The Tube and Church Assignments

I thought the man capri was an urban myth, or that the trend died ages ago. Wrong. Man capris are alive and well here.

Prof. MacFarlane sent us on a little trip to help us figure out the tube. We had to take four different lines that took us to the usual hotspots, Big Ben and Parliament, the theater district, and the place where all the museums are. The weather called for rain so I put on crummy clothes, figuring I would be wearing a jacket all day. It never rained. I stuck out like the sorest thumb. I swear half the people here could be featured on the Satoralist, including the 12 year old Parisians that were on a field trip to Westminster...

This is in fact my own picture and not one I stole from Google Images.

Shlubbiness.  (And no, I am not fishing for compliments.)

The only thing I have to compare the tube is to BART... and they are rather different. When you first enter the platform a voice booms over the loudspeaker reminding you to "Mind the gap." At BART all they have is the "Watch Out!" sign with the little lad falling to his death on the rail. So classy... I find the tube rather clean, considering that thousands of people ride every stinking day. BART cars always seem to smell like a homeless man's house, because usually they are. It's rather funny watching the people here watch a huge gaggle of American girls laughing and talking all at once as we enter the train. I think they find us somewhat strange and horribly obnoxious.

After dinner, we had a meeting to find out what congregations we would be serving in. I was rather anxious and excited. The visiting bishop began doling out the envelopes with our group assignments. He mentioned something about the Spanish branch, and for some reason asked for those names to be called out first. Can you guess whose name was called? All of the color drained from my face and I found it difficult to breathe. I very distinctly remember telling them on my application that I spoke very minimal Spanish. (So apparently they're really desperate.) The other two people I'll be going with are returned missionaries. Stephan served in Piura, Peru and Natalie served in Uraguay. I haven't spoken Spanish since my junior year of high school. They were lamenting that they had forgotten so much of it, and they were nervous to speak to the members. Thanks for instilling confidence, guys... I expressed my fears to  Prof. MacFarlane all the while wringing my sweaty hands. He told me to be upfront with the branch president and to figure out where to go from there. Apparently there are callings where I would be speaking English, but the thought of giving a talk makes my stomach lurch to my throat.