Steel Kaleidoscopes

London, v.4

After meeting with the lead developer until close to 6, I walk onto Marylebone Street with determined enthusiasm to finally take some time for me -- to enjoy the city.

The discussion was a good one -- scalable infrastructure, common code base, personalization, syndication, global expansion and the benefits of an in-house e-mail management system vs.an ASP model -- but it was time to go.

After splashing some water on my face and brushing my teeth, I head over to Baker Street and buy a one-day Tube pass, which gives me access to London's version of the sardine sandwich. In Boston, people don't appreciate how much space they have on the Green Line during rush hour. This was shoulder rush hour in London -- close to 7 p.m. -- and the Jubilee Line South line was packed.

I do the typical tourist thing and get off at Waterloo Station to see the London Eye and Big Ben. Neat.

The sun is easing into the Thames and I'm standing in the wrong line for an Eye ticket. After checking out the length of the correct line, I choose to walk rather than spin.

Big Ben is amazing. Elementary textbook education come to life. It's just there, no matter where you walk. Parliament is obscenely pristine in his regality and glitter, and Big Ben just stands there, a phallic symbol of our youth yet current in its relevance.

After a healthy walk and many pictures, I return to the Tube and re-emerge on Baker Street.

Then I get lucky.

Getti, a wonderful restaurant on Marylebone, has a just-cleared table on the edge of the sidewalk, premium seating on a steamy July evening. My timing is perfect. The maitre d' asks if I'm alone or if anyone will be joining me. Tonight, I'm alone.

And I enjoy grilled swordfish, green beans, warm raisin bread and a glass of Barbera under a tempered street lamp, passersby eying my enviable leisure expression.

Ah, London.

Nice to spend some time with you.

But I'm ready to go home.

That's where life and love wait anxiously.

London, v.3

Turns out a guy sliced off his penis in the restaurant I ate in the other night.

Glad I ordered pasta without meatballs.

London reminds me of a Paris/Boston hybrid. There is cobblestone everywhere, but everyone is smoking butts and drinking rosé.

I'm wandering the streets of Westminster after dark and al fresco dining is chic.

It's a warm summer night and the blokes are cruising in their tight shirts and soccer mentality.

And those damn black cabs have no conscience.

London Workday

We're lucky with the weather in London.

Nearly everyone is commenting on the sunny skies and the dry 80-degree temps. Guess we don't get a stretch of weather like this too often.

We work hard during the day, marching to the rhythm of meetings between Chiltern and Marylebone Streets.

We slip in and out of sandwich shops, the local Starbucks and dodge those crazy black cabs zipping down the left side of the street. Still not sure whether or not to look right or left at the crosswalks.

In the evening, we sip dark ales at Gunmakers pub on the summer sidewalk, still basking in the glow of a glorious day. The conversation weaves in and out of office culture and real-life events before we head over to Zizzi for pasta.

The sun sets and the azure sky deepens its hue.

It's getting late and we're ready to retire.

In Boston, they're still at their desks.

Flying into London

Soaring over Halifax with an omelet and coffee.

Approaching Cork as the greenery comes into view.

The Who, Joni Mitchell, Aimee Mann, Mark Knopfler and Yes on the iPod.

British opener competitors scattering on outbound flights.

England lies below, its pristine golf courses and tennis courts marking transitions from well-manicured lawns and shrubbery.

Then it's into Heathrow and onto Paddington, the steamy streets teeming with life.

Forest Through the Trees

And so the journey begins.