So that will be one bowl of cheese with your chesty cough?

A baker's dozen (that's 13) of people told me throughout the day that today is the hottest day of the year in London.  It is currently 79 degrees. To my coworkers, 79 degrees is cause for tank-tops and industrial sized floor fans and lots of frozen lemonaide. To me, 79 degrees makes me antsy because usually it means it will be followed by an additional 20 degrees two weeks later. I welcome the sun, clouds, and even the rain because this city never stops -- unless baguettes go on sale because, next to the Queen, baguettes are the most important thing in any Brit's life. 

I've been playing hostess for the past week. While I loved the company and being able to show off my amazing city, I selfishly admit that it is nice to finally have my tiny room back to myself. London cooperated with

nice weather and fun events - making me the Martha Stuart of 

London student dorm-hood. I sent them home to the states with loads of pictures and a deep chesty cough which I picked up on the subway one day and won't go away. 

Work continues to be busy and I am thankful that I can blame any mistakes on my internship-ness. I have taken on a huge project and I work on it all day every day (with the exception of my one hour lunch break which I spend people-watching in the park) as if it were a life or death matter. But to me it is. If my bosses are impressed perhaps there is a job in it for me when I graduate. It would be tough to have to relocate back to this big, beautiful city but I think I would manage. I still get star-struck when I have to call Hugh Grant's publicist or mail some props to the set of Harry Potter but I try to hide it. Especially now with my raspy, chesty, cough voice AND my American accent no one can really understand me any way. Case in point: yesterday for dinner I ordered soup, a slice of baguette with cheese and a glass of white wine. I was brought a bowl of soup, a bowl of cheese, an entire baguette, and a glass of room-temperature water. Cool. 

Tower Bridge...

at 9 am....

in the pouring rain

Stonehenge 

The Roman Baths

My new best friend: Jack Black

Tonight we sat in Hyde Park and listened to JACK JOHNSON do what he does best: sing sing sing. With some sushi in one hand and some British magazines in the other, it was a perfect evening. Scalpers kept asking me if I wanted to buy a ticket to go into the concert but I liked my rendition of a Jack Johnson concert much better.