A night at the opera?
Which, given my family’s dynamics, could be like a Marx Brothers’ movie.
But first?
Shopping notes:
Doesn’t matter for whom, now does it? Carrying a brightly wrapped parcel just suggests that I have surrendered all vestiges of any ‘alpha male’ genes. I’ll make my sister carry her own damn packages next time. Such a little princess.
The weather is beautiful, a tad cool, but according to local conditions, “bloody hot.” Could’ve fooled me. Hot is over 40, not over 23. Wimps.
Had some “mushy peas,” and at first, I thought it was an exotic local variation, such an exciting texture and color. Alas, just squashed green beans, I think.
High Tea rocks. It’s that simple. Start at 3 in the afternoon, get done after 6? Three hours of finger sandwiches, biscuits, ice cream and cake. Plus gallons of tea.
But my family lied to me, “You have to wear a jacket to high tea.” No, no you don’t have to wear a jacket. It’s summer time, in England. It’s a tad bit more relaxed.
Amusing sign, to me? Edgeware Road. Like Edge City Productions, or Software, hardware and Edgeware?
Anyway, the best sign was at a Pret (chain food), “Sorry: dine-in meals have VAT added. Nightmare.” I just ordered mine to “take away,” and ate it there, anyway. I am scrupulous with American taxes, but British VAT? What-evah.
The images from this trip start here. It’s a long tale.
A Night at the opera:
Which was some place out in the country. Gasoline (petrol) was 99p at the allo-night truck stop. That’s 99p per liter. And, the last exchange rate I saw for dollars was $2.05…. So the math works this way: 99p for a liter which is roughly 4 pounds for a gallon which is roughly 8 buck a gallon.
No wonder I like the trains. And there’s the same sentiment, different flag, but same idea, Go Spurs Go, only it much more patriotic, the cross of St. George and the simple message: ENGLAND!
The opera was the good stuff, all right, well-acted, well-sung, heck of a set lungs on that one girl. Anyway, helping dear own Pa Wetzel into the elevator after the half-time?
He had on a Texas cummerbund and matching bow-tie. A elderly lady with an English accent starts trying to pick him up, with me, right there at his side. We got off the elevator, and she went back to another floor of the opera house. Pa Wetzel elaborated, “It’s the second cane. Once I started using a two canes, works like a champ.”
Yeah, or his walker. I’ve already seen that work.
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