I spent my birthday weekend - you can determine the number yourselves - in our capital. That's London, for those of you who either a) don't know which country I'm talking about, or b) are just really, really stupid.
It's odd: I have been all around the world, to many far-flung places, but never spent any real time in London - only an airport on the way to Somewhere Else. But one departure lounge is much like the next one, isn't it? Except Schipol in Amsterdam - that really is a great airport...
...But I digress.
The Wife and I did the usual touristy stuff - rode the Eye, marvelled at the somewhat anachronistic MadameTussauds, tubed it to Tower Bridge, heard Big Ben strike ten, shook our heads at the surreality of the zebra at Abbey Road, hoped to see (but didn't) old Lizzie at Buck House, tried to bypass the armed police and scale the fence on Downing Street, saw The Mousetrap and didn't figure out who did it (although The Wife will tell you she knew all along), chilled in the IceBar for forty minutes, paid handsomely for steak at a Gordon Ramsay eaterie, and stood in awe at the sheer majesty of Westminster Abbey.
And yeah, before I forget, it's a helluva dirty city. There is dust everywhere, and if you spend any more than two minutes there with your eyes open you will end up rubbing them. At the end of each day my fingernails thought they had been down a mine shaft.
And on the hour long flight there and back I managed to write a kiddie's story as well, so it's all good!