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.

My Once A Year Day

Today was perhaps the slowest start to any day of the week that I've ever experienced. I looked at the clock and discovered it was well past 9am - and when I got up, my feet still ached and my mother's groans had me worried that perhaps we had pushed it too far on our first day. But, trooper that she is, after a refreshing shower, she was ready to tackle this city again.

First on our list - the TKTS booth in Leichester Square for half priced theater tickets. The choice was between Billy Elliot and the just opened for a limited run - The Pajama Game. The latter being near and dear to my heart since it was the only production I ever joined my high school drama club for in my senior year. As we easily, much to my surprise, found our way there, I instructed my mother to just wait in line as I checked the board.

"I'm not going far, I will be RIGHT back," I instructed as I could see her ready to bolt with me. In a flash, I had returned and with both shows available, I made my choice. But not before I freaked out a family in front of us who were waiting to buy Matilda, the Musical.

"It's a flop," I told my mother when she pointed out the huge Grace of Monaco poster displayed above one of the theatres. "No, not your show," I told the family who were looking at me aghast. Then I silently thought, that's what you get for eavesdropping.

At the booth, we got incredible center seats and then made our way to a quick breakfast at a small French cafe. If I can't get to Paris, I'm damn sure going to get my French fix somewhere. My mom's buttery croissant was as good as any we had in the capital city and I had a light fest of granola and berries over yogurt. The rich red syrupy berries were incredibly sweet and I made Rosemarie dip the last remaining portion of her croissant into it so she could enjoy it. From the amount of sugar and milk that she puts into her coffee, I fear Europe's nectar is stronger than anything she's ever had. We left the exact amount of the bill on the table and decided to do our Tower of London Tour. It was too late to make our way to Shakespeare's home. We need to be up and well rested before we tackle an all day adventure.

Making our way to Tower Hill was easy, though the crowd in the tube station and on the roadway across from the tourist attraction had my mom gripping my arm even harder.

"Maybe I'll leave you here," I joked as the throngs of people swarmed all around us, including another dive bombing pigeon.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," she came back quickly. "I'm holding all the money."

Touche, mother, Touche.

She tried to pay for the tickets, but I'd already bought them months ago, along with an audio tour. She was not happy that I'd thwarted her attempts at using her charge card.

"I'm right here," she announced after I picked up the tour phones, and then tapped me on the shoulder  as if I couldn't tell where she would be at any given moment. 

With a few instructions, she was off and running with her tour, something I really love to do when we go to museums and attractions that have a lot of history behind them. We toured the Bloody Tour and were amazed at how the English loved to behead their monarchs and kill people because their religion did not agree with their own. The changing of the guard was comical and interesting all at the same time, and I wondered what kind of stories those young men will have over a pint of beer.

It was getting really hot, not Italy hot, but hot enough that I opted to take us to the Crown Jewels and forgo some of the lesser parts of the tower. As we stood in line, there was a family of four being led by a tour guide, and I nudged my mom closer to the woman's history recapping so we could "borrow" the free expertise.

Inside, it was fascinating to see all the pomp and circumstance jewels. As we looked at Elizabeth II's crown, I refrained from correcting the father of a four year old girl. He mistakenly told his daughter that the pearls were the Queen Mother's when actually, two of them are said to be Elizabeth the I's. Why ruin her idea that her father knows everything?

After a quick stop in the gift shops, I decided to nix the idea of high tea as it was already well past 3 and I wanted a pub lunch of fish and chips before we made our way to the show. When we boarded our car, the baby next to us let out a wail that could shake the underground.

"Oh no," I said taking my mom off the train and moving to the next car. "This will not do."

And the sound of the lung piercing baby was barely muffled from the doors our next door cab. Of course, I decided on a different pub halfway through our tube ride back to Embankment. Switching lines to the Marble Arch to go to the Cock and Lion (hello....), I then decided again, much to wrong choice, to go closer to the West End. 

We stopped back at our hotel and then returned to the Tube. Now, Siri is, I know, smart, but she could

at LEAST tell you where a road is before telling you to start walking toward it. I was hungry, hot and quite exhasperated with her, so seeing a pub on a random corner that served what we wanted, we unfortunately went in. My first clue should have been the sparse crowd, my second the Italian bar maid and waitress upstairs in the dining room who did not get out of her seat to help us. Seemed it was her break and nothing was going to stop her from finishing it.

I ordered fish and chips for my mom and a cheeseburger for me. I asked if my burger came with fries.

"Yes, yes, they a come with a-chips," the server said. Then, a few minutes later, she returned.

"Do you ah-want to get a garliiic bread, that is a lot of fries with the fish an a chips."

Confused, I knew my burger came with fries so I said, that's okay, we like lots of chips.

 And then she was gone, replaced by the now returned from her break child server who left our meals under the heater until the cook rang the bell another ten times. And then she gave us our food, which as expected, came with fries. But then she brought out ANOTHER side of the chips.

"Urgh," I said to my mother, "No wonder she asked that about the bread."

 I was too tired to argue so we ate everything. I would have complained had the food been horrible, but surprisingly, it was all very tasty. I asked for the bill the second I requested for the third time our water, "con gas."  Since she didn't bring it when I said sparkling, I figured, I'd better revert how the Italians order it in Italy.  The bill was a little less than 39.24 pounds and I just left the 40 so we could escape what would have most certainly been another ordeal.

With some time still left, we finally had Siri take us to my favorite gay pub, Compton's for a pint of bitter. Note to self, a pint is a glass, a pint is a glass. Just order a pint. We watched the crowds go by and made our way to the Shaftesbury.

I was thrilled to hear about this revival and even more excited when it got glowing reviews in all the London rags. Corny, silly, out-dated, but wonderfully sung, acted and danced, the show transported me back to 1983 in an instant. From the opening "Hurry Ups," to the "Can't get over it" enunciation that our director screamed at the girls to constantly stop doing, to the Once a Year day ensemble number, the show was such a treat. I recited my lines along with the actor playing my part, and it surprised me, that after all this time, I could still remember the dialogue. I was even more surprised there were not playbill equivalents so I purchased a program for six pounds.

"Six?" I joked to the young girl. "Six? That's about 12 American dollars. I love your country, but it's killing me, here."

Her companion worker got my humor and laughed along with me. She, sadly, just gave me my change.

The second act was just as fun and I found myself singing along to Hernando's Hideaway - remembering every bit of choreography that we did. What was on stage, though was a far cry from what we could ever have accomplished. My apologies to my Act IV friends, don't hold that against me. Alas, I was not as hot as any of the boys in the ensemble but times have changed in more ways than one in my life.

An easy trip back to the Tube was made frustrating when Siri kept telling me turn around and go up and down the same road. How am I to know that New Oxford Road and Oxford Road are two distinct roads? They both say Oxford!

It was as if it was ten in the morning with the crowds still piling into the tube and my mom looked tired as we made it up the insane length of the escalator. Getting back to our hotel, she's now fast asleep. We need to be at our Harry Potter bus by 9:45 tomorrow morning, so I'd best finish this and get to rest as well. We've still got some magic to do on this trip and we both need our rest. 

An Impromptu Walking Tour

This has been, without a doubt, one of the longest days we have ever known. With our early arrival into London and staying up to get adjusted to the time change, both my mother and I are exhausted. We just had a lovey cheap and cheerful dinner close by and are ready to call it a night, but, before our meal, we had an impromptu walking tour of London with my friend, Jim.

It was ten years ago, that I met Jim on my trip to Mykonos to celebrate my...ah...fourth decade of my birth. Like my friend Serge, whom I've known since 1989, Jim and I haven't seen each other regularly. But, as I've always said, a friendship should be easy and never a lot of work. If you can't pick up where you last left off and still be good friends, then you need to reexamine what keeps you together. Jim met my mom and I for what I thought was just going to be a drink, but after he asked us how up we were for walking, we were off for a whirlwind tour of the city. From Big Ben to Buckingham Palace to St. James Park to Trafalgar Square, SoHo, Leicester Sq, the Golden Jubilee Bridge and more, Jim was a wealth of facts, figures and humor as he maneuvered us through the onslaught of crowds to picture perfect photo opps that impressed Rosemarie so much, she suggested he charge for walking tours.

Since it has been years since I've seen all these sites, I welcomed the chance to visit them all again. And, in between, Jim and I commiserated on the scenery, which did not include the landmarks you are imagining. We have other visuals that make us marvel at London. The one thing I did not enjoy? I could surely do without what seemed to be the millions of pigeons dive bombing and flying recklessly over my head and into my line of sight. At one point, one nasty flying creature threatened to mar the Disney-esque cottage we saw across from the Winston Churchill War Room.

In between the tour, we treated my mother to her first English Pub at a fabulous little place called The Princess of Wales. To me, this is London, and the one place where my drink of choice is any type of ale or beer that I cannot find in America. Yes, vodka is forgotten by me here and this pub, with its dark cherry bar, multitude tap beers and customers scouring for free tables and booths along with a sea of people out on the sidewalk was exactly what I wanted Rosemarie to experience.We so enjoyed ourselves that as we continued through the West End, we made another pub stop at one with a most decidedly male clientele. And, among it all, there my mother sat, drinking her wine (and water), surrounded by boys whom like their Los Angeles counterpoints, have no time for me. To be fair, despite being tipsy, I was a bit too tired to turn on my full charm. I do wish I'd said something to the dark hair,meticulously dressed boy in the blue shirt and size 29 inch waist. (Youth is even more cruel here than I could have imagined.) As a side note, if you think babies and dogs are good conversation starters, try bringing your mother to a pub. Trust me, it could have worked wonders if I played my deck of cards better.

With the sun still out and not relinquishing the daylight to its nemesis until 22:30, my mom and I felt like we'd been up for a week. We left the West End, walked Jim to his tube stop and made the now familiar walk back to our hotel. Along the way, we looked right and left, keeping our tiring eyes out for a "cheap and cheerful" place for dinner whilst rushing back to the Marble Arch, because there wasn't a loo in sight and, after beer and wine and more beer and wine, one was needed - and fast. As it was, it was the WC in the Hilton lobby that was our savior. There was just no time to wait for that lift.

Now, finally able to walk without squeezing to prevent an accident, my mom and I made a quick change for dinner. We didn't have to go far to find great place on Christopher Place. The two of us had one of our great one-on-one dinners and I again was so grateful to the universe that I could once again take my mom to Europe.

She's now fast asleep  - I clocked this one in under five minutes from the time she hit the pillow. Though she did just wake up to say that I could turn the TV off and we can go to sleep.

"Ah, you've been out for awhile now."

"Was I?" she said before she immediately fell back asleep.

Tomorrow, it's day two and as long as the pigeons keep out of my way of a loo, we will all be safe.

A Million Buses, Bikes and People

We had just the right amount of time to catch our connecting flight after a brief stop at Newark's United Club. It was packed and I was so comfortable that I Iost track of time. If it wasn't for Rosemarie's constant check of the time, we would have been a tad late for boarding. As it was, our connecting gate was clear on the other side of the terminal.

There is nothing like business class - well, except maybe First class, but either way, we had the best flight across the Atlantic. Looking at the amount of room she had, my mother was as happy as a lttle kid on Christmas Day. She settled in and was laughing hysterically as I showed her the controls of the seat and moved her to the flat bed position. I kept messing with her and raising the foot rest up and down until I acquiesced and played nice. 

Amazed at how fast and personal the service was in business, my mom read through the dinner menu and I showed her all of the selections for the in-flight entertainment. And, what did she watch? Why, Frozen of course, since she's probably the only person who hasn't seen it. 

The most surprising aspect of the flight? She slept! She put the bed down, curled up with the blanket and as soon as the movie and dinner was over, my mother was asleep for a good four and a half hours. I would have snapped a picure to document the event, but I feared the flash would wake up the entire cabin.

Before that, prior to take off, the two late arrivals to our class of service were a young British couple, who really should have gotten a room or at least gone and been a part of the mile high club. Kissing, giggling, holding hands for what seemed an eternity, my mother, "was afraid he was going to attack her in the middle of the night." I couldn't help but agree.

Besides a few bumps, the flight couldn't have been more perfect and our flight attendant was one of the nicest I have ever had. She even gave us a whole bottle of champagne when we landed. Now, that could have been because she felt bad for us and thought my mom was a little strange when we asked if we flew through rain.

"I heard so much pelting on the plane in the middle of the night," Rosemarie told us.

"Oh, no, we are too far up," the lovely attendant explained. "There's no rain above the clouds at 34,000 feet."

My mom chalked it up to her first in-flight dream and went back to eating her snack. 

"All we've done is eat, drink, sleep and eat again on this flight."

I had to agree. From the second we sat down to minutes before we landed. The food and beverage service seemed never ending. And, as we descended, the two of us were slightly disappointed that our perfect flight was coming to end.

"Can we fly this way every time?" she asked.

Can we, sure - will we, is another story.

De-planing, she took a long look at the sea of travelers behind us.

"Forgot there was a plane full of people back there, didn't you?" I asked.

And, with that, we were off to clear border control. As we walked the endless bowels of Heathrow, I explained how because of the hike we were on just to get to passport check, this was one airport I constantly avoid for connections in Europe. 

She didn't ask "are we there yet," but when we did get there, the sickening sweet couple was right behind us. Thankfully, they moved to the UK checkpoint, because obviously, from being so in love they could not tell that they were British citizens and in the wrong queue.

And the fun just kept coming for Rosemarie. She's never had a driver waiting for her and she pointed out ours to me as if I could not see my brightly displayed name on his iPad as we exited the nothing to declare path.

"This really is an amazing way to travel," she told me as she adjusted to having the driver on the other side of the car. 

And adjusting was just what we had plenty of time to do as it took us two hours in morning traffic to get from the airport through London and onto our hotel in Marble Arch. Two. Hours. There was plenty to see, including the woman walking by the park in a dress too short and thighs too big to be thusly attired.

Since our room wasn't ready we headed out for more food and my first real English tea. It was at a cute little place around the corner from our hotel called The Grazing Goat. The choice was made even more perfect as we watched two gorgeous queens checking out the view of our waiter's extremely tight pants. Queens, and not the royal ones, the second we get to London  - this is going to be a great trip.

The bustling city was alive at every turn.

"I've never seen so many buses," she shouted over the roar of the traffic as we walked through Oxford Circus, her arm protectivly craddled in mine. I had to agree, for although I have been to London several times, I never really noticed the sheer volume of famous red transport that was on the roads. And, watching them turn the sharp corners while we either 'looked left' or 'looked right,' I wondered how many people they've clipped on the sidewalk.

As the time wore on, we were getting tired so I decided to take us back to the hotel to hopefully get our room.

"I don't think we've seen one ugly person," I joked on the walk home.

"Everyone is so dapper looking," she agreed. 

It's a little past two now and she's fast asleep on her bed as I watch Wimbledon without a clue as to who's playing but happy that I'm watching the match as it happens. We'll meet an old friend of mine for a drink and then find a place for dinner. It's not going to get dark until way after 10 pm, so I'm excited for what comes next.

Welcome to Newark Liberty

After literally being up in the air for less than 50 minutes, we have arrived at Newark. My favorite part of the quickest flight ever? As I was looking for the power outlet between our seats, my mother says, 

"Oh, there's a red tab here, is this it? Should I pull it?"

Ah...that's the life vest!

Coming in, we had a great view of the Empire State Building as well as the new Freedom Tower.

"New York, New Jersey, that's right," she said as if the two states proximity was breaking news. 

And just like that, we were on the ground  - much to her dismay. 

"I was just starting to enjoy myself and now we're going down."

"Would you like us to stay up here longer, then?"

The look on her face is one I'm sure I will see again in the next 9 days.

Now we are in the United lounge, which is not nearly as nice as Boston's. We just chatted with a family who was doing a big trip to Germany, but I got the feeling they weren't too thrilled to hear my advice on where to go and eat. They've now joined their brood of children, so we have the area to ourselves. Around the bar, the crowd of travelers watching the World Cup match between the U.S. and Belgium is insane. I will either have to congratuate my friend Serge on Sunday or he will have to buy me a drink in celebration of us.

Just now, my mom actually wandered around the lounge by herself. She's picked up more cheese and crackers and is now trying to force me to have some chocolate chip cookies. She was however, THIS close to taking the White Russian I offered to buy her. It's a long flight ahead - I may still try and get her drunk enough to fall asleep.