...where to now? Lets go to Parliament then over Westminster bridge!'
'Becci, we won't get home.'
'Sure we will, it's ages before the last trains' (I seriously thought it was about 8pm)
'Becci, it's 11.15'
'You're joking! I haven't eaten since breakfast' (Why that was the first thing that entered my head I've no idea, but really, I hadn't eaten since breakfast and now it was 11.15. that's like 15 hours...anyway...)

Suddenly I felt very tired. Psychology is a strange thing. So to Charring Cross we went and got on the train, astounded that 6 hours had just 'vanished'. More tube surfing, added some people watching: 'what does that person do for a living?' 'Where is he headed tonight?' I got off at Canada Water, adding as I went...'I haven't seen a famous person in a long time...had a great night, see you soon (or something along those lines)'

So onto the East London Line I got, bound to New Cross Gate, or so I hoped. As did another man, evidently for he asked me if it went there...the converstaion followed thus:

'I think so, I mean I hope so but I didn't think it stops here'
'Yes I'm not sure either'
'Maybe we've got on a train in a parallel universe or it's metamorphosed' (did I really just say that to a perfect stranger and what does that word mean anyway??)
He Says: 'Do you live in New Cross?'
'Yes'
'How long for?'
'Since September.'
'Are you a student at Goldsmiths?'
'Yup, studying Media and sociology.'
'What aspect of the media are you particularly interested in?'
'Photography and Documentary making' then I ask (becuase it's always good to ask questions back or you do look very egocentric) 'what do you do?'
'I'm in the media. Mainly concerned with politics. I'm making a documentary for the BBC on the historian, George Brown.'
I think my jaw actually did hit the floor. At least I hope it didn't. What followed was some stuf about politics and media that i didn't really understand.

We arrived in New Cross Gate and dismounted (can you do that off a train? My jaw had to remount however). We continued chatting and he told me some inside stuff about the media and in particular the Hutton enquirey being as he knows Andrew Gilligan. Erhem. He gave me his phone number and email address and said I could ask him questions about media stuff and he'd do his best to answer them if he could. Oh, and that I could shadow him if I wanted whilst he makes his documentary. Not all that exciting really then.He's in the process of writing his third book at the moment. I googled it, and him. He speaks truth. I got another famous person. Ok so he's not so famous, although my tutor knew of him.

I said goodbye and walked the 30 seconds to my flat, in doing so, glancing up to look at the Deptford town clock. I saw it strike midnight and I realised I had just had a very surreal day.