Love Ain't for Keeping!

I am pleased to announce the arrival of Behind Blue Eyes: Love Ain't for Keeping. It is now available in the Lulu.com online store, and is the second novel in the series. I hope you will enjoy it very much. For those of you who had entered the contest, you can now see what the object was.

E-books will be available soon.

The Sweetness of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass

It's summer in San Fancisco, their time of year when the sun comes out and stays out, and when all the festivals are in town. For the first time since I discovered with great city seven years ago, I can actually come and experience what it is to be here in the middle of fair and festival season. And what an initiation last night at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in the city's most beautiful urban gem, Golden Gate Park.

I flew in late on Wednesday night, on a fast, pleasant flight where I was apparently a hero for offering up my seat for a baby. The standards are quite low these days if this is any measure of much beyond good manners (thanks Mum and Dad), but I didn't refuse the free wine and dinner out of the same politeness. The air was warm and almost Toronto-in-July muggy when I came out of the terminal, good omen number two. The third good strike was finding that the first festival was starting on Friday, and that one of my favorites, the legendary John Prine, would be playing an afternoon stage just a half hour's walk from where I am staying.

For those of you unfamiliar with John Prine, he was very accurately introduced as a 'songwriter's songwriter'. He is one of America"s greatest living treasures, the only good thing to come out of my first live- in relationship, which was a disaster in every other way except that I got to listen and love his music. I have only seen him live once before, at a small university hall 5 years or so ago when he seemed old, frail, and likely recovering from some kind of illness. In that, he reminded me of seeing Gordon Lightfoot last year, older, thinner in frame and voice, with some health problems and yet the continuing passion of a storytelling balladeer who can paint such a portrait of his country with simple chords and poignant images. Yesterday,Prine looked fitter than when I last saw him, his tone seemed richer, and it was obvious that the audience appreciated his performance. I was thrilled to stand at the top of the hill, with red-tailed hawks hovering overhead above the trees, the sun starting its descent into the Pacific horizon judt behind us, listening to just a fraction of his amazingly large repertoire. It was such a delight to hear "Hello In There", a minor disappointment to not get "Sam Stone" or "Angel of Montgomery", and just a joy to share the moment with thousands of others who came to savour the music of this under-appreciated talent. I really hope I get the chance to her him again, but will always remember that I did get to enjoy him performing in such a gorgeous setting.

And then there was Robert Plant. Another treasure, from a different time and place, who brought to the stage his love of American roots music with folksy versions of Led Zeppelin classics, with country-bluegrass- bluesy hybrid renditions of Black Dog, Misty Mountain Hop, Thank You, Ramble On, and a phenomenal encore with Gallows Pole plucked by banjo strings. He looked and sounded great, his older voice smartly suited to the less thundering but more intensely powerful sounds of American instruments. He was very generous too, often putting the spotlight on his fellow musicians, praising the genius of their craft, encouraging us to come back tomorrow to see some of them playng with their other bands. I have always sensed from him a deep respect and reverence for the talents of those who share the stage with him, and he paid homage to a lot of artists who inspired him as a young man from the Midlands in the way he spoke between songs last night. His Band of Joy is well named, as they play with energy and a genuine love of music that was contagious in the audience as well as on stage. As he came out to do his encores, the sun had begun to set and one could see the fog rolling in over the horizon of the Pacific just behind us.; the day was now ending, and it was pitch-perfect in every way.

Child 44

March is reading comfort month for me. Spring break is just a week away, and I've been compiling my companion books for my week away. For the most part, my favourite reads are in the mystery genre, although I've expanded my interests in recent years. I have a long list of favourite mystery authors, most of whom are British (think P.D. James, Reginald Hill, Ian Rankin). We can now add Tom Rob Smith to this list, for his debut novel Child 44, which was long listed for the Booker prize in 2008. I tend to think of Booker nominees as "literary" genres, and while I totally admire how well this book was written, what made it so enjoyable to read was that it was a thriller about child murders in Stalin's Russia. What made it even more pleasurable to read, in the end, was that it is a brutally accurate portrayal of what life was like in the USSR of the 50s, and what it surely must be like now in many parts of the world. There were echoes of Orwell's 1984 in there, and it was chilling to imagine what it must have been like to try to survive in that society. The detective chase had so many twists and turns, and there was so much to learn about daily life, that the 400 pages flew by during my commutes.

I'm not hoping a request for his follow-up novel, The Secret Speech, will come off the library system in time for my Saturday departure. Although I have two novels already packed, my favourite list has just grown again.

LIFE by Keith Richards

I am not more than halfway through Keith Richards' autobiography, and just need to stop and reflect a bit on what I've read so far. I've heard from others that this was a fantastic, wonderful read; others have shrugged their shoulders or disliked the endless references to drugs.

So, sitting around page 300 and heading into Exile On Main Street and a French château, how am I feeling about this book? For the most part, I am enjoying it. Keith's prose is easy to read, and he is fairly straight-forward about things, places, and people. I am not sure it's fair to speak so badly and bluntly of the dead, who really can't defend themselves, and I'm sure there are a few living who'd like to wring his neck for his less than charitable remarks. That said, I have been fascinated by the discussion about the process of songwriting, and how certain melodies and lyrics came about. I love those musical anecdotes, and they are by and large one of the main reasons I so loved watching Elvis Costello's wonderful tv show Spectacle. I really like how he links particular songs to a place and time, and goes on to explain where the lyrics came from. I was also quite enthralled by the whole 5-stringcopen tuning he described, though as someone who doesn't play guitar, I can't really appreciate the liberation of that last string. Those are the moments in rock and roll memoirs that I love reading about. the gossip about who dated and did who, couldn't care less. I love his reverence for some of the pioneers that came before him, and I do admit to being just a little bit surprised at his admiration for Baden-Powell. I would never have taken him for a boy scout, but I can see the taste for learning survival skills. That is perhaps why he's still here, despite lots of falls from many different types of coconut trees.

My only frustration is that he sometimes doesn't say enough and just glides over events. I suppose it's because he thinks many of his readers have read about them to death, but there were a few instances where I was left wondering what the hell he was on about and didn't think it was up to me as a reader to go look up the incident on Google just to satisfy my need for narrative details and decided to just plough forward.

As for the endless drugs, that didn't strike me as something that got under my skin. It's there, always, but never invading the narrative in a way that annoyed me. I am looking forward to getting to the late 70s, and to the point where he and the Stones showed up at the El Mocambo (where, by the way, my parents met in the late 50s when it was a swing hall) and changed the course of Canadian politics and a Prime Minister's marriage forever. My teenage brain remembers those events one way- I can't wait to hear his side of the story.

Children's Books

I am going through a strange reading phase at the moment, and I am not sure what to make of it except to keep doing it. I am reading children's books, from novels for the 10+ set like the magnificent one whose cover I have displayed above, and YA (young adult) genres like Michael Grant's Gone series. I could pretend that I am doing it as a professional endeavour, but that is not the case. I find myself thumbing through the monthly Scholastic catalogues that the company sends my students, looking for books that interest me, and I find these little gems. The Underneath, shown above, is one such treasure. It is the beautifully written story of a lonely and pregnant calico cat who finds the equally sorrowful hound, Ranger, and the bond they forge before fate sends them down a twisted, dangerous road; the modern story is intertwined with an old magical legend that begins a thousand years before in the same bayou region of the US South. It is a tale of bravery, loneliness, of wanting and loss, and all told with a poetic, elegant prose that just captured me and wouldn't let me go. I wish I could write like this debut novelist, so beautifully descriptive without being long-winded or full of unnecessary words. There is so much feeling and longing on each page, so much ugliness and then, wondrous beauty. I could not put this book down, and yet... I am not 10, and still was enchanted by the unfolding of this story.

I can't quite explain why it is that I am drawn to this younger fiction. Perhaps it is because there are amazing writers now turning to a younger audience, or perhaps because these novels work on different levels. The students in my class who have read this book were just as enraptured by its pages, and seem delighted that I am now reading it out loud to the class. This alone tells me that the author did not set out to write a children's story that ended up appealing to adults only to fail the target market, but the fact that a friend's 10 year old daughter devoured it in one day during my recent trip to California just cements that belief.

You Never Give Me Your Money

I have just finished Peter Doggett's meticulous examination of what happened to the Beatles' financial empire after the band broke-up in 1969, and have to tell you it was one of the most interesting yet painful reads I've had in a long time. The pain mainly comes from a fan's perspective, and having to realise that my musical icons were not such angelic humans after all. This isn't really a surprise, but to have it confirmed with anecdote upon anecdote of pettiness, vengefulness, and manipulation just managed to change my view of these four talent individuals forever. I do have tremendous sympathy for them, however, and for the ridiculous situations they were placed in as the "saviours of their decade" and the last hopes for the music business. It was likely not easy for their record companies to watch them bicker and eventually drift in 4 separate ways, but the wrangling and deception that followed, not just from them but between them now makes me understand some of the decisions that followed from the age when I was old enough to follow their solo careers and see the re-issues of their older catalogues. I was 7 when they walked away from each other, and so have no recollection of the group as anything but a thing from the past, but found this book fascinating in its research and attention to detail. As a huge fan of their music, I really appreciated finding out how certain pieces came to be, and as a student of mass media at university, the long and winding road through the press in the last 40 years held my attention throughout because I was reading a historical account of some of the greatest (and sometimes not so great) PR stunts of the music business.

If you're a Beatle fan, this is a must-read, although you might end up wincing here, there and everywhere at the callousness of behaviour. No one, perhaps with the exception of Neil Aspinall, comes out looking very good in this expose, least of all the three major songwriters of this formidable band. I'd be curious to see what Paul's reaction might have been to its release.

Roger Waters and The Wall, Thirty Years On...

To me, "The Wall" has always reminded me of the Who's "Tommy", with its similar themes of post-WW2 trauma and ensuing shutting down of the individual. I am of an age where the Pink Floyd version hit me in my mid-teens and left a huge impression- the iconic hammers and their fascist walk, the teacher churning out ground meat from children, the hauntingly beautiful guitar work and melodies that are peppered across this magnificent double album.

Tonight, I finally got to see a bit of it live, as Roger Waters performed his second night at the Air Canada Centre as he starts the North American leg of his tour. The show is a whole run-through of The Wall, in its entirety, with the big foam bricks resurrected, but helped along with modern computer graphics and the old animation from the movie. It was sometimes surreal to watch it, and to be brought back in time 30 years, and yet... It was very modern, very current, and used up-to-date scenes from Youtube and the nightly news to show us how little the world has changed in all this time. It was at times emotional, touching, troubling, but always hopeful, which is what drew me originally to the album back in 1979. Those who condemn Pink Floyd for being pessimistic miss the point, I think. The Wall is like Townshend's Tommy- it is hopeful, it dreams, and eventually begs for those walls to come down so the light and love can come in. It is also anti-authoritarian, anti-war, anti-violence, all the while demonstrating this with sometimes brutal graphics and images. I loved the theatrics, the lights, the pyrotechnics, the crispness of the guitar work and the beauty of Waters' older voice, still strong, clear, and still fighting the good fight. I loved his tribute to fallen soldiers of old and current wars, and his inclusion of civilians as well- the wall of remembrance during the intermission was very touching. He had the audience engaged from the moment he circled the floor area, carrying a strange sign ten minutes before the show actually began, and their attention never wavered. No one working the stands objected to the gentle wafting of marijuana smoke, everyone in our row was friendly and generous, and the overall sense was that we had all witnessed something magnificent.

If you're a fan of this work, you won't want to miss this show if it comes to or near your town. I am going to remember this a long time.

A Village Lost and Found

I found this bit of information on a Who fan board last week, and think some of you might be interested, especially if you're into photography. It's the latest project by former Queen guitarist Brian May, who totally impressed me when he completed his thesis in astrophysics in 2008, some 30 years after he abandoned it to pursue his rock and roll dreams. The paper is entitled A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud, for those of you versed enough in science to understand such things.

May recently published a book with Elena Vidal called A Village Lost and Found, based on the work of the Victorian stereoscopic photographer TR Williams. He also designed the viewer that you need to use in order to capture the 3D effect of the stereoscopic images. I am strongly leaning towards purchasing a copy as a gift for my husband, who is an avid amateur photographer, and I suspect he won't be the only one finding the topic fascinating.

The book is available now, and I believe that there are some UK fall dates on Brian May's website for lectures he and Elana Vidal are doing to explain their project. You can also go to Youtube and find a two-part video clip in which Brian and Elena (Brian mostly does the talking) discuss the project. I found it quite informative with regards to what stereoscopic photography is.

La BD a Bruxelles (or how I relived my childhood at the comic strip museums)

Yours truly in front of the famous "On a marche sur la lune" rocket.

As a Frenchie growing up in an English country, you'd think my childhood would have become immersed in anglo-culture. You'd be partially right, in as much as television, music, and books might go, but my mother thankfully kept our French traditions alive by buying us the weekly Spirou comic book magazine and occasionally gifting us hardcovers of the latest Tintin and Asterix adventures. I did not know as a child that these two works were at the heart of the Franco-Belgian comic book tradition, one that also includes many of my other favourites. Unlike the American superhero comics that some of my contemporaries grew up reading, the French BD world was filled with ancient civilisations (Asterix, Alix), cowboy westerns (Lucky Luke), intrepid reporters (Tintin) a boy and his dog (Boule & Bill), car racing detectives (Michel Vaillant), a Japanese air stewardess- detective (Yoko Tsuno) and those blue-bodied Schtroumpfs that everyone later knew as the Smurfs.

Brussels has finally acknowledged its rich history with two great museums devoted to this "Ninth Art". The Musee de la Bande Dessinee explores all the creators that had their start in Belgium, and the Herge Museum is mainly a celebration of the Tintin creator's life work. In the BD museum, you can learn about how comic strips were drawn and then coloured, and see some remarkable pieces from the 30s to the present day. There is a great hommage to Franquin, Peyo, Jije, and Morris, the so-called "Gang of Four" who are revered from the golden age. There are all sorts of strips and magazines on display, and I was charmed by all the classcis from my childhood. Because the Herge Museum is also opened, there was little Tintin in this first museum, but still, it had enough to keep me there almost four hours.

The Herge Museum was a delight because it represents everything I remember warmly from first being a competent reader. As a girl, I never wondered why Tintin's universe was all-male and certainly didn't take offense that Bianca Castafiore, the opera diva, was the only female in the vast cast of recurring characters. I just loved the stories and all the far-away places Tintin got to visit, and thought the stories were engaging and funny. I have to admit that as a Frenchie, I never realised the band The Thompson Twins was named after the English version of the bumbling detectives. In French, they are Dupont and Dupond, so named because it is the most widely occurring surname in France. An interesting note about that: if you look at their mustaches, you can figure out which is which because Dupond with a "d" has one that looks like the letter when you turn it sideways. I also found out that Herge was a cat lover, particularly the siamese kinds. He never ever owned a dog, but couldn't imagine a better sidekick. My only regret with the museum is that they glossed over Herge's problems after WW2, when he was investigated for treason for publishing Tintin during the occupation; even though I know a fair bit about why the charges were never substantiated, I think it was a mistake to miss that part of his history, as it goes a long way to explain local touches in his comics (ie: the street trams running late in The Secret of the Unicorn) and also his very subtle digs at the occupying forces. I think I felt the same disappointment when I saw that Morris had removed Lucky Luke's cigarette to appease the anti-smoking lobby.

All in all, a very interesting journey back in time. Because of a lack of French bookstores here in Toronto, I also picked up the first Tintin (in the land of the Soviets) and also managed to get a companion book to the Red Rackham book which explains all his little tricks and adjustments from the initial copy to the final edition. I have such a book for the Secrets of the Unicorn, which I found fascinating.

If you are a lover of the BD or its English equivalent, you will find these museums really worth it, should you ever be in Brussels.





The comic strip, Alix, where I learned all my ancient Rome knowledge along with Asterix. I took this picture because I completely remember the page and the Roman putting his thumb up to save the gladiator, despite the book having disappeared from my hands a long time ago.



Some of the more serious topics from an older audience strip from the 80s (anti-female society).



The classic Boule et Bill with a "poisson d'Avril" (April Fools) joke.






Lucky Luke has lost his cigarette in the museum display..



A very early Lucky Luke strip.




The cover of a 1947 year-end Tintin magazine, with all the usual suspects.



The cape of the Schtroumpfissime, from a Smurf book.

The Book Thief

Markus Zusak has a new fan for life. This book is at once beautiful, ugly, funny, sad, and haunting. The language is so vivd, and the story made me want to continue to turn the pages right to the very end.

The wonderful Val and Koos!

Coming to Rotterdam to meet Val and Koos was always going to be one of the many highlights of this trip for me. Val is one of my blog sisters, and she is absolutely right when she states that we are connected in so many ways. I knew she and Koos would be ab fab, and we had a glorious day with them in idyllic surroundings- the harbour where they live is beautiful, and it was wonderful to see so many sights with my own eyes- the barges, the barge repair shop, the lovely Sindy, who just behaved so well and was adorable, the painted bucket, not to mention Val's animal portraits.



Val's blog entry has completely captured the day, with lovely photographs. All I can add to it is that she is as lovely as I imagined she would be, smart, funny, and generous, just like Koos, who has that spark in his eye that you know means you could easily all get engaged into some high jinx. They are a charming couple, and I was very sad this morning to have needed to leave for Amsterdam. I do love the city I am in, but I wish we had had more time together- the conversation flowed so easily, the rapport was instantaneous and so natural.

Gypsy, you are right that bloggers are an open and generous group- I have found nothing but this since we arrived in London, both from this small band of Who/Rachel/Pete fans as well as from our encounters with Austin's computer bloggers. It has truly been a marvellous trip- appropriate endings to some chapters, and new doors being opened.

Thank you Val, Koos, and Sindy- we loved being with you yesterday.

Hothouse Who

Berlin was baking today, and the sauna sensations followed us to the Arena near Treptow Park for the Who show. We missed connecting with some other fans because the heat forced us back to the hotel for a change of clothes and we were too late to meet up with them- sorry Stefan, Mike and Dino, I wish things hadn't taken so long to cross the city twice.

The Arena was like an oven, but filled with wonderfully enthusiastic fans who didn't seem to care that they were cooking. Onstage, Casbah Club rocked really well to start us off, and I tip my hat to Simon for keeping the suit jacket on- I'd have stripped in that heat, personally. Their set was really good.

The Who came on for a blistering two-hour set, and they played 2 songs off the new Wire & Glass, which I absolutely need to find here before going home, as it is not available in America, which means also not in Canada. They also played the Mike Post Theme, and the three songs were really well received, and many were singing along to them. There were a few surprises in the setlist (Relay, for one) though I really wanted to hear I'm One or anything off Quadrophenia, which is my favourite LP. There were technical glitches here and there, and some sound problems, and Roger pleaded (to no avail, I'm afraid) with the front-row smokers to give his voice a break by not lighting up, but the band was energised despite the steam bath, the audience responded warmly, and Pete in particular was in a jovial and light mood, joking with everyone and just having a great love-in. Fantastic night!

Austin's camera captured about 200 pictures, one of which I uploaded here to show you how fantastic Roger and Pete both looked and how lucky I was to sneak my way to the second row. It was a smallest venue I have ever seen the Who at, and there seemed to be great intimacy in the room and an eventual ignoring of the hot conditions around.



We were also very lucky in that Rachel and Mikey did a little walkabout into the arena after their webcast of In the Attic. I spotted them a few feet away, did a double take to make sure it was really them, mustered up some boldness and introduced myself to them and they were both just lovely. Rachel is as beautiful in person as she appears on the show, and the pair of them looked fit and relaxed. Mikey is absolutely sweet, and Rachel was just brilliant as well, and they both kindly posed for a picture with me. It's on my camera, and I don't have my gadget to download it, but I will ask them for permission when I get home and then post it on the blog at a later date if they give it.

Fantastic Who night- my ears are still ringing, my feet are still burning from standing on the hot pavement for hours, but it was memorable and absolutely fabulous to have been there. Everyone needs to catch them if they can!

Love to all of you who have been saying hello over the last few days. I've been able to stop by some of your blogs, and I hope you're all having some summer fun!

The Who in Berlin!

We made it into Berlin yesterday, and my sister and I are practising our very rusty German. Most of the time we are making ourselves understood, although the raised eyebrows at our very rudimdentary grammar is quite amusing.
We did very little last night except find an amazing restaurant in Savigny Platz, which seems to be a theatre district area, and then walk from Zoo Station to the Brandenburg Gate, which took us through the debris that was once the Fan Mile for the FIFA World Cup, a long stretch of avenue where fans watched the games for free on large television screens.
It is a blistering 31 C in Berlin, has been since yesterday, and the sun is really quite bright. I think it's going to be a hot night for the Who in all ways possible. I will post a review later on for all of you following our boys, and look forward to meeting some of the Who fans at a pre-concert pub dinner.

I hope everyone is doing well, and thanks for your good wishes.

Last Night In London

Today was a fantastic day in London- the rain held off until I came out at High Street Kensington tube station after the blogger dinner, and it was warm all day.

We started off with a walk towards the Earls' Court to see if a longer walk was worth avoiding a change of tube trains to go to Heathrow tomorrow with all the luggage. The result was a resounding yes. Along the way, a funny thing happened: we met a nice lady walking her beautiful golden retriever, and made small talk with her as we walked, until her dog pressed her to a faster pace than our leisurely stroll. She excused herself, and I kept wondering why she looked vaguely familiar to me. At the Earls' Court Road, I suggested to Austin that while we were in the neighbourhood, could we go down to Logan Place, where Freddie Mercury lived, just to see the house again, and we took a quick turn to do so. Up ahead of us, the same lady and her retriever turned into the Mercury house as we were coming up to the first gated door, and it hit me that we had been chatting with his longtime girlfriend Mary Austin, who inherited the house and his estate after he passed away. No wonder she had looked vaguely familiar.
We took a stroll through my beloved Brompton Cemetery and took some pictures of the Victorian stone statues and the overly-friendly squirrels. I love the peacefulness of the walk across the gravestones- I know that sounds strange, but it's quite a beautiful walk.



We headed towards the Embankment area and went to visit the Temple Church, built in the 1100s for the Knights Templar and made famous by DaVinci Code. We had quite the history lesson from the curator. We then took another leisurely stroll to the Wesminster Abbey, which I hadn't visited in a long time, and for the first time I became very aware of the tourist throngs. It was enjoyable still, though. Took the tube back to the hotel and had a late lunch and an even later swim, and then went off for the blogger dinner at As Greek As It Gets.
Marietta can certainly choose a good restaurant, and we had a fabulous time together. Marc and Jill were sweet and funny, as were James and Jonathan, and I just adore Marietta for making all these arrangements to meet up with me and make this London stop so fantastic.

I've got to go pack now, as we fly out to Berlin tomorrow. Wednesday night, I am meeting some of the German Who fans at a pub pre-show and then getting my Who fix!!!! I hope everyone's doing well out there!

Londonium, part two

For those of you wondering what I'm doing posting two days in a row, it's got to do with Austin having his laptop and paying for two hours of wireless login per session- I decided that the blog was a good place to record my comings and goings before another glass of Strongbows makes me forget everything I've done.
Today we started off and the V & A Museum as planned, but due to a wicked barometer headache, I only managed the fashion exhibit, which included the 60s clothes, before begging for a change of scenery. The skies were spitting rain, so we dashed into the Museum of Natural History across the road and took a tour of the mammals and dinosaurs, which featured a hilarious robotic T-Rex making children scream all around me. Not much help for the headache there, but a lot of cranky and cross parents shouting at their children.
I took a break in the afternoon to use the hotel swimming pool and stretch the jetlagged body, as I tend to suffer from what I refer to as Economy Class Neck Syndrome. Then we dashed off to Kensal Green. I have a certain fondness for foreign cemeteries to begin with, but I have some scenes in my novel sequel which involve KG and I needed to do a bit of research at the site to make things more realistic. Not as pretty as Brompton's, and I recognised the crematorium from Freddie Mercury's cremation service there, but I managed to get the pictures and visual information I needed. As well, it was a lovely walk around the grounds under sunny, warmer skies.
We met up with blogger Marietta at the Tea Clipper pub in Knightsbridge for some World Cup action after that. She is a lovely, fun person, and I'll be seeing her again tomorrow night for blogger dinner, or blinner for short. Despite the outcome, it was a fantastic, competitive game with excitement at both ends, and after Zidane's disgraceful conduct, my heart sank a bit and I just had a feeling France was done for. The Italian fans spilled out on the Brompton road afterwards in cars and motorbikes, waving flags and honking up a storm. It was great to watch their pride and happiness, though it must have been mayhem back home in Toronto, which boasts the largest Italian population of any city outside the old country. I also had to laugh- a friend of mine in Toronto text-messaged me. One word: crap. I didn't recognise the number, and asked who it was. We've been out of touch for months, and it made him laugh to find out he was sending a message to London. Hard life, he replied. Yeah, isn't it?

Beautiful London town

We made it into London without any problems- beautifully calm flight across the pond, even managed to sleep, and are now in Kensington, one of my favourite neighbourhoods in one of my favourite cities. We had dinner in a nice French cafe, and then walked off the brie by crossing Kensington gardens all the way past Buckingham Palace and then around towards Victoria. Had a pint at the Bag O' Nails pub and watched the remainder of the Germany-Portugal 3rd place match while the sore feet took a break, and then tubed home.

I love this city, always have since my first time here in 1972- it is so green, so full of beautiful parks and I am surrounded by the details of Georgian architecture that I adore. People have always said that Londoners are cold and uncaring, funny how I've never seen that side of them. the same is said about New Yorkers and Parisians, and those are two of my other favourite cities and people as well.

Tomorrow, we're going to find the Victoria & Albert museum and then, if the weather is nice, grab a picnic lunch and afternoon read in one of the great parks before venturing to the pub to watch the WC finals. I am looking forward to hanging out with the lovely Marietta tomorrow night.

Thanks for your kind wishes, all, and I hope you're all having nice weekends as well.