i-Less

Sapphire and I have just returned from a magnificent week in London which might explain my absence on this blog, as a reader/commenter on other sites as well as updates on Facebook.

Y'see I don't own an iPad, iPhone or any form of magically instant photograph-to-website device. Stubbornly and miserly old fashioned, I managed to get around the most exciting city in the world with my thirteen year old daughter using only a five year old mobile (still giving me Swiss phone messages in German) and a *gasp* separate camera. A cumbersome device that had to wait until we returned home before being able to download the photographs taken on holiday.

We 'did' Buckingham Palace, Victoria & Albert Museum, double decker bus tour, National Gallery, Trafalgar Square and Westminster last year, so this visit - tinged with a few dollops of guilt leaving Love Chunks hard at work back in Geneva - was about eating, shopping and different sights.

First meal? Sushi. Fresh and affordable.

Second meal? Indian, at our friend G's favourite restaurant. Spicy, authentic and gob smackingly cheap. Surely only a Swiss-dweller is thrilled by the size of the bill at London eating establishments.

Third meal? Porridge and fresh blueberries, before accompanying G and her dog Alfie for a walk along the Thames.



The place was understandably buzzing with pre-Olympic fever but it was rather noticeable that most tourists and locals were buying anything and everything with the Union Jack on it and not the puzzling pork-scratching 2012 logo or the stuffed (literally and figuratively) versions of the mangled one-eyed mutant mascots.

The Thames cruise from Big Ben to Greenwich was the best way to get a different view of the city but GMT itself was completely obscured by white catering tents and scaffolding ready for a music festival. That didn't stop us from eating our Marks and Sparks sangers in the drizzle by Cutty Sark and enduring Dad jokes from the coffee maker. "You want a flat white, luv? I'll give you a white coffee and squash it, how does that sound?"

We wondered what Nelson thought of his permanent view of the pin cushion Millennium dome, so Sapphire decided to take his mind off it for a while.



Shopping for clothes in Oxford Street and Notting Hill was eventually completed to Sapphire's satisfaction. It was then time for her old mother to force some 'must sees' on her.

I confess to getting tearful at St Paul's - a place that was regularly visited during my two year work visa residence during church services to hear the choir, feel the immense pipe organ so powerful that it rumbled in my chest and to gaze up at the dome in an acceptable imitation of spiritual enlightenment. This time around, we spent more time up on the top of the building taking photographs for other tourists. "Are you from London?" asked a young Italian bloke who'd left his elderly parents below. Clearly Sapphire's international school had softened her Aussie twang.

I confess also to getting tearful in the drizzle at Hampton Court Palace. "Do you see how wonderful this place is, Sapphire? Why I loved it so much and needed to take you here?"
"Yes Mum. Now shoosh."

There are many more confessions to make, including:

Being far too audible in my appreciation of bacon sandwiches;

Poking my nose in the 'Temporarily closed for new display' at Kensington Palace but then being invited in by the curator so that we could see Queen Victoria's Great Exhibition dress and Albert's toiletry box that included a tongue scraper. "We're thinking about having it tested for his DNA";

Chatting to many strangers on the tube: "Your tattoo of 'Carpe Diem' there on your chest, that's what we were talking about last night, weren't we Sapphire. .......Sapphire?"

Kissing G's dog too many times;

Causing more embarrassment by making my child pose in front of the Victoria Palace theatre after we'd seen and loved Billy Elliot;

Overhearing a job interview being conducted in a Teddington coffee shop and giving the candidate a hearty 'thumbs up' as we passed by;

Laughing inappropriately at this sign and puzzling the nearby drinkers at the King's Head:



.....and feeling mortified that I couldn't remember the actual street number of the building I lived in for nearly two years until I saw the boot scraper and the 'Diplomatic car parking only' sign for the posh place next door.  W1H 1FF - a helluva postcode; and if I had a spare 3.25 million pounds, a flat in the next street would be nice.



And tears again because I was privileged enough to be able to do it all with my beautiful, funny, insightful, clever and appreciative daughter.  A week sprinkled with laughter, hugs, witty insults (hers) requests to use the camera, wondering how our paper tickets survived the gates of multiple tube lines, becoming adoring fans of Alfie the dog and getting sore necks from constant head swiveling at the sights.  

Thank you, dear one.