Waiting, Harrod’s, Chada Chada
Lin will be very well rested. I’ve gone so rapidly through my internet hour, leaving so much undone, and now I’m killing time with Channel 4, and the program is about people preparing for the ministry, Imam, Hare Krishna, Anglican…. Fascinating. A preoccupation with celibacy in the Hare Krishna…. Ahh, life is so short and celibacy has never provided me with company or spiritual thoughts.
I think we will head toward Harrods, south west of Grosvenor square and close to the Natural History, Science and Victoria and Albert’s Museums, the content of which I will hope to discern over breakfast, which is becoming lunch.
Even the commercials on TV are so above what we’re used to… “See the person, not the disability…” Quiet lessons in a place in a very civil society. Or perhaps, that’s Mayfair to a traveler. It’s never been easy to really get outside yourself.
Quite nice, not to be working. We are not afraid, a top website, to stand up against terrorism. Channel 4, again. 1500 images a day at its peak, and now 50 images against terror, of all persuasions.
How to make a pancake, Jamie Oliver, and other internet sites which time did not permit me to record, were featured on the 100 most popular internet sites…. Channel 4, again. We left for Garfunkels and lunch, and then while Lin rested, I headed for a walk through Grosvenor Square past the London Hilton where I stayed more than 23 years ago with Yara, and on to Harrods.
Lin and I met in the book section and she urged me onward to purchase several books: Max Arthur: Forgotten Voices of the Second World War; Patrick Bishop: Fighter Boys; Derek Robinson: Invasion 1940, and Roy Conyers Nesbit: The Battle of Britain. Now, all I have to do is go into isolation for a month and I’ll finish reading them.
We then went to the Punch Café and had afternoon tea and sandwiches, scones, and a café mocha. The walls were hung with artwork from Punch, the English humor magazine.
Harrods is something to see! Nothing like it anywhere. I went looking for a Spitfire for Zachary, 3 ½, who has adopted the Spitfire as his favorite plane, too. I found one, suitable only for ME. It was not purchased because of difficulties anticipated in its transport, little antennas, the canopy, landing gear. I did discuss the top speed of the
Spitfire with a South African who insisted that it was 240 mph. Absurd. Closer to 378 mph. No bets, however.
I received a follow-up phone call from Lee and a suggestion that I would find Motorsports Bookstore, a real temptation. I planned an invasion for Tuesday.
In the evening, our wizard concierge, Graham, suggested Chada Chada, a Thai restaurant with excellent food, in the direction of James Street, off of Oxford Street. The restaurant was excellent, and reasonable. We retired early, and slept exceedingly well, though I did awaken for a tub soaking and reading two of my newly acquired Spitfire books, at about 2 AM.