Once upon a time, the handsomest king in Europe (i.e., the only one without the Habsburg jaw) married the most beautiful woman in his court. On their honeymoon, they stayed at a charming castle. Then they lived happily ever after.
Nah, just kidding. The King was Henry VIII. You know this didn’t have a happy ending.
The cheapest rental cars in England are manual transmission. And yes, that’s what was on our reservation.
I learned to drive on a stick shift. Andy did not. Andy learned to drive a stick shift on his Mustang Cobra when he was twenty-six, because that’s the car he really wanted and it doesn’t come in automatic.
Andy went through two transmissions and three clutches by the time we were married.
Our 777 approaches Heathrow. Then passes Heathrow, circling London and heading back east to the runway. It’s sweet that the pilots like to give incoming tourists a view…of the RAIN CLOUDS. Almost like they’re saying, “Here’s a preview! Next time, when you think British vacation, think British Virgin Islands, you bloody fool.” Continue reading London Diary: Day One (#130)
When Andy and I went to London earlier this month, I thought I was prepared.
Turns out, Dr. Who, Top Gear, Graham Norton, Inspector Lewis, and Downton Abbey may leave gaping holes in your education that authors P.D. James, Helen Simonson, and Elizabeth George cannot quite fill.
Andy and I haven’t had a real vacation since our honeymoon. That was years ago. No, I’m not telling you how many, but remember, this is a memoir blog. It could be 3 years ago, it could be fifty! (It’s not fifty.) Continue reading London Calling (#128)