London and Back

We went to London.

Stayed for Nine days.

Which, as it turned out, was Two days too long.

Not because of the city, which could captivate you for days, weeks, years.

But the food.

I should have known. I'm a picky eater, and the food is generally regarded as not the reason that people come to England.

Me, I think the food is why they won the Battle Of Britain.

If they can eat that food, that way, every day -- and like it -- they're way tougher than anything the Germans could throw at them.

By the last day, I was so tired (why do they give you just a heavy blanket (okay, a duvet ) for a room that with the AC running at full blast doesn't cool down past, oh, sixty degrees?) and so queasy (actually puked three times from lingering aftertastes), I would get out of breath walking twenty five feet. I was wasted. Pitiful.

I know that people from other counties look at what we cheerfully eat, and try not to gag. One Australian friend asked if we truly did eat something called 'peanut butter and jelly sandwiches'. Then again, she was the one who told me about Vegemite.

Don't get me wrong. London was great, and I'd go again.

But I'd bring Rice Krispies. Granola bars. And a portable fan.