I have only been in London for one day and already I have learned the most dreadful phrase in the English language - NO LIFT.
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I arrived at the John Tovell House today and let me just say there is nothing "flat" about this place. When I was given my key, I was told I would be residing on the third floor. The coordinator failed to mention that the third floor was actually about the ninth floor and that England just thinks its really "cheeky" to number the rooms in no apparent order. Oh, they also think it's really funny to enclose every room, hallway, staircase and every little turn with "fire doors". After shuffling through the house and running through rooms like a failing game of clue, I discovered my room ... and no defibrillator. But that wasn't the fun part, no. The fun part was dragging a 65-pound suitcase larger than myself along with two 30-pound camera bags up 10 flights of narrow stairs ... myself. Once again - they may want to re-think the defibrillator.
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I am settled in and once my broken back heals tomorrow, I will definitely explore.
Note to self: no apartment is ever nice enough to make up for "no lift"
