Laurie in London: Flat searching, tea sipping, NHS maneuvering, and Americano-sipping at Terminal 5

"You live here now, don't you!" said the nice woman at Giraffe, my regular stop for coffee at Heathrow's Terminal 5. When I say "regular" I don't mean it in the way one would if she chose, say, a coffee house down the block. No, this is where I arrive and depart every day as I journey back to my lodge, one bus stop away.

Not only have I not found a flat yet, but I haven't even had a bloody moment to set out searching. I started my course almost two weeks late at King's College London, arriving with a health matter that has been tedious to deal with (thyroid) while struggling without the love of my life (Wally, my cat), which makes dealing with all manner of stresses more difficult.

"I like you guys!" I told the nice lady. "You're very pleasant." She smiled. And it's so true that they're pleasant, a balm at the end of the day when I'm worried that the nodule on my thyroid could be cancer, that my cat is falling in love with his cat sitter and forgetting all about Mommy, or that my brain will suddenly freeze and I'll forget who wrote The Beggar's Opera or what century I'm here to study (the eighteenth).

But here's the thing: this city is glorious. The people read books on the tube. The men know how to dress! Tea is not just a beverage option, but a way of life. A trip into Twinings on Fleet Street (which I will be writing more about later) is like a vacation unto itself. I chose 15 varieties in individual packets, still smiling at the thought of how Spicy Chai went down. And don't get me started on the free samples, not only provided, but provided in clever white ceramic cups, like they would at church. Theirs is not a disposable culture in London.

Further, my initial whining about the lack of fast food eateries here (I've yet to see so much as a McDonald's!) has caused my shorts to fit more loosely. I am devouring fruits and vegetables with the zeal of a footballer (soccer player). For all I know, all this organic eating will help shrink my thryoid gland back down to normal size (NHS waits are long, but I was told by a nice nurse at King's Health Centre that once I'm in, it's the best care in Europe.)

Every night, taking the District Line to Acton Town, then transferring to the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow's Terminal 5, I observe all manner of people--from the Muslim women staring at their smartphones to the young Fleet Street bankers in their smart pin-striped suits to the cheeky ladies out for a bit of fun in their faux fur coats and tri-toned pink locks.

Every night I pick up the Evening Standard on my way "home" and am becoming enamoured (there's the "u" in that verb!) with the local obsession of following Prince Harry and Meghan Markle - will they wed soon? Seventy-six percent of HELLO! readers agree it would be the right time!

Thank you, Giraffe baristas, for your kindness and making Terminal 5 my temporary home as I get adjusted to hours-long reading sessions, temporarily living without Wally (bringing him back next week!) and waiting to see a doctor. Hopefully I'm not sick enough for hospitalization, but if I am, at least I'll have a nice view of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament from my hospital bed at St. Thomas.