I could be an English Mum...

'cuz I'm wicked cultured.

I am writing today from a french restaurant called Le Pain Quotidien. (MB can pronounce it correctly, Dan says "Le Pain Quotes-at-the-end" and I try not to refer to it by name.) It is a small chain around here but a great spot---wooden floors and tables, shelves of fresh-baked breads of every size and shape, pastries with icing and fruit-topped tarts, jars of spreads for sale and bowls of cubed sugar on the table---both white and brown. The first time I came here was when Dan and I ate the strawberries and cream outside. The second time was for lunch at a different location--- a meal finished with chunks of baguette smothered with the dark and hazelnut chocolate spreads that sit on the tables here. Today I am having a latte and organic porridge and honey with stewed raspberries, cherries and strawberries. Oatmeal. This one healthy meal is no indication of how I've been eating here. While I've had a salad every day (wonderful salads), I've also indulged in breads and cured meats and pastas---last night spaghetti with red chilies and crab meat---and tons of desserts I had never before tried. Despite all the walking, I'm up about six pounds---part of what I lost before coming in order to enjoy my clothes more over here. I'm trying not to stress out about this as all six pounds are made up of decadent, delightful meals I would never have had at home. (Still...six pounds...wtf? Hopefully I can use the next two weeks to take off what I put on in the first two. We are on "holiday" though, so no promises.)

I am sitting by a window, laptop plugged in, overlooking a "roundabout" and the morning commuters. (I actually just heard an English mother telling her 8-year old to stop acting "so pathetic" as she is crying about something. This same woman, though, just informed her daughter that Le Pain Quotidien" means "the daily bread" so I appreciate the knowledge she has imparted, at least. ) I've only done this one other morning---gone to drink coffee and write on my own---and it really is my favorite thing to do in every city I visit. The sun is streaming in on me and I am a fly on the wall of an English street. Heaven for me to just sit and watch.

I thought I would be better about blogging during this trip (I also thought I wouldn't gain a pound) but it's been harder to find these moments than I thought it would be. I'm not complaining---believe me, I'm not complaining---but it is interesting on a four-week vacation in a place I've never been, to balance sightseeing and taking in the vast history of this city, simply enjoying the pleasures of vacation with Dan, and also "working." Writing, for me, doesn't always happen during organized bits of time I've set aside. In a place like this, with so much stimulation and time for insight, I am craving the page. It feels unfair to take such time during the day(and I am dead-tired at night) but I think it will be something Dan and I will have to figure out going forward.

(I have become enamored by the English Mother. She just told her daughter, "It's much better to be slim and healthy than looking like you are about to starve to death." When her daughter went to the bathroom, I saw her take a puff from her inhaler. This prim English woman is sneezing and coughing (as are Dan and I) and taking her inhaler when nobody is looking. Love her now. Maybe calling your child "pathetic" here is the same as saying "you're being a brat." Eh...)

So, I thought I would be better at this whole blogging from England thing but unfortunately I've been too busy living it to write it. We had a wonderful week. Over the weekend we went to Stonehenge (surprisingly more intriguing than I thought it would be) and then lunched in nearby Salisbury. After lunch we went to check out the Salisbury Cathedral which, and I don't use this lightly, was a sight to behold. The place was stately and mammoth yet ornate and lovely. (And I am usually way creeped out by churches.) Here we were lightly sightseeing and eating and drinking our vacation away and then we ambled into a 750-year old church and realized, oh yeah, we are in Europe. (This is what I mean about balance. Is it right to wake up late after a night of berry mojitos or should I be seeking to soak up history and culture with every moment?) It was incredible---actual tombs, a 404-foot spire, architecture like I had never seen and, get this, the Magna Carta. Only in England do you stumble upon the Magna Carta. We had expected to see it at the British Library (as we did, anticlimactically, days later) but to just come upon one of four of the original documents like this, was shocking. The British Library was also cool---hand-written Beatles lyrics on the back of a greeting card, Lewis Carroll's original "Alice in Wonderland," and a page from Virginia Woolf's diary in which she writes about her latest work, "Mrs. Dalloway" (which I am currently reading---thanks VH!). Just neat.

Yesterday, Dan and went to the half-price ticket booth and managed to get fourth row seats to a Billy Elliot matinee. Oh. my. gawd. It's true that nothing in this world gives me the high that I get from musical theater, but this show was something else. Thirty seconds in as union workers sang about "solidarity," I was crying. By the end I had a tissue scheme---one for tears, another for snot. This boy, grappling with such turmoil and loss with movement as his only release---oy. It was an incredible show. (Dan loved it too and also was crying...I mean, had allergies.) If you can, get to it. Mothers with sons---leave your wallets at home and pack your purse with tissue.

It's 10am now and here I still am---unshowered, not attacking the city just yet. With so many hours of daylight we've been able to have full days that sometimes get really going at noon. Today---maybe the National Gallery and afternoon tea? The Portrait Gallery is showing an exhibit on gay icons which should be cool. The Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms is a must-do on our list, too. Maybe we can get all that done and then pack a "hamper" to enjoy at St. James Park.

Choices, choices.

I'm never coming home.