London is a curious creature. It’s like a good cup of Earl Grey—it can feel civilized, sophisticated, and refreshingly classic, but if you steep it too long, the bitterness (read: the overpriced black-taxi fares and inexplicably cold and damp weather) sneaks in. Days 7 and 8 of my London escapade had all of that and more—familiar hugs, unfamiliar architecture, and art that danced (literally). If my time here had a subtitle, it would be something like, “Trying Not to Trip Over My Own Nostalgia While Being Absolutely Blown Away by Buildings and Brushstrokes.”
Day 7 started simply enough—with a friend. We caught up, swapped stories, and probably added a little more sparkle to the big city. Then came my solo Tube travels, which basically involved pretending to be London-savvy while frantically checking station maps every 30 seconds. Nothing screams tourist quite like holding your oyster card in a death grip.
Later that day, I regrouped with my sister and niece—the dream team. Lunch at Amber was a lovely affair, with good food and even better table talk. Because nothing binds you together quite like a shared meal. After lunch, we ventured to the mecca of bibliophiles: Piccadilly Waterstones. Now, listen, we meant to be reasonable. Just grab the game More or Less, buy it, and head out all responsible-like. Simple, right? WRONG. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no one “just buys one thing” at Waterstones. That would be like saying “I’ll stop at one Pringle.” This was also when we tried convincing ourselves that we were buying books for each other, but really, it was just one big excuse to splurge. We stumbled out happy, tired, and thus broke in the best way possible.
The evening was capped with games, books, and a riot of inside jokes. We played a conversational game that had us simultaneously laughing hysterically and pausing for deep reflection. (Who knew a few card prompts could drag those “aha” moments right out of you?) It felt bizarrely wholesome, which these days is as exotic an experience.
Day 8 was all about Insurance, Elevators, and Vortex Art. It kicked off in the ever-bustling Financial District of London. Here’s a fun fact: nothing makes you reconsider all your life choices quite like being surrounded by skyscrapers packed with people in expensive suits who look like they have their lives together. A casual stroll through London’s financial district can almost feel like walking through the LinkedIn Hall of Fame. Yet here I was, soaking in the towering brilliance of the buildings around me, feeling quietly confident in my own way of life. Our first stop was the Lloyd’s Building, and to call it unique would be like calling the Royal Family mildly well-known. It’s a masterpiece of post-modern architecture—imagine a building turned inside out, like someone gave the plumbing a starring role. Elevators, ductwork, pipes—it’s all hanging out on the exterior, bold as brass (literally).
Inside, the place was all business meets sci-fi, with glass atriums and levels that made you wonder if you’d walked onto the set of Blade Runner 2049 (ahem, I just had to bring in Philip K Dick somehow!). Yet, amidst Lloyd’s steel-and-glass wonderland, there was one room that laughed in the face of modern architecture: the classical conference room. Wood-panelled walls, traditional charm—basically the CFO of all rooms saying, “I may be old school, but I still run the show.”
Underwriting, a term as layered as the Lloyd’s Building itself, traces its origins back to 17th-century London, when merchants gathered in Lloyd’s Coffee House to literally “write their names under” the risks they were willing to insure. Fast-forward a few centuries, and this art of calculated risk has not only evolved but thrived, creating a world where daring ideas find the backing to soar—or occasionally sink, as the Titanic so aptly demonstrated. At the heart of this modern marvel is my sister, a powerhouse in the insurance world, blending sharp intellect with unwavering poise. Watching her navigate the labyrinth of underwriting with her colleagues at Lloyd’s made me pause—a shift from the sister I grew up with to the individual she’s now become. She is no longer just the youngest of all us siblings; she’s a revered professional now deciphering risk like some kind of modern-day alchemist, spinning uncertainty into gold. And really, isn’t that what underwriting is all about? Taking risks, trusting your instincts, and thriving in the paradox—predicting the unpredictable.
If observing the building’s duality wasn’t already humbling, seeing my sister thrive in her professional domain surely did the trick. There’s nothing like realizing your “little” sister isn’t little anymore but a full-on boss lady commanding respect. Lunch with her colleagues was a mix of admiration, good vibes, and, frankly, fantastic food. Between bites, I kept repeating, “Wait, she’s really grown up, hasn’t she?” Some “Big Relatable Energy” right there.
But the pièce de résistance of the day—the cherry on my London sundae—was visiting Frameless. If you’ve never heard of this place, please gather ‘round because it deserves a standing ovation. Picture this: some genius decided to take iconic paintings, toss them into a blender, then pour the art into a room with surround sound, projection mapping, and just enough chaos to make you question whether you were fully awake.
Walking through Frameless felt like stepping into the kaleidoscopic brainwaves of Van Gogh, Monet, and Klimt. Paintings shimmered, swirled, and sometimes straight-up chased me across the walls and me chasing them as well. There was no “standing at a respectful distance” nonsense here. Nope, we were IN the paintings. At one point, I was ankle-deep in Monet’s water lilies and thought, “I’m in, Claude. Tell me your secrets.”
The immersive genius of Frameless is that it takes art and makes it loud, brash, and unapologetically vibrant. For those of us who’d rather not squint at a still-life bowl of fruit for hidden metaphors, this is your ticket to appreciating art without having to furrow your brow like a confused critic. And the best part? Nobody hissed “shush!” Frameless was a gentle reminder that highbrow art can be weirdly fun—and that’s one rule I can totally get behind.
Be Like London—A Hot Mess, But Make It Artful. Between London’s hodgepodge of history, modernity, and straight-up weirdness, my Days 7 and 8 were a masterclass in variety. Day 7 was warm and personal, proof that the best things in life are shared (be it food or geeky bookstore runs). Day 8 was an ode to boldness, whether it was from Richard Rogers redefining what a building could be or Frameless throwing art’s rulebook straight out the digital window.
London, dear friend, I’ve decided you’re like a frame that doesn’t quite fit your painting. You’re messy, unpredictable, sometimes overwhelming—but you’re also the one frame I’d am happy to step into. From inside-out buildings to paintings that danced around me, this trip has reminded me that life’s most beautiful moments don’t always play by the rules.
If Day 7 made me reflect, Day 8 set me swimming in an artistic vortex where “rules” left the chat. And if this trip has taught me anything, it’s this: go Frameless. You might just find yourself in the picture.
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