Bits N' Bobs

Chloe and I had tea at the Orangery at Kensington Palace which was amazing, perfectly divine Darjeeling and scones with clotted cream and wee sandwiches and one of my sister’s namesake pastries (éclairs, for those unaware of Emily Clare’s initials). We dressed for the occasion -this being our formal tea- and were somewhat disappointed to find ourselves surrounded with French and American tourists in jeans, but I suppose sometimes atmosphere is something you have to bring with you. The miniature orange trees on the tables helped. We have such plans for tea parties and dinner parties and debutante balls next year. Mainly we just want excuses to bake things and play dress up. What does one serve at a French Revolution themed party? Cake, of course.

The Oxford Tube is not a tube at all but rather a bus service that runs regularly between London and the city of dreaming spires, as it’s been so dubbed by someone according to some of the tourist literature I’ve accumulated. This glaring misnomer proved to be of no consequence as it allowed Chloe and Rachel and I to take a delightful day trip to Paulina’s future study abroad location. In our unscripted wandering about we saw Christ Church and the Botanical Gardens (including what I think must have been the bench so romanticized in Philip Pullman’s books) and had fish and chips in the pub Tolkien and C.S. Lewis used to frequent. Chloe bought yet another hat, as she is wont to do at the least provocation.

The luck of the Irish brought us a gorgeous day for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, which we walked to all through Hyde Park and Green Park and what felt like every park in the city. They’ve crocuses and snow drops now, they’re lovely.

Things I had to come to London to learn to appreciate: smoked salmon, bell peppers, Nutella, milk in tea.

I’ve literally worn the soles off my high heeled boots. Now I click click click off to work on the exposed metal and try not to wake Chloe in the mornings with their clattering on the hardwood floors.

Languages spoken in my flat: American style English (everyone), British style English (Chloe), Russian (Elana to her parents), French (Anise to her parents), German (Alex to her parents and international friends), Spanish (Alex again, she’s a linguistics major), and Simkinese (by me to my parents and sibling. I reckon it ought to qualify as at least a dialect by now, such are the nuances and subtleties of our nearly two decades’ accumulation of inside jokes and miscommunications).

This blog has disintegrated into a laundry list I’ve what I’ve done -and not even a terribly satisfactory one at that- for which I apologize. I hope it’s at least worded nicely for you but I’ve been much remiss in the witty observations and wry commentary I had hoped to achieve, and things being what they are I can’t even promise to address the issue. I can promise to finish my List of Awesome London Things and tell you at least briefly about them, and maybe pause to reflect over the summer. Maybe.

Also: Chloe and I are teaching ourselves to sing our favorite musical duets. So far we’ve got the confrontation scene from Le Mis down pretty well and are working on Wicked’s ‘What is this Feeling?’ Godspell’s ‘All for the Best’. Our flat mates are correct in their judgment that we are patently insane.