Chips and some sort of petro-chemical by-product (Salad Cream?) - those wacky poms and their heart disease...
We dialled 666 and an upside down police man appeared!
(with special thanks to Marg and Bill Sewell for the "Big Book of 1000 Great Jokes", Xmas 1980)
Hell of a blue-steel by Darren though too just quietly. Its like he's chiselled. Out of rock.
Stern, but exuding a certain Regal-ness in the green.
We were going to have Xmas tea at Kensington with her and Phil, but she burnt the Turkey after popping out to the balcony for a fag.
So we ordered pizza instead.
Afternoon Tea at Claridges.
Quite....English.
Good scones. I bucked the trend by having a Chinese tea that is only picked on two days a year, at dawn. Good fun and chock full of faff.
Special thanks to our resident pom Polly for hooking us up with the culcha.
Rudolph Hess' crashed plane.
The actual one.
At the Imperial War Museum.
BONKERS.
Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.
You'll note it says RE-built 1667.
Oh yes. Been around the block a few times that girl.
Coal Fires. Fine Company. Big Glasses. Good Beer. Yum.
New Years Eve - No Hat, No Dancin`.
Bloody Good fun.
We met a guy that looks like Arch who makes a living selling cheese. His chum, who looks a lot like Mr Michael Weight, spent the whole evening with an apple and a bow and arrow trying to convince people to "just give it a bloody go".
New Years Eve again.
Free Tube using at 5 in the AM.
Still fresh as daisies.
My Pwincess at the Tower of London.
Check out the bloody package on the suit of armour though!!
Who gets THAT excited about lugging around half a tonne of sheet steel?
The bloody Poms.
That's who.
Seriously. Wouldn't that make it MORE of a target?
Tower Bridge smooch.
You learn pretty quick around the Poms not to call this one London Bridge. It brings on much rolling of eyes and gnashing of teeth, and not a little "tut-tut"-ing.
Arch, Nic and Lamb.
Mmmmm.
Lamb.
Berin came back a Fatty.
A Fatty McPatty.
Blurry Nic from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral.
Looking out over the wobbly Millenium Bridge and the Tate Modern and the mighty, mighty Thames (brown though). St Paul's was a big highlight. We went there for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, which was very moving (even for a heathen such as myself), and then back a few days later in fully fledged "Tourist Mode". My Fear-Of-Heights-Induced fingernail marks are still on the stonework at this uppermost balcony.
Big Ben....Not so big.
More of a medium/fair-to-middling Ben (oh for gods sake I KNOW it's the bell they're talking about...but still....not so big.) I felt lied to. This was that time my face was made of play-doh too.
So there you go.
Ye Olde London Towne.
Two greasy, lamb-jus-stained, Yorkshire-pudding-grabbing, warm-hand-pulled-ale-swilling, grumbling-about-the-weather, Hampstead-One-Titsworth-Upon-Buggery-One, where -in-the-hell-did-I-put-that-Empire, double-Gloucester-cream, Essex-Sussex-Westhamptonsheathshire pudgy thumbs up from this punter.
Bloody good fun.
Great thanks to; the Richard Archbold, the Smiths, their combined flat and it's god-sent central heating, the Weights, their bonkers cat, the Ede, that Polly girl, her extended lot, that Jess lady, the Simki, that Jones chap and the meat and cheese counters at Harrods (I openly wept. Sobbed. Lamented.)
Good one.
Toodle Pip.
Berin.
Oh. And Happy New Year.
