The American (as I call her) took me along on her trip to London. It was my understanding that I would be a guide of sorts, or at least allowed to get some work done, but I ended up spending the majority of my time in her knapsack.
I refuse to go into all the sordid details; I hate all the tourism that gets in the way of a real Londoner's good time. But at least I was able to see John:
He was, you can see, ridiculously happy to see me as well. Truly, it wasn't decent.
We went to Cardiff and to Bath and to Stonehenge. Never mind that stuff. Rubbish. And we went to see these men . . .
. . . who talked as if they knew me, which they don't, so I found that a tad creepy. In a flattering sort of way.
And this thing wanted to "exterminate" me but seemed powerless to do so; best I can figure, it's some kind of industrial vacuum cleaner.
We saw All's Well That Ends Well at the Globe, and here is where the trip paid off; I made The American buy me a new skull to replace the one Mrs. Hudson took.
Oh, but to add insult to injury, the blasted woman also took me to some kind of namesake museum and let strangers manhandle me. Very undignified.
They have a statue around the corner. Looks nothing like me, mind.
Oh, and she dragged me off to Highgate in the rain to visit Douglas Adams. No idea to what purpose. He's dead.
She also made me go bowling.
Fine. It wasn't all bad. We even had decent weather most days. Here--don't we look happy?