31 July 2013, Harwich

Yesterday we visited the queen, or at least that was our intention.  She was not at home, apparently she was on holiday!  I had made reservations to see her at Buckingham Palace, one would think she would've let me know.  Oh well.  We checked out the place anyway.  Unfortunately, pictures are strictly forbidden, and there were employees EVERYWHERE making sure no one was sitting on the royal throne, or hugging the nymph statues.

One reason I love travelling with Hannah is because she not only understands my sense of humor, but she shares it.  I spent most of our time there trying to figure out where the queen naps, and where she sits while watching tv.  Hannah spent most of her time trying to figure out which tables the queen dances on, during her wild parties.  

We did got to take some pictures of the garden, but you all know what a wooded area with birds looks like, and frankly, it just looked like your average park.

We left there, went to our hotel, got a taxi, which got us to our train with four minutes to spare.  We took the train to Manningtree, where we were to catch another train to Harwich.  No problem.  Ok, one small problem. Ok, one huge, gigantic problem.  When we boarded the first train we put our luggage on and then tried to find a seat.  The first two seats we found beside each other were four cars away from our luggage.  When we arrived in Manningtree I was so frantic that the train would leave before I got my luggage that I sent Hannah off with some small bags, while I literally ran through four cars to get my luggage.  I got off the train with moments to spare.  It wasn't until I got home that I realized I should've gotten to the car our luggage was on as we approached the station, then we could have departed like normal people.  Instead I LITERALLY saw people pull their arms into the seat as they heard my feet pounding on the floor of the train as I ran like a banshee. 

We got onto the next train and this was when I discovered my problem.  In my haste to get the luggage, I forgot my wallet on the train.  It had my money, my ID, my credit cards, and my train tickets.  Problem.  I contacted the conductor who was empathetic, and called the station, and unsuccessfully tried to call the other train.  He told me to stay on the train and return to Manningtree.  Once there it was learned that my wallet had been handed over to the good people at the Norwich train station and placed in lost property.  It was then placed on the next train back to Manningtree, where it was returned to me, unharmed. Two hours later we were on our way to Harwich.

The B&B is clean, and in a beautiful home.  The owners, Debbie and Tony, have a lovely garden out back, and two cats that Hannah loves.  She served us a gigantic full English breakfast, which we could not finish.

Today we are on our way to Colchester to see some ancient sites.

Oh, when we first arrived I bought loads of postcards, and 20 postcard stamps.  With all the moving around I forgot all about them.  I have one day to use them.  The first 20 people to send me their physical address will get a cool postcard from the Hunterian Museum or some other neat place in England.

London 6 August

I have decided not to number the days, but rather give you the date (European style) because I seem to have a lost a day somewhere and listing the day just reminds me that I have one less day of vacation.

Last night after I sent the update, Bob and I went pubbing.  Is that a real word?  Sounds like clubbing, looks like clubbing, only it's done in a pub instead of a club.  I think it was a gay pub.  We were walking down the street and a VERY gay man (as opposed to a sort of gay man) stopped us to tell us that is was a good pub to go in.  He was a lot of fun and I am happy we took his advice.  I think he liked Bob.  He asked our names and the conversation went sort of like this:

Him: I'm Paul.

Me: Hi, I'm Diana.

Paul: Well helloooo Diana.

Bob: I'm Bob

Paul: What?

Bob: Bob

Paul: WHAT?

Bob: Bob B-O-Bob

Paul: B-O- WHAT?

Bob: B-O-B

Paul: OH! BOB! Why didn't you say that?  Say it- Bob.

Bob: Bob

Paul: No, Bob

Bob: Bob

Paul: No, Bob

This went on for the longest time while I was practically rolling on the ground laughing.  It was even much longer if you include the time he spent teaching Bob how to say Paul

"No, not pull, PAUL..."

Eventually we went in.  I did metion that this was a gay pub, but it was more than just a gay pub, it was a gay karoake pub.  They were singing, appropriately, "Bohemian Rhapsody" when we walked in.  I was, like so many of the people in the pub, singing along, but was told that I lacked passion!  This, by an English person!  So I added some drama, some flair, some swooning, and finished off with me the back of my hand on my forehead belting out "Nothing really matters tooooooo meeeeeeee!"  Then I got a thumbs up.  We had fun.  I had more fun, but even Bob had fun.  When we returned to the house we sat out in the garden and watched the cat, Brownie, kill a mouse. 

"Don't touch dead animals!" is not what a mom wants to say first thing in the morning.  You would think that Brownie would have had the courtesy to take the mouse away, or that Hannah would have the good sense not to play with dead animals. 

This morning we went out without the kids.  We were going to Sir John Soane's Museum.  We left the house and stopped for an authentic English breakfast.  I have a friend, an English friend who shall remain nameless, who told me that they don't really call sausage "bangers".  I am not going to argue with him.  What do I know?  The proof is in the black pudding...

I had the veggie breakfast, Bob had the "full English" breakfast.  Mine came with eggs, hash browns, mushrooms, beans, tomato and toast.  Bob's came with two eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, tomato and toast.

You might be thinking Wait a minute, those look like baked beans, like franks and beans type beans, like Boston baked beans kinda beans.  If that is what you are thinking then you are correct.  Except that they were cold and a little crunchier than we usually eat them.  The tomato was great, the mushrooms were great, I am not crazy about eggs but they tasted like eggs, the hash browns tasted like potato knishes.  I tasted Bob's sausage.  It was okay, not like what we might call a sausage, but not bad.  We also had some coffee, but I don't want to talk about that again.  Then we were off to the museum.

That same friend of mine suggested that we take the bus whenever possible to allow us to see more of the city.  That was great advice, thank you, so as we headed for the tube I said to Bob, "Oh, that friend whose name I don't want to say so I don't embarrass him in my emails told us to take the bus, remember?"  So we took the bus.  We had to transfer and we were extra diligent about paying attention to the stops.  We took lots of pictures and laughed at a man wearing fish net hose and garters.  (I did not take pictures of that, but not for lack of trying).  We got off at the right stop but couldn't find where to pick up the next bus.  On the bus map it just tells you the name of an intersection, but it doesn't tell you what corner or street, some of these intersections have six roads, how were we to know which spot?  We ended up following a bus until we found where it stopped and then got the next one.  We got on and we were extra diligent about paying attention to stops.  The bus just kept going and going and going.  At some point is almost seemed that maybe, just maybe we had gone too far.  Eventually Bob went downstairs (this was a double decker bus) and sure enough we missed the stop waaaaay back there.  We hopped off and took the next one going in the opposite direction.  We got off at the right stop AND learned that we didn't miss the stop.  There was a diversion (their word for detour) and our stop was never announced.  Now we were on our way, and only an hour past the time we had anticipated.  But hey, we did get to see some parts of the city we wouldn't otherwise have.

Sir John Soane's Museum (http://www.soane.org/) must be the most difficult museum to find in all of London.  It took countless walks around countless corners and asking for countless directions from countless people before we finally found it on our own.  It was worth it.  I am not going to tell you about it, you can check out the web site if you'd like, but he was an eclectic architect and collector who bequeathed his home to the city with the condition that it remain in its original condition.  He even has his wife's favourite dog, Fanny, buried there.  Who would name a dog Fanny? Sounds like the name of a babysitter I had when I was a little girl. They have a very strict NO PHOTOGRAPHY policy, so sadly I have no photos to show you.  Oh wait, I just remembered... I do have one.  I saw the most frightening, the most disturbing, the most upsetting thing I have ever seen in all my life in the gift shop.  And once I regained consciousness and explained why I had fainted, the woman, (who asked that we not tell ANYONE, ANYONE AT ALL) allowed us to take a photo in the gift shop.  Please don't tell anyone that the friendly woman who works at the Soane Museum in London broke the "no-photography" policy for us.  Here it is.  Please sit down first.  I don't want anyone to get hurt.

Then we went off to find another place that we could not find and eventually headed home.  This time on the tube.

The day was like a not "too cold" Florida winter day- highs in the mid 60's.  Super light drizzle.