There I was completely wasted,
Out of work and down.
All excited, so frustrated
as I drift from town to town!
Feel as though nobody cares
if I live or die!
So I might as well begin
to put some action in my life!
-Judas Priest, "Breakin' the Law"
In my former entry I explained how I found my way to England (essentially, I've been displaced by the war in Ukraine like millions of others but as I'm not a Ukrainian citizen I don't qualify for assistance programs; but fortunately I have an online income which, though small, is stable). The move was never going to be long-term. Employment in the UK would have proven untenable (England is not exactly dying for English teachers from America, after all), so almost as soon as I landed I booked my ticket onward to Romania.
I cannot say the trip was a waste at all. Of course I snapped a few photos of the English countryside (though not enough, in retrospect). I also got a few from around London (though my phone battery died midway through my day of sightseeing, leaving me with no pics of Westminster, Buckingham or Trafalgar Square, and only one desperately hurried shot of the Houses of Parliament, snapped with 1% of the battery remaining from a less-than-perfect angle). And of course, the next time I'm going over Sherlock Holmes with my literature students, I can show them pictures of me actually walking down Baker Street. It was also gratifying, coming from Ukraine, to see some Ukrainian flags about, even amid the Union-Jack-waving of the Platinum Jubilee.
Oh, and I actually, for the first time, had authentic fish 'n' chips in a (clears throat and puts on an accent) "proppa Bri'ish pub."
Okay, so it's not like a battered fish and a side of (clears throat) FRENCH FRIES (bloody Brits and their mixed up terminology) is anything new or unattainable in the States but, you know. It's the principle of the thing. You can't go to London and not order fish 'n' chips. It just wouldn't be proper. It'd be like going to France without trying the local wine, or going to Juárez and not ordering tacos from a street vendor, or going to China and not... eh, getting food poisoning.
But in all seriousness and MUCH more importantly...
It was a chance to actually be among old friends, for once.
I never realized just how isolated I've gotten in my time in Europe. But the reality is, I met (and befriended) more English-speakers in Beijing than I have in Kharkiv (and let's not even discuss the 90 days in Warsaw). Well, most of the friends I met in Beijing -and certainly the ones with whom I remember the wildest times- were from London, and most of them moved back to London between 2015 and 2020. So showing up in London, throwing back some beers (God, I never knew the world contained so many different kinds of beer but the English do take their drinking seriously) with a pair of the hard-rocking, headbanging, heavy-metalheads I hung around with in the beginning of the Beijing era was a welcome walk down memory lane.
We all three swapped stories of things we remembered from those days, while watching Platinum Jubilee party-goers.
We all three talked about where life has taken us since then. And what an irony it was that my two old friends, who were wild outlaws in those days and weren't too sure it was a good idea palling around with an ex-cop, are settled down into nice, quiet, mostly respectable lives in the city while the ex-cop in question is still out living a life which... well, as 
We all three talked about how all three of us miss those days but we all three have sense enough to know things wouldn't be that way again if we went back to Beijing nowadays.
But mostly...
...the "we all three talked" part was the important part.
I listened (with no small amount of shock) as these two old friends told me how they partly envied the life I was living and found it so much more exciting than their highly domesticated lives where, as one of them put it, "these damned women are on the brink of civilizin' us if we're not careful." I lamented (over beer number whatever-it-was, a "Fursty Ferret" I think was the brand) how I had lost my confidence in the past three years (if you've read my blog, that covers the time from the 306th PLA Hospital Crisis to the aftermath of the Russian invasion). I confided how I was kind of nervous about the trip to Romania.
"I'm going to a country I've never seen before. I speak none of the language. I have no plan. I have no structure in place when I land. I have only about a thousand bucks in my pocket and a scant online income."
And it was here where one of them interjected, "Rob... sorry mate, but, um... what part of this have you not done before?"
As I blinked at that, it was the other of them who replied "I'll tell you. The part about having a thousand bucks in your pocket. That's more than you had when you landed in China."
And that's when I realized, they're right. I do this kind of shit all the time. New country? No contacts? No structure? No plan? Hell, this used to be what I called summer vacation. It just took a few of my old mates from the Beijing era to remind me of it.
And then, the week ended.
Early Saturday morning I was on a plane to Timisoara, Romania (and I swear, I will NEVER fly Wizzair again; they fucked me over on the way into AND out of London with their damnable "online check-in process" which involves a confirmation number they don't even send if you book through a third-party website). And now, here I am. I know NOTHING about this city except that I'm told the cost of living is low (hence why I picked it). I am still trying to find where I can rent a flat, get a local SIM card... Hell, I can't even find an ATM anywhere in this city.
But I'll manage.
And to my two old friends in London who helped remind me who I used to be, before a near fatal leg injury, a Muscovian ex-model, a pandemic and a Russian invasion beat the hell out of me. It was damned nice catching up with you two again.
Raises a glass
Cheers!
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
-Shakespeare, Macbeth