I am not good with electronics

I successfully managed to enter the United Kingdom! I am officially not a terrorist!

Unless you are a camera, in which case I might be a terrorist. Or a cruel, cruel overlord. Or perhaps one of those overlords that always means well but manages to screw everything up. Do those sorts of overlords even exist?

See, I managed to get to London and obtain my visa, but in doing so I somehow obliterated my brother’s camera.

My brother loaned me his camera because mine mysteriously broke just days before Christmas, meaning that nobody had a chance to go buy me a new one as a present. And when he said I could use his, I was ecstatic. I was afraid I would go to England for six months and have no documentation of it. Well, looks like that’s still going to be the case.

I put the camera in my backpack, and it was fine. From my experience, digital cameras are rather hardy little buggers. I don’t even know what broke mine — it certainly wasn’t the innumerable times I dropped it. The lens stopped functioning after I put it on a shelf for a few days. Likewise, my brother’s camera stopped working after I put it in my backpack. The camera still works, but the entire screen is broken. You can’t see what you’re trying to take a picture of until you upload the photos to your computer, where you discover everything is a cluster of blurs and big, dark splotches from fingers inadvertently entering the frame. I have never been so annoyed with myself in my life. My brother does me a huge favour and lends me his likely-expensive camera for six whole months, and it doesn’t even survive the plane trip across. The poor thing never even survived to see London! It died in the plane from Vancouver!

And now I have to find some way to apologize and make it up to him, which is terrible because I have limited funds. I can’t very well buy him a new one — if I had that kind of money, I would’ve bought one myself instead of borrowing his. And I don’t even know what kind of little trinket he would like from England, except for a football jersey. Unfortunately, those are also a bit outside my price range.

To make things even more annoying, I cannot get the stupid WiFi to work on my laptop. I purchased 24 hours worth of WiFi (which, if you’re wondering, was a whole £5), and I can’t even use it. The code I was given to access the internet is nine digits, but the input box on the web page only holds eight. Even more stupid is the fact that, when I signed up for a real account (i.e. pay as you go, because I was confused), that gave me a nine-digit code as well. What the hell, Global Gossip. What the bloody hell.

Also, I think the receptionist at the hostel thinks I’m stupid. He certainly isn’t the first Brit to arrive at that conclusion. The woman at the train ticket kiosk at Heathrow definitely gave me a “You American moron” look when I was trying to get to King’s Cross (my hostel is near there, but it’s under construction right now so I don’t know if I’ll be able to stalk Platform 9 ¾). I just wanted to know the easiest way to get from one point to the other!  And maybe if one option was cheaper than the other.

Which reminds me, the train is about a bajillion miles from the international terminal. It’s quite annoying, especially when one has a very heavy suitcase. I have blisters on my hands from dragging it everywhere.

Oh, and upon finally managing to make it to King’s Cross, I demonstrated a marked ability to get lost. I must have walked down the same street three times looking for my hostel, all while dragging my stupidly heavy suitcase behind me. I definitely got my workout for today, and I’m sure my suitcase-draggin’ arm is going to be pretty buff when I get home.

(Note: my suitcase-draggin’ arm is also my left arm)

At least everyone sounds British here. Except for my hostel roommates — one is from New Jersey (but doesn’t have a stereotypical Joisey accent, thank the Lord), one is from Argentina, and the Asian one hasn’t said anything to anyone. We’re still waiting on two other people, and I will probably be sleeping when they get here. I really want to take a nap right now.

I guess my visa situation was totally glossed over by my other ramblings. That’s OK. Nobody wants to hear about the weirdness that is getting a 6-month visa to the UK. Besides, I have to set up some semblance of a blog schedule (heehee they pronounce it “shed-jool” here) and I have to save SOME of my stories for when I run out of interesting things to talk about.

Like my first real pint. And ADVENTURES!