Lecherous London

Blatantly wrongly advertised, Baker street in Paddington, London has not a single bakery to be found. As I scurried for the 10.18 bus to Luton Airport (I'd forgotten that miles were a lot longer than kilometres), I was committed to starve because of their poor signing. No orchards on Orchard street, either – the one that leads onto Baker street. I bet that people don't walk that much faster on Fleet street, either. At least there's a Buckingham Palace on Buckingham Palace street – although quite a boring looking building for the interest it garners in the average tourist amateur paparazzis.

Once I had parked up my beautiful and very comfortable petrol-drainhole of a Wicked Van, I got my bearings on London. Basically, walk across Victoria Bridge and everything's quite close – I saw Big Ben as soon as I had stepped onto the bridge, and the adjoining palace, which is quite an amazing and awe-striking building. Perhaps the royal family should move in there instead of their unimaginative abode. Westminster abbey was constructed with similar architecture as the palace attached to the Big Ben, although I didn't bother entering, as the queue was as ridiculously long as a beefeater's hat is.

After seeing most of the London landmarks (I missed the tower bridge, which looks quite wonderful – and King's cross station, I wonder how many people have run into the wall between platform 9 and 10 and become concussed – next time for both of these, I suppose). Back somewhat sore from carrying my progressively heavier backpack, I finally alighted upon Victoria Coach station, in anticipation of the free pick-up for pre-booked guests of Hostel 63. Giving them a call from a payphone, a gruff man answered and informed me that the number was wrong. So was the rest of the web page – no breakfast was provided, either, and none of the showers lock. The web page didn't say anything about noisy Spanish people either, although I guess everyone expects that in most dorms.

Finding myself at a loss for what to see next, I went for a wander in Hyde Park and the adjoining Kensington Gardens. There I found the greatest treasure one could hope for – a statue of Peter Pan, commissioned by JM Barrie in 1912! Apparently it appeared by magic over night in the gardens. I spent the evening reading a book, accompanied by Peter blowing his flute. By the end, Peter and I were best mates – sharing some things in common, like a vivid imagination, and never wanting to grow up.