I got to Limkokwing University in the nick of time; it's a nice little uni on Piccadilly looking over Green Park. In there, I had my documents checked for the first of m-a-n-y times, and was handed the rest of the paperwork I needed to take to the embassy.
Then followed a walk over to Grosvenor Square; it was really nice, there were no crowds in the little back streets I took, and the sun was shining. About halfway to the square, I peeled off my jackets. I knew when I'd gotten there because, well, it isn't difficult to miss the gigantic eagle on top of the building.
Outside was a queue stretching all the way down one side of the square, mostly people my age getting their visas for camp. Here our paperwork and IDs were checked over by a whopping three different people, and there were guards with guns. Massive guns. Have you noticed, whenever there are armed guards, or a police car cruises past, you always get this really inexplicable feeling of guilt? Even if you have literally nothing to feel guilty about. This always perplexes me, and I spent my time in the queue worried that I would suddenly be shot because of an insane crime I'd forgotten about committing.
The queue led to a small building where we had to put our things through an X-ray machine and walk through a metal detector. Here I was ridiculously pleased and surprised because I didn't set off the metal detector - it's become a bit of a running joke in my family that my bones must be made of metal because every time I go through security at airports I manage to set the metal detector off for no discernible reason.
Inside, we each got given ticket numbers and sat in a big room with counters down one side. I felt like I was waiting to pick up an item in Argos. The wait wasn't ridiculously long though, even considering the fact that there were about 70 people to process before my ticket number. I don't think I was even there for 20 minutes, it was very efficient, and the staff there were really quick and competent.
When my number was called I went to the counter and the woman checked my paperwork, asked a couple of questions, and then scanned my fingerprints, which I found incredibly cool. It's like a little green screen and you press your fingers on it and it beeps! I internally pretended that I was a spy getting into a top secret location because I am sad. There was another desk I had to go to after I was done at the counter, where my fingerprints were taken again (only my left hand this time), and the woman was actually American. She approved my visa in about 30 seconds flat, and then I was out. The whole process took about an hour and a half, if that - amazing!
I sat in Grosvenor Square opposite a statue of Franklin D Roosevelt for a bit and called Mutti to let her know how it went - the sun was still shining, so I took the time to sit for a while and photosynthesise. I felt a lot better having finally sorted out the embassy thing; it's so daunting thinking about it, but while you're there, it's really not difficult or as terrifying as you build it up to be. As usual, I kick myself for making a mountain out of a molehill.
I then went over to Trafalgar Square to go to the Wetherspoons there. In Oxford Street, I had a terrifying moment with my rogue knee. A bit of backstory: Last time I got drunk, my knee - out of nowhere - buckled under me and spilled me onto the floor. It's been painful ever since and had been slowly getting better. I was briskly walking towards Oxford Circus tube station and my knee did a threatening quiver like it was about to give up the ghost again. And because I denied it the satisfaction of planting me on my face in the middle of London, it is now in agony again. Thanks.
In Wetherspoons, I had a cheeseburger and some chips with a glass of cold Pepsi with a lime in it - it made quite a tasty little victory lunch. I love eating on my own sometimes - I was tucked away on a little table with my food and drink, texting Caz, looking out of the window at the sun, and it was wonderfully peaceful. I often find it's better to eat alone because a) the sound of people eating is not something I love and b) I like to focus on my food.
After lunch, I had a gentle meander back over to Kings Cross. The tube wasn't much of a nightmare today; it was only really packed this morning on my way to Piccadilly. However, I think - having cancelled the planned strike (which was a relief, I must say) - the tube drivers of London are now protesting by operating the trains as anarchically as they possibly can! It was very funny to watch people flying around like loose cargo as the trains careered arounds corners and bumped about on the tracks. Once I'd piled onto the train heading back to Hatfield, I had to change to a different carriage because an old couple had cracked open a bottle of wine and were pouring it into plastic champagne flutes. It was too much for my sun-drunk brain; I couldn't stop laughing at them, so I moved to a different carriage in order to openly snigger about it.
So yes, my embassy interview was successful, and I will be getting my passport back with my shiny new visa in it in the next week or so. I'm happy, even if it was really breezy today and - as a result - my hair now looks like Einstein's. Watch out America, I'm coming to get ya!
