The Queen's Terminal

"Oh, I like traveling like this," my mother just said as we are sitting in the brand new United Lounge at Heathrow. 

And, that was the reason I upgraded last night. This airport is massive and Rosemarie made it through all of London, but in this huge vast space that is the Queen's Terminal, she's a bit on the lost side. Getting checked in was especially easy and only after we were at the bin xray did I think to use her age to our advantage and get front of the line. The security guard wanted me to go through first, and when I balked and pointed to my mother, he was very polite and said that he would take care of getting her through. 

"Stay there, Madam," he said in his crisp British accent. "I'll be right with you."

And, with that, the Brits impressed me even further. While walking to this lounge was just as bad as maneuvering the South Kensington Tube stop, we eventually made it up the lift to this very posh United Lounge. My mom has had a hot breakfast and when I told her to stay put in her chair and wait for me, she did just that. After we finished, I found us a lovely couch to relax in.

"She made it all over London," I said to our table companion who smiled at me after I successfully placed Rosemarie on the couch. "But here, she gets out of sorts."

"You're a good son," the woman who was sitting across from us at the table said as I moved my mother to a new area.

And, I thought to myself, yes. Yes, I am.

Cheerio, London Town

Today is it - our last full day in the United Kingdom. Tomorrow, we catch our flight back to the United States and this morning, I was still undecided on how to spend our time. We arrived exactly one week ago, so I thought it would be fitting if we had breakfast where we dined that first morning - The Grazing Goat. And, a great decision was made even better when the pancakes I ordered were brought to the table. For these were no Aunt Jemima batter mix and they reduced my favorite LA pancakes to nothing more than runny batter. These two puffs of glorious clouds, served with a side of cream, a pot of lemon curd, maple syrup, fresh berries and dusted with powdered sugar were so incredibly delicous that I almost did not cut a piece for my mother. As I've said - the English really do breakfast well.

From the goat we headed right away to the TKTS booth since I decided that, although I really wanted to take a side trip to Bath, I really was quite tired and knew Rosemarie's legs had just about all the major walking they could take. Once I learned there was a production of The Crucible at The Old Vic, I hoped against hope, that one of London's hottest tickets would be available at the booth. And, it seems the vacation gods were with me as the maitnee was on the boards - but as I suspected - not the evening performance. That suited me perfectly. By this point, we know exactly what exit to climb out of the underground so we're in the right spot and within seconds we were at the front of the line. After doing a quick survey of the people in front and behind us on their first choices, I felt pretty confident that seats would be ours. Imagine my surprise when not only did we get tickets, but we got seats in the stalls that were four rows from the stage. After pocketing our afternoon prize, I opted to take us to The Natural History Museum.

"We go this way to the station," Rosemarie said turning us around.

"What's this?" I asked incredulously. "You know where to go?"

And, sure enough, she led us to the right spot. 

Once our train ride brought us across town, we exited and were just in awe of the museum. The facade could be any Ivy League college in its stature. It sits majestically on the corner as erudite as any institute of higher education. Surrounding us were children of all ages, marching like ants towards the museum to merge with the hundreds of toursits and Londoners who were all in line. I love how the 

museums are free, and I deposited most of my loose change into the donation box at the entrance.

Now, my motive for choosing this plan of the day was because of the Dinosaur exhibits.  The second

we passed through the Cromwell Rd entrance, we were in the massive main hallway that featured a massive fossil of a prehistoric beast. The stained glass windows on the staircase overlooking the foyer were as beautiful as any I've seen in any church and the light coming through bathed the corridor in fantastic light.

With so many people coming at us in all directions, and ones of all sizes, I felt the grip on my arm just a little tighter. What we Ioved about the museum is that not only is it full of great exhibits, but it's also a wonderful interactive learning experince for kids.  I was disappointed that most of the dinosaurs were recreated models with some fossils scattered throughout, but they still were pretty inspiring. Especially the build up to the T-Rex. Funnelling guests down a hallway of information with the frightening roars of the beast echoing through the room, the path turned you around the corner until there it was in front of you - a huge replica of the most popular of all animals. When the little girl in front of me burst into tears, I knew the museum had done its work well. My mom and I took a few of the interactive quizzes  - did you know the pterodactyl is not a dinosaur? Dinosaurs did not fly. Even at this age - there's a lot to learn. 

We still had plenty of time to explore more of the massive halls, so we headed over to the mammoth exposition. That was well worth the extra pounds to get in as they had a complete fossil of a baby wooly mammoth on display.

"Oh, you know the religious fanatics do not like this evolution exhibitions in the least," I commented. 

With the temperature in the museum rising from the sheer volume of guests, we took off our jumpers and continued through some more rooms. Most of the animals on display were from the museums archived collection of taxidermy. You could tell which ones were the models from their mouths. We didn't spend much time in the bird hallway - real or stuffed, I have no time for the creatures.

As we walked on, the two little boys with explorer hats just made the two of us laugh. 

"Oh, I just love little boys," Rosemarie said. "Look how cute they are. I'm so glad I didn't have girls."

"Ah..well...think about that again," I replied sitting down because the stuffiness of the hallways were getting to  me.

"You're not funny."

Au Contraire, Rosemaire. Au Contraire.

Looking at the time, we couldn't believe that it was close to 12:45. I wanted to get over to Waterloo and grab a quick bite to eat before our afternoon show. As we walked out at a much slower pace than we arrived, I knew I'd made the right choice to forgo Bath.

Once we got to the massive station, it took me a few minutes to maneuver to the correct exit. The Old Vic was easy to find and I was so thrilled to be going to one of London's most famous theatres. Being a huge Salem Witch Trials fan was only going to add to our experience. We took our seats that were literally almost on top of the stage and settled in for an intense three hours of theatre. When the two mobile phones when off, although not too loudly, I could not believe my ears. What kind of person can't figure out how to silence their phones? Theatre stupidity is world wide, it seems.

At the interval, I'd felt like I'd just been put through a tumbler. The acting was so intense, we could feel the heat of the performance in every word spoken. When the performance resumed and two people were sitting in the vacant seats next to my mother, I was shocked.

"She said the a/c was so cold in the back, she saw these two seats and moved up," she told me.

"Oh, she's full of shit. That is seat hopping pure and simple. She just wanted to move closer."

With no more electronic interruptions, the play ended with a thunderous standing ovation from the crowd in every direction of the theatre in the round. I can't remember a time when the applause was that well deservered. I can imagine that the wash of that praise must make the cast feel on top of the world. How they could do this performance again in less than two hours was stupefying to me.

Back to the hotel we traveled and with it being rush hour, if you can imagine, there were even more people in the station. 

"Watch yourself, here," I said as I helped my mom onto the train. The gap at this station was more of a chasm and I couldn't help but wonder how many people actually injured themselves here.

Once again, my mom was treated with the utmost respect on board. In fact, this entire week, only three people did not give up their seat for her - all of them young girls. 

"One more reason I like boys better," Rosemarie said over dinner when I brought up that fact.

Before we did get back to the hotel, though, we had one final Oyster card adventure. Before we arrived in London, I purchased two 30 pounds cards for our tube use and only had to top it off once as we really took full advantage of the London Underground. Tonight, however, it seems I miscalculated how much was left on the card, so when we arrived at Marble Arch, the gate did not open for her. With no place to top the card off and no Tube security, I ordered my mom to follow the woman behind us and nearly pushed her through before the little shutter doors closed. I did the same and we were out and above ground. I wasn't about to add more money to a card that had run its course. We felt like London criminals and laughed all the way back to the Hilton.

When we got back, my mom took a look around the room.

"Oh, we just got here and it's time to go," she sighed.

"It is not, let's go to dinner and we'll throw all this crap in the suitcase later."

And then we were off again to try our luck at a London evening meal. It wasn't a long walk to an area called St. Christopher's Place near our hotel where there are a lot of places to choose. The first one we looked at was Moroccan food and right away I could tell my mom was not happy with the choice. 

"Don't just eat here because I want to," I said, and even though she said she wanted to after we took a walk around the block, I knew she was lying. But when the food came, I knew she was enjoying it by the speed in which she ate.

With a mock cocktail for her and two real ones for me, our dinner tonight was just as special as our first in Paris so long ago. We talked about a million topics, reminisced about the past and could have stayed all night chattering like old girlfriends for hours if we didn't have to pack.

I did, though, ask her for her five favorite things of this trip. A little exercise I like to do on all our vacations. Harry Potter, The Pajama Game, Straford-Upon-Avon, Kensington Palace and ice cream at Harrods were on the top of her list. 

"This whole trip has just been wonderful," she said, making me a bit verklempt. "Paris, Rome, London, how lucky am I?"

We talked some more over the richest hot chocolate (this being a July evening in London, it's now cold enough for hot chocolate) and a rich, sweet baklava before we took the short walk back to the hotel. We've got the semi-final game of the World Cup on, but she will be asleep before the game has a winner.

Tomorrow, I haven't told her that I've upgraded us to business class. It just didn't feel right to return to Boston in Economy when this trip for her started so magically.

There have been moments along this past week where I've looked at Rosemarie and felt a small pang of how much time has passed since I've moved to California. The clock has made us both older, but it's also been a friend to us. And having the means and opportunity to treat her to the places in the world that I love so much has filled my heart with so much pride. Having her arm protectively wrapped in mine has been one of the joys of all of these trips. Taking care of her on the underground, on the streets and just being able to show her the world will be something I will cherish forever.

For those who have followed us on, not only this journey, but all three European adventures - I wish you this experience in your own lives. In a way, I almost didn't want the vacation to start because I knew that when it did, it would be over in a flash. But in that flash, I have captured the most beautiful memories imaginable.

When You Play the Palace

You can tell our trip is winding down - we're back at the hotel for a short break after our morning and afternoon at Kensington Palace before we head out to meet some of my friends for dinner.

In the meantime, we had a leisurely start to the day, taking the train to Queensway (it was going to be a good day off the bat with that being our destination) where we stopped into a small cafe for coffee and pastry. Kensington Gardens was right across the street so I knew we were in the right spot.

The amount of greenspace in this city is simply amazing, each park seems to go on for acres upon acres and Kensington is no different. My mom is walking a bit slower, so I know the trip is winding down and she's put all her energy into every hour. Compared to the speed she moved last week, it's really noticeable. 

Because of that, I'm glad I saved this visit to the latter part of our trip. We took our time through the paths, admiring the trees and space and just how clean everything appeared. One of my favorite signs in the gardens is how one is not allowed into the Diana, Princess of Wales memorial playground without a child. We wondered if child snatching was big in London. There are babies and toddlers everywhere in these parks. You have to keep your eye on these little buggers every second. Add that to the bicyclists, joggers, dog owners and more, and you have quite the busy greenspace.

Of course, all sorts of fowl, including pigeons were dive bombing and running rampart all around the lake. We stopped to watch some sort of duck building a little fort. He'd drop a weed into a big pile and then paddle off to the middle of the lake to bring back more vegetation. I could see a statue of Queen Victoria in the distance, but the way there was pigeon blocked, so we walked in the other direction. Turns out that was the main entrance to the palace, so it just took us a little while to get there.

I'd bought our admittance tickets months ago so it was an easy entrance into the castle. We took advantage of the explainers who were stationed in most of the rooms as there was no audio tour. I'm a bit disappointed that with so much to see that the castle doesn't offer one. Getting my mom on the same page of the informational booklets was always an adventure, but not as adventurous as getting her to take a picture with my iPhone. At one point, I looked and saw she had taken six of me before I even sat in the King's throne and then the one that was there was blurry. I decided to give her the regular digital camera, which she had  more luck with.

As the main hallway was over run by school children and the toilets being swarmed by what seemed hundreds of adolescents, a visit to the loo was postponed for her. For me, I was nearly stampeded as I exited the gentleman's WC. School vacation is definitely in session.

I highly recommend a visit to the palace if only to learn about royal history. It seems by next September, Elizabeth will have surpassed Victoria as the longest reigning monarch. I've no doubt she's got her eye on the prize. The amount of people vying for the throne was incredible. Elizabeth II owes a lot to many headless prisoners in the Tower of London and beyond.

In the first room we visited, though, I discovered that Earl Grey was a real person!

"You mean the tea I drink is a man?" 

I don't think the explainer liked my humor, but I tried just the same.

Next, we ventured to the fashion exhibition. Looking at Diana's dresses, Rosemarie kept muttering to herself, what a shame, what a shame. I, on the other hand, thought that the princess should have just kept silent. From the history, hundreds of royals had affairs, what's the big deal. You have the title and the crown, who cares about the mistress. Harsh perhaps, but realistic! 

Gripping the banisters up the many staircase, my mom made it up to each of the wings of the castle. Our favorite by far was the Victoria Revealed exhibition. To hear how much she loved her husband was heart-wrenching. Wearing black for over forty years? That was a bit over-the-top. If that weren't enough, reading what the Queen wrote as her husband lay dying made an old bitter queen visiting the real queens feel a little less cold and pessimistic about true love.

There were lots of couches and chairs throughout out the self-guided walk so I had my mother rest at each opportunity. The little booklets were quite hard to read in some of the dimly lit rooms, and all the information would have been perfect on a recorded tour. My favorite part of history was learning that one  of the rooms we were standing in was where people came to see the King, and they would be held there for almost four hours! If they had to relieve themselves, well, let's just say, it was easier to be a man.

Some of items freaked us out - like the tooth of one of the princesses inside a brooch and the cast of the left foot of one of Victoria's children. Just one foot? Why one? Very freaky. Rosemarie could have used Albert's walking stick but it was safely protected behind the glass.

My mom rested a bit on the settee in front of Victoria's Diamond Jubilee footage, which was a really interesting piece of history to watch. And with the current queen surpassing Victoria next year, you can bet it's going to be a party in 2015.

"There's no way she's going to give up that throne," I told my mom. "She's old school, she's going to hold onto the last minute, and Charles has waited far too long for that coronation ceremony to step down."

We were about to leave the palace when we realized we had almost forgotten the other wing - The Queen's chambers. Up the red carpeted staircase my mom went again. A bit slower this time and only moving to the right of the staircase when I told her to grip the railing. 

This area of the palace belonged to Queen Mary and I forget her husband. It was all pretty nondescript. The only real room of interest is where two royals had a fight about one being loose with her virtues. Quite scandalous it seems.

And, then, we were done. I made Rosemarie rest a bit before I checked to see if we could get into The Orangery for afternoon tea. 

Set just to the side of the palace, the restaurant is a miniature version of a castle. Its open air main room is light and inviting with a marble bar across the front of the space. Each table meticulously set with fine china and white table cloths. We didn't have a reservation, but the cute queen behind the desk found a spot for us. 

It was our first foray into the English tradition, and after ordering a black tea for myself and an Americano for my mom, we were presented with our tray: On the lower one - finger sandwiches, all with the crusts removed and two each of cucumber, salmon with cream cheese and egg salad. In the middle, four scones and on the top tray, two pastries wrapped in almond paste, two Victoria sponge cake filled with strawberry jam, mini lemon meringue, lemon tarts and one chocolate sponge cake.  The entire set up made us both think of our Aunt Lil who passed away two years ago. An afternoon like this was just what she would have loved. As we ate, we were  especially grateful the army of young girls who paraded through the main room had their own tables off to the side. The clatter of their shoes on the marble floor was enough to make me reach for my excedrin.

 The staff was attentive beyond belief and the big queen of a host with his curly hair enveloping his beautiful face shashyed back and forth dressed to the nines in his pinstripe suit and continually checked on us throughout our visit.

"Look at these big girls," I said to my mother, and she immediately knew I was not talking about real girls who were big. "Not one of them has thighs that scrape together, you can see the space between their legs!"

"I know," she lamented."You got my thighs. I'm sorry."

I suppose she also was calling me a big girl with that statement, but I let it slide.

We finished our afternoon break and walked back through the park, stopping briefly to eavesdrop on some sort of biking tour outside the palace. Checking my iPhone for Princess Diana's resting place and seeing that it was off limits at her family's estate, we headed back to our hotel for a brief respite before dinner.

And, when we got back, Rosemarie sat on the bed and immediately fell asleep. I let her rest for the hour and a half before it was time to dress for dinner with two friends that I met on Mykonos in 2004.

Now, as many of you know, I love the fact that I have friends across the globe. When I go on vacation, if I don't meet new people, I always feel a bit let down. The world is vast, you should know as many other human beings as possible. And, when you come to Europe, looking at the millions riding the Tube escalators, the throngs of people on the street, the bodies rushing for the buses, you can't help but see that this world is full of so many wonderful people. To remain in your own world is almost 

against the rules.

And as we rode to Waterloo (where yes, every time we did, I was silently singing ABBA), I was so excited to introduce my mom to my friends. She'd already met Jim the day we arrived and we all joined by Markus at Skylon, where even more food awaited us.

No pub meal here. We started with a white tomato soup as a surprise starter from the chef that was not only rich and delicious, but actually white! Served in tiny tea cups, the soup had us all wanting an entire bowl. I ordered a halibut risotto for my mom to be followed by truffle macaroni and cheese. For me, a goat cheese quiche and duck breasts.

I knew my mom loved her dish by the way she moved her fork through the food and the speed in which she devoured it. She refused to try my duck, no matter how much I prodded. It seems that some things were just beyond her palate. Dessert, however was no hard task in sharing. Her peanut concoction was basically a big snickers bar sitting on a bed of chocolate while my lime was a small tart paired perfectly with a Riesling. And if that weren't enough, the small sweet bites our server gave us sent us over the edge. (The salted caramel bites were the clear winners.)

One of the funniest portions of the evening was when I decided to go out with Markus and Jim and my friends joked about putting my mom in a cab alone. You can imagine the sheer terror on her face, that I quickly erased by reassuring her I had not changed into an evil queen who'd desert her.

Sitting on the tube, though, I quizzed her on our stop.

"All this time and you don't know?" I laughed as she pointed out the wrong one. 

"It's the next one," she said and I told her that didn't count because that was not the proper name.

All attempts at showing her on the map were futile, though I was surprised when she quickly followed the signs  to the way out. It was going up the steep moving stairs that I suddenly felt like I were at Kensington Palace in the days of old. I needed a chamber pot and fast. The second we got on the lift, I told my mother that if she couldn't find the room, she'd have to wait for me to come back. There were more pressing matters ahead.

As luck would have it, she easily made it down the hallway. I changed outfits quickly and was back out into the West End with her safely deposited in the hotel watching The World Cup. And that's exactly what I did later this evening. In my favorite pub with my two friends, seeing how so many were captivated by the game, I thought how wonderful it was to be here. To not be closed off in the bubble that is West Hollywood and to experience all that the world offers you.

Easily finding my way back to the hotel, I found it strange for someone not be holding onto my arm. And, Rosemarie was where I'd left her, and I knew she had fall asleep quickly. Every light was still shone brightly.

Wednesday is our last full day in London. I haven't yet decided what to do, but whatever it is, I know my mom will follow along. And, just maybe, she'll finally know the name of our Tube stop.

In Love With Shakespeare

We are on a train, speeding out of London to Stratford Upon Avon. Being a huge fan of The Bard, and writing countless papers on him over the years, (all A's mind you) I just had to do a day trip here.

Booking a 12:18 train so we wouldn't have to rush was a smart move as we didn't even get out of bed until close to 8:30. Rosemarie was dressed and ready to go in no time and I made sure to pack her puzzle book for the two hour train ride. I'm annoyed that I did not pack a nail file - my manicure that I got before I left is practically ruined. 

Of course, in case there was any doubt - we arrived at the railway station early. I picked up our tickets and we headed nearby for breakfast. Before we ate, after riding the Underground, I needed to wash my hands as riding the trains always makes me feel as if a million germs are having a party on my palms. 

"Here, use the wipes I brought," my mom said going through her bag and unsuccessfully locating them.

"Your system doesn't seem to work," I chided as she dug deeper into one of only two compartments, getting more frustrated that she could not locate them. 

"Are you like this at home? Give me that bag," I ordered taking it from her and finding the hand towellettes immediately in the outer pocket. "Good Lord. How do you function?"

"I know where everything is," she laughed taking note of where the wipes were for the next time she can't find them.

With my hands now sufficiently clean, we ordered. Now, I think I've discovered that the English really know how to do breakfast and lunch well, but not dinner. My mother's French Toast and my waffle were one of the best meals we've had to date. The Belgium delicacy was crispy on every square pocket and the sugary batter was evident in every bite. Her French Toast, soaked in eggs and lightly crisp along the crust was a decadant start to the morning. Along with the strawberry jam and toast, it would have been perfect if only the juice were fresh. For the first time, I was served concentrate, and I'm almost tempted to return to the bar & grille tonight on the way home to let them know of my disappointment to see if they'll give me some of their sticky toffee pudding that was on today's menu for free.

We made the short walk back to Marylebone Station, which is a quaint European rail portal that really puts you in the travel mood. From the airy foyer leading to the open air train platforms, the passageway is perfectly designed. I found the sign in one of the restuarants for a breakfast bap and eggs quite amusing. You can guess what it means, it really is quite intuitive. 

Watching the arriving passengers was a great diversion, and of course, here, as all over London, the boys are nicely dressed and just get nicer and nicer to look at. And since we'll be sitting for a few hours on the train, I decided to just walk around the station, which is where I had great fun at Rosemarie's expense. Every where I turned, it were as if she was on a lazy Susan. I went right, left, behind her, disappeared behind a column and she spun around like the special effects in The Exorcist. Finally, she caught on.

"Oh, I know what you're up to," she laughed and then stood her ground, amusing herself by reading the arrival and departure boards as if she knew where any of the destinations listed were located.

We've now depoisted ourselves into very comfortable seats where I am facing forward because I hate riding backwards and she's direcly across from me - presumably to keep an eye on me from leaving the  car without her noticing. The train is going at an insane speed and I'm in awe of how green the surroundings are here. Living in the dry basin that is Los Angeles makes one forget how the world should really look. 

I love how they announce the name of the station by saying "Alight here for (insert station name)." Back home, they wouldn't be nearly as polite. We'll be in Shakespeare's town soon. I'll start quoting some soliquies and then see if Rosemarie can keep up.

And just like that - we arrived in Stratford Upon Avon, a journey from London I discovered from one of the guides in Shakespeare's birth place that would have taken the writer two days to complete. As we started walking towards the center of town, I was struck by the quaintess of this village, which is a bit reminiscent of Cape Cod. If one lived here, I can image everyone knowing everyone's business. My mother likes to wait for the walk signal if one is available, so we dutifully waited by the curb at every opportunity before crossing the street. So image my surprise when a little old lady, hunched over and with a cane, barreled by us and walked clear across the road without looking left or right. I watched as she maneuvered down the sidewalk with the agility of a gazelle and finally, she left us in the dust.

As we walked past the sweet shops and everything named after Shakespearean characters that you can imagine - Iago Jewlers anyone? - the easy to follow street signs made it simple to find our destination. Crossing over the river to the tourist center, I discovered that there are five family homes in the area to visit, and since all of them close at five o'clock and since I really had no interest in seeing Anne Hathaway's Cottage or Mary Arden's Farm, it was an easy choice. Plus, those two were not within walking distance.

Of course what did we have to buy right away as I purchased the tickets? Yes - a magnet, of course, and when I bought that along with the admittance tickets, she was not happy. It seems I'm forbidden to use my credit card in her presence.

As we left, the skies got darker and the ever changing United Kingdom weather kicked in. It was only a 

brief shower, but she still got to use her rainhat.

Now, for anyone who's gone to New England and walked the Freedom Trail or visited Paul Revere's House or even up to Salem to visit The House of the Seven Gables - this is much the same type of experience. In our first stop - Shakespeare's birthplace, there was a rather attractive (again with the good looking) guide just waiting for people to show up to start his little informational speech. Charlie was his name, if you must know.

He could be spouting all sorts of incorrect facts, but none of us would ever question anything he said anyway. I was surprised though, at how well off Shakespeare's family was - he was never a starving artist. The tiny house was full of traps for Rosemarie to fall into, so I made sure she watched where she was going and held onto the rails. Before we ascended to the second floor, I could have sworn I heard some lines from Romeo and Juliet. Imagine how happy I was to discover that I wasn't imagining when I saw two actors outside performing the famous balcony scene. They were both a bit old and Romeo was a bit on the paunchy side, but they were very into their roles and the crowd, myself included, ate it up.

For someone like me, who has written about and studied these plays, being in the house where The Bard came into the world was pretty awe-inspiring. Looking at the original steps that his family would have walked up and down was fascinating and Rosemarie was clearly interested in all the stories the experts had to share, especially the fact that parents in that age dressed all babies in dresses as to fool the evil spirits that would come take the life of little boys in their sleep. It seems The Devil did not want girls. There's a remark in there somewhere, but I'm on the return train to London, a bit tired and can't quite think of one. Even though the tourist center told us each house visit would take an hour and a half, this was no Harry Potter Warner Bros. Studio Tour. We were done within 30 minutes.

Of course, the house turned you out into the gift shop before you exited and for once, I stopped to take a look around. Everything from Shakespeare wind up dolls to stuffed Bard dolls to his complete works and everything in between was for sale.

"I need to buy you something," my mom pleaded. "Pick something out!"

Well, I was in the perfect place for my tastes, so I chose some Shakespeare Christmas cards (keep an eye out for your holiday mail) and a few complete and unabridged plays in easy to pocket books. Being around so much literature was almost ecstasy.

 

Then, we moved onto New Place and Nash's House - a massive structure by Elizabeathean standards that the old Will bought and sold. His last residence is simply a garden to the side of Nash House as the structure has long since been demolished. It was already close to four o'clock when we decided to skip Hall's Croft and head to Shakespeare's Grave.

Again, much like in Boston, the old graveyard is full of stones with names long since faded away and forgotten. And, even though our ticket said we could gain entrance to the resting place, the large British woman at the gate to the chapel mumbled something about how my ticket was not the right one. 

"How much do you need?" I asked throwing out my hand with various coins on it. She took three pounds and into the chapel we walked. At first glance, neither my mother nor I could find Shakespeare's grave, so I had to come back out and ask Mama Morton where it was located. It seems the famous citizen of Stratford had so much money that he could afford to be buried, along with his wife and daughter inside the church. And, there, in front of the altar were the resting places with a bust of the famous man looking down over them all. In all my years of education, I never once remember them telling us how much wealth the family accumulated and what a rock star he was in his hometown.

We still had time for the last house in the vicinity, which is where Shakespeare's daughter and her husband resided. Both of us were amazed at how large the place was and clearly, these were people of means. As we were leaving, an employee suddently appeared out of a small doorway. She apologized for startling us, I asked a question about the house and she proceeded to give us a ten minute guided tour. Something more for our ticket price. A good value.

Before we knew it, it was already well past five - and I really wanted to get something to eat before our two hour ride back to London. On the way into the town center, we passed a number of pubs and I was determined that we erase the experience of the Italian owned English rendition of last week.

As the skies turned gray again, suddenly, the weather turned and it felt as if October had pushed away all the other months in its way. The rain poured down, my mother put on her rain hat and we walked as fast as we could to the Old Thatch Tavern, a quintessential pub that did not disappoint.

Past the bar into the dining room, the small area with its wooden tables and great beams was incredibly inviting. We were soaked and after we sat down, before we ordered, we had the most interesting ask by our hostess.

"Would you like me to give your jumpers a pop in the tumbler, for you?"

"She wants to put our sweaters in the dryer," I said to my mother who was so confused she at first said she was just fine. By the time our food came, our garments were back, toasty warm and cozy.

Now, I've been waiting for a great English dinner - and I almost thought I'd be leaving without ever getting what I wanted in that respect. So when I saw the tavern's menu - cottage pies, haddock and chips, mushy peas and more, I was in United Kingdom Heaven. And the daily special? Spicy tomato soup and red pepper - and the special entree of the day -  Minced beef and onion pie! 

In a flash, I ordered for both us, getting the fish 'n chips for my mom and the daily special for me. I told the server to surprise me with a bitter pint, I just wanted a true English brew. I don't know what I got, but it went down really quick.

"It could be 32 outside and us Brits would still order soup," the waitress said when she brought the first dish.

"She means in Celcius," I told my mom when I could clearly see her thinking that well, who wouldn't want soup when it's freezing outside? And that soup was so spicy hot, if it were freezing outside, it would have melted an entire snowbank.

And then our meal arrived - and it was perfect. From the homemade tartar sauce to the perfectly seasoned beef in the pie to the beer battered fish. It was the most delicious dinner we've had all week. Rosemarie's deep fried crispy beer batter revealed the hot flaky white fish it coated in all it's hot steamy goodness. Dipped in the side of tartar, it put memories of eating at Kelly's by the beach out of our memory forever. We used so much of the sauce, we had to ask for more. It was so good that I dipped each and every one of my chips into it. And yes, I also asked for more ketchup.

"I would take the train up from London all the time just to eat here," I told our waitress when she asked how we were getting along.

As we ate, I watched the different patrons arrive. One French family of four sat down, and with two girls in their teens, who clearly were not happy to be on vacation with their parents asked if they served pizza and sprite. Our waitress took it all in stride and told them to look at the menu and they could always leave, "no harm done." They must have found something they liked because they remained until we were finished. However, the girls never lost their sour expression.

Also, during dinner, two very large English men walked past us on the way to the WC. Both of them, on each occassion had obviously spent many hours at the front bar.

"I want to say sorry mate for what might happen when I go in there," the burly drunkard said to me as he pointed in the direction of the toilets."It's just something that you know might not smell so good."

The rest of what he said was unintelligible as his accent mixed with his slurred speech was too hard for me to understand. 

Drunk number two didn't speak to me, he stumbled towards us, but went up to another table until he was gently guided away and back to the bar by the waiter.

And were we finished you ask? Not this time, for I wanted dessert. All thoughts of going back to this morning's restaurant and asking for sticky toffee pudding were put to rest with the next two treats. Homemade apple pie with a jar of warm custard sauce along with sugar and cinnamon for Rosemarie and a chocolate raspberry tart for me with mocha ice cream. Of course, it took us until after we devoured both that we realized we were supposed to sprinkle both the sugar and the cinnamon onto the pie -  not just pour the custard sauce. (I thought the sugar was for my tea!) Regardless, it was a sweet that rivaled anything I've had in Europe.

"Maybe we should get another pie to serve it rght?" I asked my mother.

For the record - we did not.

When new patrons at a table next to us were having a hard time deciding on their meal,  I told them they could not go wrong with the minced pie. With a thumbs up from one of them when their food arrived, I thought I should move here and get a job spouting the joys of The Old Thatch Tavern.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the fall weather remained. Even though we were early (surprised?) for our train, we didn't have to wait long as our Chiltern Railways car arrived 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

It's a sparsely crowded ride back to London and it seems Rosemarie has taken a chatter box pill or the hot chocolate she had with dessert was just as bad as if she'd ordered an Americano.

"This is the quiet car," I shushed her as I began writing. "No talking," I lied because that rule only applies to using your mobile phone and keeping all electronic devices on silent.

As luck would have it, she fell asleep,though she told me she would not be able to do that. I should keep her awake so she doesn't start to babble to me all night.

Three Queens Out for a Walk

I think I'm wearing my mother out  - today, I looked at how tired she was from all our walking and I knew it had to be an early night. She's safely tucked into bed at 9 pm, but it's a bit difficult when the sun is still out. You have to love summer in Europe. I sometimes think she's made of iron, and I hope at her age, that I'm still able to do half of what she does.

Before I go down a sentimental path - today was all about meeting and catching up with an old friend. Oh, maybe I've already gone down that road for today. Anyway, for those who've followed my story, you know I first met Serge in 1998 in Los Angeles. Ever since then, we've stayed in touch the old fashioned way. Letters. Real, honest to goodness hand written letters with a stamp. In fourteen years, I have physically seen him only three times. But no matter how much time passes, there's nothing we don't know about one another. We meet and it's as if it were yesterday. To those who don't realize how much the internet has taken away, I suggest you  discover the power of a handwritten note. Of course, over the years, while Serge has handwritten his, I have typed and only signed my name. I told him today that if I did not, there'd be no way we would have remained friends.

His train was right on time and this being Sunday, it seems the tube was almost a ghost town.  With plenty of seats and no crowd, getting to King's Cross St. Pancras was a breeze. Of course, this being King's Cross, I will spare you the Harry Potter references.

The station is quite fabulous and it makes our railways seem like distant backwoods cousins. Of course, and do I even have to mention it, we were early, so we had a wonderful breakfast of bread, fresh juice, coffee and tea while we waited. You never have to ask if the juice is fresh squeezed because it always is and it's refreshing citrus is a perfect complement to coffee and tea. As I slathered the chocolate spread on my breakfast, I thought, even if I had this back home, it wouldn't be the same.

After we finished, I leaned up against an old piano sitting outside the international arrivals. Out of a nowhere, a young boy from Canada sat down and started playing. Surrounded by his family, a crowd quickly gathered and even the out of tune keys couldn't dull the music.Whatever it was, this one moment filled the entire terminal with joy. 

And right on time, the train from Brussels arrived. My old friend looked just as good as the last time we met and after walking quickly outside so he could smoke, I unofficially became the tour guide.

Since it has been five years since Serge has come to London, I thought we'd start at the palace. As we  got closer, we noticed the crowds swarming around the gates and on the mall surrounding it. It resembled the crowds lining up for The Disneyland Parade on Main Street, except instead of the Disney cast members, it was the London police on horseback asking for people to keep off the street. Maybe it's the accent, but even when you know they're frustrated they sound refreshing.

Was the Queen back? Was there a royal procession? Alas, it was merely the Changing of the Guard. Now, while the ceremony is pretty amazing, it's nothing spectacular, and all I could think of was how much tax money goes into this production. Most of the guards barely looked old enough to grow facial hair, and after they marched, in amazing synchronicity, down the strand and behind the gates of the palace, we decided that that was enough and being trapped by the thousands surrounding us was not a pleasant outome. But, to our dismay, we were trapped on what I dubbed the island in front of the palace. Finally, a path was open and we pushed our way to the other side. The ceremony was still going on behind us.

"Just YouTube it," Serge said. "Everything is on YouTube, even concerts. I don't even go anymore, I just watch online. Well, except Barbra."

And then we were off discussing the pros of her latest tour as we walked toward the London Eye.

Now, when we got here, my mother was hell bent on not going up on the attraction, but one of her favorites was now in the mix, so since Serge had never been and finally seeing that there was no chance of the pod being rocked back and forth, she agreed. But it was already past noon and all three of us were getting cranky from hunger. With the crowds now swelling around us, I decided to escape the madness and take them to the fifth floor of Harvey Nichols.

Before we got there, however, I was not paying attention on how much we've used our Oyster cards as the gates to the tube did not open for us. It was relatively easy to add funds but it was a bit disconcerting when my mom looked like we were going to be pulled over by the Tube police for not having enough money on the cards. We were soon up and running and back underground, though.

The complete opposite of Harrods, Harvey Nichols' top floor food court is an oasis in the middle of London's madness. I first came here with my wonderful late friend Doug, and sitting in the dining room with my mom and Serge, I couldn't help but feel sentimental as I looked over at the table by the window where we all once sat, enduring the ribbing they all gave me for not returning home in time and being late to lunch. This place has some great memories and today was about making another. We talked about when we first met and how Serge met his husband Phillipe, who unfortunately, had to work and couldn't join us.

"Maybe next time, I'll tell you how I met my husband."

Was that a laugh I heard from my mother, or just my imagination?

Now, we've had an interesting go of dinner here since we've arrived. My mom has been dying for a great piece of steak and every restaurant so far has been a disappointment. This afternoon, however, was a success. After I could tell she was not going to eat her lobster ravioli, I was worried that this might turn out to be a culinary disaster, but the perfectly done meat with its crispy string beans and rich sauce was a hit.

"I'm not trying another steak here," she said after she finished. "I don't want to go downhill."

On my plate, the cod with its crispy skin and tiny gnocchi pillows was the perfect entree. If it weren't for the overly attentive staff, it would have been the perfect dining experience. When I told the hostess we enjoyed ourselves, she quickly asked if I write online reviews.

"Please do, we need the business," she implored as if her job and the fate of The Fifth Floor depended on me.

I looked around at all the full tables and wondered if she was seeing a different room that I. No matter, now that all three of us were full, we could better concentrate on the rest of the day.

Back in the underground, we headed towards the Eye and the line that snaked in front of it was worse than Space Mountain in the middle of the afternoon. We were just about to nix the idea when I saw the fast pass line. And there was literally,  no one in it. Now, after I found out you can just buy a fastpass and cut to the front of the line, I thanked heaven for cheap people who rather wait an eternity
as we boarded our pod in less than five minutes.

I have to admit though, that the spin around the air was really only just pleasant. While all of London was there for, pun intended, the eye to behold, I'm not sure it was worth it. Impressive though, was how the operator offered to stop the attraction to let Rosemarie disembark. (It still moves slowly at the exit). Of course, she refused.

"Wasn't he nice and attractive," she said. Yes, mother, all of London looks like that. Don't remind me.

With the skies clearing during the day, the crowds had increased and we wound up dodging and pushing our our way up The Queen's Walk along the River Thames and finally into a pub for a spot of tea. Next to us, a family consuming their fish and chips had left more chips on the floor than in their plate and all we could do was commiserate with the staff as they tried unsuccessfully to get the squished french fries off the carpet.

That caused Serge and I to talk about "when we were young" and how we were brought up. Oh, Lord, I thought, we're talking about back in the day. And soon, it was time for another cigarette, so we were off outside to let my friend get his fix and then we took the very long path back. Past Westminster Abbey, which was closed on Sunday to tourists as it was open "just for worship," but of course, the gift shop was open for the tourists to worship in there. From the massive church we walked back along the path my mom and I had been on our first day here, all the way back up the mall (which was closed for the Tour de France) and then through the park and up the Diana Princess of Wales memorial path.

It was here that the amount of walking we've done so far caught up to my mom. She said she wasn't tired, but I could tell she was moving slower. She did enjoy the fact, though, that we had walked up the same road that William and Kate's Wedding Procession occurred.

We finally made it back to Green Park where my mom at last had to stop and use the WC. Of course, the one pitstop she makes is one that requires coins to let the women through the turnstile into the stalls. Sure enough, when it took quite a few minutes for her to reappear, I knew she had gotten stuck. Fortunately, she had gone in with another woman who had the same issue and together they made their escape from the barricaded bathrooms.

Relieved and relaxed, we rode the Victoria line back to King's Cross so Serge could catch his train, and once again, the politeness of the Europeans amazed me. For all but one time on our train travels, only one person failed to offer their seat to her. The Americans have a lot to learn.

After a goodbye in the station and a big hug to my mom, Serge was off and I knew that no matter how much time goes by until our next visit, it will be just as easy as it always is with us.

Then, we headed back, a little more slowly, to the Central Line. The crowds were getting larger and it seems The Italians have arrived in the United Kingdom. Out on the street, we could hear them before we saw them and on this train, two very boisterous mothers with their three children surrounded us. One of the kids must have been about ten and with piercing light blue eyes, a mop of thick black hair to his shoulders and a face that would make Michelangelo return from the dead to sculpt, my mom and I both agreed, that be it boys, girls or both, this ragazzo was going to be very popular when he grew up.

After we finally got back to our hotel, Rosemarie's hunger gave her a short second wind. Determined to have some sort of dinner experience, and with a passing downpour in full force, we ducked into a nearby Thai restaurant that we've passed by several times. It was crowded and loud, but the fact that there were people inside convinced us to give it a go. While it was no different than the food I've had in California, it was fun to introduce Rosemarie to edamame and pad thai. 

The sun was still out as we made our way back to the hotel and I told my mom to get into bed, which she did, but then she turned on the television and got swept away by a Mr. Bean movie.

"Now that I've got you in bed early, you won't fall asleep!"

But the film was at its end and in seconds, it was lights out.  I love how quickly she does go to bed, despite her saying she isn't tired after all. 

At one point today, when we all conducting our Queen's walk, she said to Serge.

"I can't believe all the places I've seen that I never thought I'd see."

And with Straford Upon Avon tomorrow and more days ahead, all I could say to myself was,

"You're doing a good job,Jimmy."

Woolworth's - Eat Your Heart out

When I was a kid, my mom would take my brother and me into Boston and it was always a fabulous treat. And to make it extra special, she would surprise us by taking us to the restaurant in the basement of Woolworth's or Kresgee's Department Store. To me, that place was a decadent delight and it wasn't every trip that we would get to sit at those counters. So, you can imagine what walking into Harrods today was like and all the mountains of memories it brought back.

But before we made it there, we made our way - very late - to Leichester Square to get tickets to another show for tonight. Only in Europe do we sleep this late - Paris, Florence, Venice, Rome, London - these major cities reach out and drag us to the point of exhaustion, but we fight back as best we can. Since there was really no rush, we took our time. It's the first time I've had to wear jeans during the day. The temperature has dropped and the clouds have arrived, but it's still quite comfortable.

In line at TKTS, I offered my choice of shows to the family from Illinois behind us - they were going to Wicked, but I steered them in the direction of The Pajama Game. Why see something that's on tour in America when they can see a fun show. I'm not sure if they went, I really just wanted to keep them away from getting tickets to Billy Elliot. It's a show I've always wanted to see and just never made it and it will be a great choice, made better by our tenth row center seats.

As the clouds overhead threatened to rain for the first time since we've been here, we opted for a quick breakfast and a spin around the National Gallery. With Trafalgar Square all set up for people to watch The Tour de France, we stopped for a bit before heading inside. 

It must be school trip day because the amount of children swarming all around us was uncountable. No guided tour for us this time, since it was just a pit stop. I did want to see the Monets and the Seurats, though, and as luck would have it, there was a guide talking in front of the forerunner to Sunday in the Park, so we stopped to take a listen. I love paintings and it's always a thrill to look at the vast amount of portraits that line the walls of European museums. 

"Let's take a look at this queen," I said bringing my mother over to a painting that was, as you might have guessed, not of a real queen but of a QUEEN. Some King Louis of Spain in his full regalia and flummery. It made me wonder what it was like in those times - was this the image of hyper masculinity? Just imagine what I could have been back then?

We wandered through the religious art - loving the one of a very hunky and ripped Samson  being betrayed by a very full-figured Delilah. There were too many other religious works to look though and really, after that gorgeous Samson, what was the point? We did pause to look at the execution of the Lady Jane Grey who we learned about at the Tower of London. These artists must have loved the men they painted, the executioner was either excited about his beheading the Lady or the painter wanted to really remake sure this was not the King of Spain.

As we started to walk, the London skies decided to finally spit its moisture downward and Rosemarie was so excited because she anticipated this and brought her very fashionable cloth rain hat with her. We ducked under a nearby arch when the rains got more fierce, but the shower passed quickly and we were off again.

Now, I told my mom that Harrods was beyond anything she's ever seen and when we walked into the food pavilion, I think I heard her jaw drop open. Packed as full as any underground train, the hallways of the store were overflowing with shoppers. If I hadn't just had breakfast, I would have gotten the wiener schnitzel in a second and gobbled it up on the spot. This was the Woolworth's and Kresgee's counter rich older and wiser sister - the one everyone wants to be next to and take to the prom and makes you forget about all the other girls that came before. 

From teas, to desserts, to meats and fully cooked meals, what awaits you in these halls is pure food fantasy. We were getting overwhelmed and needed a store guide which we found quickly so we could orientate ourselves. I still wanted tea, so we headed upstairs to the Tea Salon, but then, there in front of us, was an old fashioned ice cream parlor. An attention stealer like seeing that beautiful boy across the room on your way to meet your friend. You forget the reason you came and spend a decadent time with someone you'll never see again.

We opted for a Nutella (how could we not?) malted milk shake and an ice cream sundae served with a jug of the most chocolaty silky hot fudge ever to be poured over dessert. It was ice cream heaven and porn all rolled into one.

"The food here is probably better than anything we've eaten since we've been here," my mother said, and I had to agree. From the pizzeria, to the prosecco bar, to the Japanese restaurant, to yes, even the Disney cafe, every stop for nourishment had an aroma better than the next. Should we get some pizza even though we haven't even digested our ice cream?

We wandered around the mammoth store for a while, checking out the insane Disney store and cafe and finding the cutest little boy outfits in kids. There was one Dior outfit that was so adorable, it made you want to have a little boy to dress - but not quite. She was quite displeased with me when I would not allow her to buy me anything. Since I am too old for that outfit, why bother? 

And in the end as we left, I thought, if I ever think I hate my job, I will just remember the man whose job it is to wipe off the urinals in the washrooms after EVERY man finishes. 

It was getting late, so we made our way back to our hotel for a quick break. Rosemarie took a power nap, I showered and then we were off again to catch Billy Elliot, The Musical. I heard my mother sniffing several times during the performance and I was blown away by the music and dancing. It celebrates being different and it really pulled all the right strings, although I was let down by the ending. I suppose I'm too invested with the film ending, and I wanted that one moment to close the show. However, seeing the young Billy dancing with his elder self was perhaps one of the most thrilling, touching and moving experiences I've experienced. When theatre can you move you like that, how can anyone deny funding for the arts?

Maneuvering the massive crowds in the Underground had my mother a bit unnerved. The sheer mass of people at this time of night is just mind boggling. Watching the drunken boy slide down the middle section of the escalator while avoiding the bumps and signs that would cause serious child bearing attempts was one of the most foolish and laughable things we've seen so far.

She's completely ready for bed and who wants to bet that in ten minutes, or before I even publish this

post, she will be asleep. 

Visiting The Boy Who Lived

It was day full of Harry Potter, and we were up in plenty of our time to make our way to Victoria for our bus to the Leavesden Studios that houses the sets and props and so much more from all seven of the Harry Potter movies. Surpringsly, there was no comical start to the morning - my mother is either getting used to the schedule or I should expect something sooner than later. 

The hotel room is large by European standards and the bathroom is spacious. Although I've put towels down on the shower since it is extermely slippery. It's not like Italy where there is no shower door or curtain so that the entire bathroom gets wet, but it can still be dangerous if precautions are not taken.

I've dressed in my red, white and blue shirt and white sneakers and shorts in honor of the Fourth of July, and I was surprised that the morning news made mention of the American holiday. 

On our way to the Tube, Rosemarie knew the drill. I hand her the Oyster card and we make our way down the looooooong escaltor to the Central line. When we got to Victoria, the crowd was insane - as if the Hoover Dam had broken and the rush of water was coming straight at you. This on top of train after train packed to the brim with people smushed up against the windows like a fish dying to get out of the acquarium, but not knowing the danger of the fresh air. I left two trains go by and moved to the end of the platform, which was a wise move as the end cars were much more manageable. It seems when the crowds dash out to catch the train, most are coming from the middle of the connecting walkways and they make a mad push for the first door that they see. 

At Victoria, it was an easy walk to where we would board our bus to the studio tour. We stopped into a cafe while we waited and shared a chocolate croissant. The pastries, so far have been incredible. 

Boarding our bus, I had us sit on the second level of the double decker bus wrapped with  the Making of Harry Potter so everyone in London knew where we were going. We'd gone all the way to Victoria only to have the bus pass by our hotel on the way out of the city.

With the traffic and changing scenery to occupy her time, Rosemarie was entertained all the way during the almost two hour trip. When the introduction video began to play, both of us got excited. We've shared the books and movies for so many years, and it's something very special between us.

Of course, the air conditioning was on in full force in the studio and since I made my mother leave her sweater home, we went to the gift shop to pick up a wrap. 

"You know you're going to buy one any way," I said when she lamented that we should have taken her sweater. 

"What do you want in here?" she asked.

I looked at the shop overflowing with every imaginable Potter merchandise from wands to robes, to chocolate frogs, bookmarks, magnets, scarves, gloves and endless other dust collectables. Since the tour, like any good attraction, dumps you out directly into the gift show, I had plenty of time to take a look and see.

Our admittance at noon was right on time and this is one attraction that I would rate high on any Potter fans list. From the opening film to the amazing way they raise the curtain and parade you into the Great Hall,it is one jaw-dropping scene after the other. To walk through those doors into the hall where every wizard and witch got sorted into their houses was more than mind blowing. It felt historic.

Of course, I should have kept an eye on Rosemarie as she was playing with the buttons on her audio tour, which had me have to get it reset. Put a new electronic in front of her and she's a babe with a new found toy. Let's see what this button does!

The throngs of fans in line with us dispersed into the great sound stage and there was plenty of space for us. And these weren't just fans - they were SUPER fans. Some dressed in Potter outfits, shirts, house colors and more. One could just watch the parade of people and get sidetracked.

We were in Potter world  - pure and simple. And set after set, prop after prop, it was a smorshgasboard of wonderment. It was fascinating to see the work that went into these films and even  on items that were never seen.

The one thing we did pass on was the green screen attraction where you could ride a broomstick. With the price being close to $200 U.S. Dollars for a DVD and photos of your session, it was clearly a money maker for the studo. I did enjoy watching the faces of the young kids as they practiced their wand moves and flew over London. See, not so bitter after all.

We took our time through the thousands upon thousands of items and stopped to have Butterbeer. A mix of what tastes like butterscotch, ginger ale and sasparilla with a thick topping of whipped cream, the Potter staple was very sweet. I did catch a few young kids pouring it out  - and I bet if there were vodka in it, it would be better.

Of course, we spent time in the gift shop, on the hunt for - yes  - magnets. Adding to that, we got quite a bit of swag for friends and family. 

Exhausted - I got us on a later return bus, even though the company wants you to take the one assigned to you when you purchase the tickets. But three hours is just not enough time in the world of Harry Potter. I was falling asleep on the lower floor of the bus and for the life of me, I could not follow my mother's conversation about a printed ticket. 

"What are we talking about and how did this conversation start, and what is its point?" I said sleepily.

She had no idea and decided to finish the story, anyway. I still have no idea what it was about.

Now,  we are back from dinner - an event that so far, we have not had much luck with in London. Whereas in Paris, every restaurant you walked into was a gastronomic delight and in Italy, nothing was left on the plate - here, so far, the food has just been okay. It's anything we could find back home and tonight, we had four different waitresses. I could not keep track of who was serving drinks, who brought them, who took our order and who gave us the bill. And when I ordered a charbroiled half chicken and got a chicken ceasar salad, I knew it was going to be a challenge. At least I got a free salad out of it.

It started to rain on the way home, and of course, my mom's rainhat was back at the hotel. 

"Now, how is that going to stop the rain from hitting your head?" I asked as she put one hand on the top of her hair.

Never fear, we were not far from our room and she is now safely warm and dry. It's Friday night in London, so I'll go out for a spin around the West End. Tomorrow is a sleep in morning with high tea the only thing on our schedule.