American? Well we won't hold it against you.

I managed to get up at a relatively human time this morning. Some time around 10:30 which considering that I didn't go to bed until after midnight and too much wine I thought that was pretty good myself. Why so late you ask? (Where exactly does the question mark go for a sentence like that?) Anyway I went to Maidenhead with Dad yesterday. He's working there this week and I had nothing better to do so I figured what the hell. Maidenhead is, contrary to the name, not filled with maidens eager to...well you get the idea. It's actually more like the Mayberry of England. Very small, clean, and filled with pubs. I managed to find the Methodist church, the post office, and movie theatre (I spell theatre this way all the time and not just because I'm here). After about three hours I had traversed the entire town and so I went to see The Dark Knight. Strangely it wasn't translated and all of the actors spoke American English. Very strange. So why the exposition you ask? Why tell you about the ins and outs of my day? We're getting there don't worry.

So after a day of bad English pub food, humidity, and sweating I was ready for dinner. Dad had asked where some place good to eat was and several places were mentioned. The first one started at 130 pounds a person (roughly 260 US) so we opted for the other one, Frederick's which as it was told to us was just five minutes from the train station. So we started walking, and walking, and then walking up hill. Sweaty and feeling defeated we finally called them and were told that we were almost there. Just up the hill. About five minutes from the train station. On the left. We were twenty minutes in to the walk and didn't want to turn around. Something that they don't tell you is that time here is in metric units and as a result everything is five minutes from everything else. Just another thing, like having no bills smaller than fives, that Americans don't understand. So we walk up to Frederick's, sweaty, smelling vaguely of stale Guiness and sausage to discover that not only is it a restaurant it's also a hotel and spa and the most important thing that anyone failed to mention, it's a five star establishment. I'm in jeans a long sleeved shirt and a blazer. The slight Frenchman at the desk looks me over once and determines that I am dressed ok enough to eat there. Whew! So we go sit in this giant parlor area, or holding tank, while we wait for the dining room to be opened. I realize that my hair is matted down from sweat and that I could stand to splash some water on my face. I also have to pee. Again the restroom is right around the corner. To the right. Then the left. Then take the first right and go through the door to the end of the hall and take the only left you can take. Simple enough. There is an oddly shaped vaguely European urinal on the wall that, outside of the bathroom, could be mistaken for a fountain of some kind. Easy enough. I go to the sink and wash my hands. Nice smelling soap very classy. I go to dry my hands. There aren't any towels. I look around. Tissues. A white box on the wall. I go to the white box. There aren't any towels hanging out of it but there is what looks to be cloth on the underside of the box. There's a silver square on the box and so I wave my hand in front of it. Nothing happens. I jump up to take a better look. Nothing happens. I'm sweating again afraid I'm going to be discovered. I reach for the tissues they dissolve in my sweaty grasp. I grab some more attempting to dry my forehead and end up with bits of tissue sticking to my face. I go for it. I approach the box. One more jump in front of the silver square. I reach up and grab the cloth underneath. A mechanical clicking follows my pull and the towel begins to come out and gets pulled back into the back of the machine. Haha. I've got it. I ambitiously pull a three foot section out of the machine and plunge my face into it to dry it off. I'm done and dry and the towel just stays there hanging limply, tangled and gray. I've broken the machine. I tuck in my shirt and calmly make my way back to the holding area. This is a picture of what the mechanism looks like from the inside. I couldn't find a picture of the actual towling device.

So that was awkward. Anyway today I went wandering around and got lost when I came upon a red phone booth. I got all touristy and excited and decided to take a picture since that's what we do. Stood there for about five minutes unable to get my camera to take a clear picture and about that time I looked up. There were two people in back of me and two across the street staring at me like I'd just gotten out of an institution. Their looks pitying me and saying how fortunate they felt not to be excited by the appearance of modern technology.

I got back to the hotel and went to the lounge. I'm sitting on one of the couches and in comes a portly Spanish woman and her screaming infant. She proceeds to take out her breast and feed the child. There is nothing wrong with this. The kid is hungry. What I find disturbing is that of all the seats in the room she has to sit directly across from me. I'm not a prude but I can't make conversation with her because that would require looking up and the potential for my line of sight to be "breasted" is unacceptable. So I stare intently at my book looking for a way out. Unfortunately I'm the only one who feels this way and she begins to talk to me and then to the all to willing Scottish gentleman who proceeds to ask me if I'm Spanish too. I respond that I'm American and he says "Oh...well we won't hold it against you. Everyone has their faults." Then he tells a story about how when he's traveling he doesn't hide the fact that he's married but he also likes to flirt with young women. Very classy. I want to tell him to blow it out of his haggis eating ass but I sit there and listen. I drink my water and retreat back to my room. All in a day's work. I can't wait to see what happens at dinner tonight. Till next time. Adios y'all.