Biking around London might very well have been my favorite two hours of the whole trip. Last summer, London implemented a bike rental program (cycle hire in British) throughout the city so that you can pick up a bike in one location, ride it around to your heart’s content, and then drop it off at the next nearest location. We're big into the bikes and have done this before in other cities, including Paris, DC. Supposedly, they’ve been working on bringing a similar dealio to the city by the bay.
Realizing that we were incapable of crossing the street without invariably looking the wrong way first and narrowly missing the oncoming cars, we stuck to the vast park greens. And, look what we just happened upon. It’s a lovely home, eh?
Both the Mr. and I loved London, despite our continuous state of discombobulation, from the 8 hour time change, the driving on the other side of the street sitch and the fact that every other street has the same first name but a slightly different last name—Gloucester Road, Gloucester Way, Gloucester Mews, Gloucester Street and on and on. The architecture, the charming neighborhoods, and the ACCENTS were all spectacular. I love the accent so much that I mimic it without realizing. V. embarrassing. Apparently, I cannot pull off "bullocks."
The trip ended, as they often do, sitting next to the most beautiful models we had ever seen. It is Fashion Week in London and judging by the bits of convo I overheard, both the dashing man and his impossibly beautiful girlfriend were in several shows. I pretty much stared at them as they ate (dinner and dessert!) so impressed by the beauty that I decided to order what they had, Shephard’s Pie. Best. Decision. Ever. Even if they did share theirs and I devoured mine plate and all.
Lo, we are almost home. Flying somewhere above Colorado right now. Back to our little, the blondie bear. I can’t wait to scoop him up and kiss his monkey face. At least the grandmas are still here for one more day to deal with diaper duty.
Look kids, Big Ben!