We met up with Jane and Dennis at the Diana, Princess of Wales, Memorial Playground. They have a strict, "No Adults Admitted Without A Child" policy. The Blanchards had arrived before us and were escorted into the playground to see if we were there already. As we walked up we saw them right away. We spent some time chatting away while Hannah played, but just like the old saying, "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt..." Hannah fell. The poor child was instantly immobilized by her wounded knee. She could no longer play; she could no longer run; her trip was ruined, that is until Jane spotted a first-aid office and Hannah got a band-aid (plaster in Brit English). Is there anything a band-aid can't fix?
No sooner did I tell Hannah to ride with wild abandon that my skirt flew up! Ah, what an example I am for my children. We had some lunch and since they were going to the Tower of London we just travelled back together and parted ways close to the boat. Hannah and I were so exhausted we collapsed until evening, ate some dinner, and went back to bed.
We agreed ahead of time we would have Hannah days, Mommy days, and Us days. Yesterday started out as a Mommy day. Dead body parts, here we come! But first I needed to take a trip to the post office. Jane had suggested I try a latte. I did, and I think that will be my go-to coffee while I'm here. It's pretty close to American coffee. While waiting for my coffee to be made, a friendly English woman struck up a conversation with me about America and Florida. I asked if she could direct me toward a post office, and then she and her husband got into an argument about which post office would make the most sense for me to go to. It was really comical. "Why on earth would she go east, when she really plans to go west? That doesn't make any sense at all." "Yes, but this post office is only right around the corner, where that one is half way across the city." Then they argued about giving me directions, should I use the A-Z (a book of maps of London) or should they just tell me? They finally agreed to just tell me, but remember what I said about Londoners giving me directions?
Believe it or not, the directions were spot on. I was so surprised at how helpful they were. Everyone seems to be helpful, but this couple even drove up along side us a little later and assured us that we were still on the right path. The elderly couple confirmed it too, with a smile. The police officer/constable also had a pleasant smile for me, as well as the man who casually walked behind us. All the way to the post office everyone was so friendly and polite, as well as the postal worker. Then I learned why. Yep, I got a good look at my ridiculousness in the reflection of a window.
After the post office we headed off to the museum. Gosh what a weird place. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there was a fascination with dead people. Wealthy people collected them for all sorts of reasons and some of those collections were purchased by, or donated to, the museum. It wasn't just humans though, it was alligators, hog hearts, snakes with fertilized eggs, a four-legged duck, a two-tailed lizard, a horse's tongue, and a skeleton of a man who was 7'7" and had paid to have his body buried at sea, so he wouldn't be purchased by some weird collector. We see how well that plan worked out. I just know this is what's going to happen to me. No one is going to buy my dead body. What I mean is that, I know that my husband, and friends Robert and Sharon, amuse me when they say they are keeping track of what I want at my funeral, but really are deleting those emails faster than spam for male enhancers.
Oh look what I saw on the way to the museum.
It says:
Keats, (1795-1821) trained as a surgeon-apothecary at Guy's Hospital Medical School in 1815-16 but renounced medicine in favour of poetry soon afterwards.
'...Sure a poet is a sage; A humanist, physician to all men',
he wrote in The Fall of Hyperion (1819).
When I read this all I could think was, for as long as universities have existed parents having been regretting allowing their kid that damn liberal arts education. Imagine his mother, "A POET? A POET? I wanted a doctor. What will I tell my friends next time we get together for bridge? You know that Feinstein boy, he's going to be a lawyer! A poet?"
After the museum we went to Neil's Yard. Elizabeth told me that if I was going to go there I needed to take pictures and I decided I WOULD go there and I did take pictures.
Hannah and I each got a ten minute massage. My shoulders are still upset that I made them carry my bags all the way from the airport. We also ordered a coconut that didn't take nearly as long to prepare as it did for the two young wait staffers to stop arguing and give it me.
That was it. That was our day. We returned to the boat and collapsed.
Oh my gosh I almost forgot:
NO FOULING. Please refrain from allowing your dog to foul on the footpaths. Legal action will be taken against any dog owner allowing their animal to foul the footpaths.
That's it. That's all I got for you today, and I'm not fouling you.
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