Too much time has gone by, too much has happened, to really capture this weekend as I would like to. So -- a few highlights -- we'll see what I'm in the mood for.

I had already paid for the show Thursday night. So I was particularly anxious when my train from London Stansted proceeded leisurely and I found my hostel impossible to locate. The show was at 8 and when I finally found Francesca it was about 7. I told her we had to run if we were going to make it, and she, in a bad mood from waiting at the bar for nearly two hours, decided instead to get ready as slowly as humanly possible.

I was not angry at her at first, just flailing myself about frantically to get dressed, lock up our belongings and go. I tried to be patient, or at least keep silent as she absolutely languished from point A to B. But when she pulled out the tube map I couldn't help but suggest we might do that on the way, and she blamed me for already costing her the whole day in London, so this time she was going to be sure.

At which point I became genuinely angry at her. "Francesca, I don't want to be a bitch, but if we're going to go we've got to go." "If you'd gotten here when you were supposed to--" "I didn't get lost, I got here as quickly as possible." "Well I don't know what to tell you, Lauren." How I have come to hate the sound of my name from her mouth.

Then, then, she refused to walk briskly. Then she had to check twenty times that she was selecting the right tube fare, the right route. When I knew precisely. More than once I wanted to go on without her -- this was my mastercard. Every tube car we got on she had to ask, "Is this going to...?" Every corner we turned, "Is this the way to...?" When I positively knew. Add to that, everytime she asks for directions she affects this helpless, dumb little girl voice. I could not stand her.

And then she pointed out what a bitch I was being, demanded an apology. I gave it to her. I wasn't in the mood to fight, to point out how stupid and immature she was being. I conceded I was a bitch; I concede that to you now. I'm not trying to defend my unreasonable behavior or abusive words. I told her I was just mad at the situation and not her -- I took it out on her and I was sorry. But I was, with every ounce of strength in my not reserved for running to the theater, furious with her. This was the obvious truth of our incompatability emerged from the lie of a friendship based on convenience and necessity.

My apology, as hoped, simply smoothed things over. We were cool toward each other for a while, but enjoyed the show together in spite of it and my "Wanna hear something really classy? I still have my socks in my pocket" at intermission reestablished a very forced amiability. We got through dinner well enough, stiff as it was, and by the end of the night it was back to "goodnight my little one" and other tokens of supposed affection.

But all weekend she continued to pronounce my name in that patronizing, imposed-upon way: every time I really wanted to pull her hair. That sort of visceral third grade anger. At the Tate Gallery we argued over exhibits and decided to separate; as I looked at my map she stuck a despised finger in my face: "Do you know where you are? Right here." Wow, fuck you. I just walked away.

Sunday, still, she called my name on the bus, and I caught her in the act, visible proof of just what she thinks of me: I turned around to reply after she'd given up getting my attention, and watched her roll her eyes in utter disgust, a look that said "This is so typical; that girl is so stupid." I caught her. "Yes, Francesca?" Caught.

And now she's back to visiting my room, hugs and high fives, "little buddy"s. It is so fake, so empty, and so hilarious now. We've silently agreed to forget what happened between us this weekend, but she wants to go back to the way it was, that companionable pretension. And I just want to see her dumb, fake face as little as possible. I never want to hear her say my name again. Now let this case be closed: I may chat with Francesca when she stops by, I may visit a pub with her even, but not even for the most self-serving, Machiavellian reasons will I ever pretend she holds the coveted titled of friend in my life.

So, needless, I spent most of the weekend with other new acquaintances. Though I'll most likely never see any of them ever again, here are a few sketches:

Alissa, who offered her cd collection up to me; we discovered a common love for Josh Rouse and I lent CD #9 to her. She listened to it several times and Sunday begged me to burn her a copy; I told her she could have it altogether. It's as if I've been paid a personal compliment when people like my music. We may become "musical penpals."

John -- who wants to earn a PhD and profess, the English/philosophy major with a 3.9 GPA, a good sense of humor and a cute face. Could have been the perfect man for me. But he smokes and he smells like it. An unfair prejudice? I could never date a smoker. Never. By Sunday he started to get flirty, giving me looks everytime our eyes met that revealed a strange boyish nervousness, and I just took up my tried-and-tested 16-year-old strategy: utter avoidance. I hope it's true if I claim I wouldn't have dont that if he simply smelled of Old Spice.

Sarah -- actually pretty obnoxious but really nice -- just an endless talker on inane subjects -- but we spent most of Friday night talking together -- or talking and listening as the roles were handed down.

Mary -- after 3 weeks in Ireland has taken to saying "loo" and "queue" and pronounces Bath Britishly, which is so pretentious and really just stupid. Spent most of the weekend angsting over her boyfriend's meeting with an ex and so getting drunk and dancing nastily with other boys.

Christina, really just an extension on Mary; we fought over Guster and Avril. But really both were very nice and helped us when we missed our second flight -- yes, really -- and, inexplicably and uncomfortably, hugged me as we said goodbye.

Enough of that -- I met at least half the group but most grew quite tiresome, I suppose.

And what did I actually do? Stonehenge -- Chepstow Castle -- Tintern Abbey -- The Roman Baths -- The Museum of Costume. All beautiful, glorious -- realy astounding to try to picture the ruins as they were in their time, comprehend the time, realize the people, the shocking humanity of it all. On Sunday everyone wanted to shop so I went to the Costume Museum alone. Really wanted to be alone, though; and I think John was trying to find me so I sort of ran.

And in between? Lani and Josh, like a godsend. I called them from the Podium shopping center; they suggested we meet at the Bath Abbey. And as I exited the mall it turned out we'd been in the same place all along! This strange twist of fate seemed so cosmic, so perfect, so us. And it all just fell into place. Finally, people I could talk to without feeling I'd easier run a marathon. Relating and understanding -- and oh, the sometimes insignificant things we talked about, but I haven't laughed that hard in so long, felt so happy in so long. We went to a restaurant we were shamefully underdressed for and I was nearly served snails. I spent the equivalent of $25 on alcohol, including a White Russian that was little more than a tall glass of milk. And when the city shut down at 11pm and we were turned out of my room at 12am by a sleeper, we spent the next four hours hovering near sleep and avoiding clambering drunks in the hallway until sadly their bus was to depart. It was great to see them, and if all works out we may have nearly two weeks together over spring break.

And now I'm back -- it was good to find my bed (after a delayed departure and a €10 cab ride) last night, but perhaps less good to actually be back to the routine of things. Well -- I skipped my class today and haven't one tomorrow, but I have work to do again and a lonely room to return to and foreign voices to tune out. I haven't fallen out of love with the Netherlands but I felt more myself in England; I find I'm missing my friends more than ever and I'm really only working for spring break now.

I need to clean my room, get ahead on my heading, communicate better with the outside world, eat the groceries I buy. I need to keep up, get ahead, do a job. No point in being morose or speculative. Alright, before I hurt someone

(my pen was driving me crazy ;)