When I got off the Megabus from Cardiff to London I was weary from a couple of days of hard walking. Fortunately there are markets in Victoria Station so I picked up a bread “baton” (larger than a hoagie roll, smaller than a baguette), some sliced ham and a single carrot.

Back at the hostel I pulled a Rubbermaid container from my suitcase and took out packets of butter and spicy brown mustard to garnish a simple ham sandwich. The carrot provided a bit of crunch. I finished up with an apple and a small container of Devon Custard Rice I’d bought previously.

Sure, I could made the sandwich without mustard and butter, but it wouldn’t have tasted nearly as good. And eating Devon Custard Rice with my fingers would have been the stickiest of wickets.

When I go to Alaska, I travel with mayonnaise. On all my trips I pack some or all of the following items — small, light, extremely practical things that are worth many times their weight in frequent-flier miles. They don’t take up much room but they pack a mighty impact.

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Melinda is the winner of “Shooting Bears: The Adventures of a Wildlife Photographer.” And here’s a hint about this Friday’s giveaway: It’s also a book, one with a personal-finance/frugality theme — and the author is willing to personalize it.

I haven’t been posting as much as I usually do because, well, I’m bushed. It’s taking a surprising amount of time to shake off the fatigue that followed my three-week trip, during which I pushed myself pretty hard.

One more mention of the U.K. and then I’ll get back to my usual mix of PF/lifeitsownself. Here are 7 things I learned across the pond:

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I brought a cold and/or upper-respiratory bug from Cornwall to London. (Should have stuck with postcards, huh?) It worsened the next day so I decided to go to bed early rather than see “War Horse.” The virus had chewed its way into my bones.

Fortunately I’d packed some cold meds. A paranoid traveler is a prepared traveler, as well as a traveler who doesn’t have to go out in search of a pharmacy when she’s feeling like homemade shit.

As I crept along the hostel hallway I saw some young dude using a cell phone. He hung up and said, “Hallo, how are you doing?” Couldn’t place his accent or his provenance.

I replied, “I’m sick and I’m going to bed” and kept moving.

He followed me. “You are sick? What’s wrong?”

“A cold.” I coughed to punctuate/demonstrate. “Good night.”

“You should take a shower,” he said.

That sounded odd to me but I shrugged it off. “Maybe later.” As I pushed the heavy door open I saw the light I’d left on was now out. Apparently my roomies were early-to-bed types, too. So I opened the door as little as possible to keep out the hallway glare and slipped through the narrow space.

And the guy tried to follow me in.

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As I got off the Underground an elderly woman was slowly trailing behind me, pulling a suitcase. I got one of those little mental flashes that said, “Let her go. Watch her.” So I stopped and fiddled with my pack and suitcase until she was in front of me.

The woman went around a corner and I lost sight of her briefly. Then I saw this flash of movement off to my left. It was a middle-aged guy making a Superman-like leap up onto the escalator. I swear he made five steps in one bound.

It was to rescue the elderly woman, who had fallen backwards and was lying all twisted as the escalator moved her slowly, inexorably upwards. She hadn’t made a sound.

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Susan is the winner of “Not Your Parents’ Money Book” by Jean Chatzky. As a middle-school teacher, she will surely put the book to good use.

I’m writing this from a free wifi kiosk at Heathrow Airport. It surprised me that free wifi isn’t universal here. I’m coming to you courtesy of an insurance company called Zurich.

Nearby a man dressed as a leprechaun, complete to wholly unconvincing beard and brogue, yells “Happy St. Patrick’s Day! The luck o’ the Irish to ye!” and poses for pictures with sometimes-coerced travelers. Yeah, they start celebrating early over here: The St. Patrick’s Day Parade was two days ago.

I’m leaving at 1:20 p.m. U.K. time and won’t land in Seattle until 10:30 p.m. PST. Here’s hoping that I get to my apartment by midnight or (please!) earlier. Expect to see another post on Wednesday, maybe.

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