Do you believe in fate? As much as the Lush loves a classic, all-American Thanksgiving dinner, this year it was time for something different. Instead of heading South on I-93, last week I really emphasized the "traveling" portion of the column and went east, across the Atlantic, to spend the holiday with my older brother Mike, who lives in London with some flatmates who will be referred to here - most affectionately and somewhat derisively - as the "Law Dogs." This trip would most surely be legit; the Lush gene is shared by all the Harrison children.
And what better time could there have been for me to arrive but the day before the lifting of alcohol permit restrictions dating back to World War I? I would argue that there is none. About a third of London's pubs, bars, and clubs had already applied for new permits allowing them to extend their hours and, in some cases, never close. Fate, my friends. Fate for sure.
The first night, we took it slow because the Lush was feeling a little sleepy. Big Brother and I walked about 30 seconds down the street for a couple pints of Guinness (Extra Cold) and called it a night.
The next night, having been caught in a particularly vicious hail storm earlier in the afternoon, we needed more than just a couple pints. We had a non-traditional Thanksgiving meal at a Chinese place in the afternoon. At night, we set out for dinner and drinks at the Westbourne, which I'm told is quite the place to be seen. We lucked out and got a table almost right away and settled in for the long haul. The pub had a menu to match its reputation, so we dined on not-so-typical pub fare - lamb and partridge (hey, it was a panic-order).
While waiting for our gourmet pub fare, we consumed more than a couple of pints of Hoegaarden and a round of tequila shots. The meals came with a serious side of sass from one of the bartenders, directed at one of Mike's friends who he thought hadn't yet paid for the first round of shots. Once that was sorted out, dessert was a free round of shots to make up for his mistake. Well, the Lush will grant that mistakes are made, but leave the sass out of it if you please. What happened to the polite British? At least we got free shots for desert.
Well, since the Lush is kind of a big deal, we cabbed it over to another super-hip London hotspot - the Lonsdale - where I was introduced to the wonderful, the magical mojito. By this point, the Lush was feeling pretty chatty and content to sip that limey-minty goodness and become best friends for life with Jack from Arlington, the 40-something uncle of Mike's roommate.
The next night, we planned another classy evening; we even went to the theater. But somehow the night turned out a little bit less than classy. Seeing "We Will Rock You," the Queen musical, can get your night off to a weird start. I don't want to ruin it for anyone, but let's just say it's set 300 years in the future and Queen music saves the world. I liked the show, but that opinion was not universal within our party. That, coupled with a death march to find a restaurant, left us with some long faces by the time we found a table at Pizza Express. We wanted directions to an Indian place but Preston made the mistake of asking a guy who was in the process of getting arrested, so that didn't really work out.
Luckily, a few rounds of Peroni really turned those frowns upside down, and by the time we left, everyone was ready to party. We got outside and it was cold, so cold that a couple people were in danger of getting a little sad again, so we made a beeline for the nearest bar.
I don't know what it is about Australian bars, but somehow the Lush ends up in one of them in every European city she visits. The Walkabout in London is actually pretty cool. It is housed in a converted church and has two dance floors and a balcony level overlooking the larger of the two.
The bar was about as non-classy as the night before had been classy. We settled into the balcony with a round of Magner's and a great view of all the international making-out and singing along to Bon Jovi going on below. After an hour or so, we had all had about enough, especially after my brother had to pull me out of the way of some 17-year-old Swede's projectile vomit. The Lush was nowhere near drunk enough to put up with a scene like that. (That's almost an oxymoron, isn't it?)
On Saturday night, with the end of the Lush's stay looming large on the horizon, the Law Dogs and I had to go out in style. We met up with some of their fellow future lawyers and hit Ling Ling's, an ultra-chichi bar/lounge in Nakasan, a Japanese restaurant near Piccadilly. We sipped on classy mojitos and one extremely-misguided rosewater martini that tasted like perfume (which is not a good taste).
It tasted so bad, in fact, that we had to do some ultra-classy tequila shots to wipe that eau-de-disgusting taste away. The Lush received a number of compliments for her steely demeanor and general legit-ness in taking tequila shots. The shots were so good, they motivated Mike's roommate Alex and I to drunk-dial my Aunt Lisa - don't worry, she's cool. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Sunday was a day of reflection. Our extended weekend-long jaunt around downtown London had left us tired and our pockets a bit on the empty side - Mike's more than mine (my big bro is an excellent host). We ended the day with one final pint of Guinness. The Lush was not excited to return to the world of archaeology research papers, anthropology and biology finals, and this Saturday's upcoming LSATs. But, a good, solid Thanksgiving break of family time and pub time really rejuvenated me.
I know this will come as a shock to many of you readers out there on the Hill, but the Lush is widely considered to be the biggest lightweight in the Harrison family. Last week, however, I truly represented and finally, at long last, proved to my older brother that I am truly worthy of the title the "Traveling Lush." Vindication? For sure.
