Alas, as I’ve said to many of you in response to your generous comments on previous posts, I’ve been the worst possible blogger/writer/storyteller this past week. My goal—our goal, actually, because The One wants to try his hand at writing—was to keep you in the loop literally each day. We wanted to regale you in the evening with tales—comic as well as tragic—from our day spent tromping through London. And, more importantly, we wanted to fold your copious ideas and suggestions into our travels and posts. (By the way, thanks for the restaurant reccos and the directives to visit St. John’s and have tea at Fortnum & Mason. And Kate Jackson, I will forever be your love slave for recommending Dinner by Heston Blumenthal.) Read more “Channeling Our Energy”
We interrupt David’s stream of consciousness about air travel for this important message.
You know how in Britain they drive on the opposite side of the street than in the States? And how back home we always look to the left for oncoming traffic before crossing? Well, London has clearly had its fair share of befuddled Americans walking into traffic, seeing as it painted helpful suggestions on the pavement as to which way to look at almost every intersection. Earlier today, while crossing the Strand to get to the Courtald Gallery, David unfortunately missed this warning to “look right.” And with David, you can only imagine what happened. So his blog posts will still be published while we’re in London–but on a slightly delayed schedule. Read more “Forgot to Look Both Ways”
I love to travel. I just hate getting there. And after this afternoon, I’m considering taking a contract out on Richard Branson.
The One and I leave in several hours to fly to London, our first time on Branson’s vaunted Virgin Atlantic. Now admittedly, packing has always been a problem for us. A big problem. We never seem to get it right. Too many bags. Too few bags. Overweight carry-ons. That sort of thing. When we flew to Barcelona two years ago on Lufthansa, we had to suffer through the humiliation of opening our suitcases and rifling through our clothes at the check-in counter in front of dozens of people so we could meet the airline’s stringent carry-on requirements—while a constipated-looking, SS-type airline representative stood watch over us, toe a-tapping. Read more “My Baggage About Baggage”