XXXVI: Tea, No Sympathy

We got to leave the house today, which has become a rare treat. We went to Golden Gate Park. She bought some art. And then, because buying art is tiresome, we had to have a bit of a sit down:

After which we visited the Japanese Garden. All very scenic:

There were faux temples . . .

And real bridges . . .

You'll notice as a rule I keep John between me and
the child. Better for everyone that way, really.

And stairs.

And after all the hiking about, we had tea.

John says it was sencha.

Oh, but here is the artwork:

Yes, John, I quite agree. We are works of art.


XXXV: The New House

Took John to look over the new house today. We move in at the end of May.

Very fine master suite, including a sitting area near the window:

Another bedroom has stained glass. I've told John he can have that one . . .

Of course, the furniture you see in these photos belongs to the current owner. (Alas, the child stays with us.)

But there will be plenty of space for us to be able to avoid her, among others.

The outdoor space is quite nice as well. Roses of several varieties and a lemon tree, among other things.

There is a side yard as well. And gates. Very useful gates.

One needs clearly defined boundaries in life, after all.


XXXIV: There and Back Again (Again)

She finished whatever writing she was doing at the flat, and we celebrated with doughnuts.

And a show . . .

(No, John, I'm telling you: Mycroft would never tread the boards, even under heavy makeup.)

We ended our stay in London with a Tarot reading. For her, mind, not us, though she dragged us along anyway.

This is me rolling my eyes while we wait.

And the next day we flew back for one night in Boston . . . Where there was pie.

(Fine, John, it was chocolate mousse cake. As if I ever cared about food.)

And then, back to:

The city we now call home.

And so today we are . . .

(I only let her wear the "Genius" shirt because it's too big for me.)


XXXIII: London 2012, Part Three

What else have we done while in London? Well, we've continued to sit and stare while The American writes:

We went to the V&A but stayed in the bag, as per usual. Though John kept sneaking peeks at the girly statues.

This is Pandora . . .

And this is some dead woman.

(No, John, she didn't take any pictures of the naked ones.)

We went to the Science Museum, too, but the only pictures she took there were of stuff she thought the beasts kids would like. She didn't even stop to let me play with anything.

Walked through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, though that day it was cloudy and threatening rain.

Albert Memorial

Hyde Park
(She said Jim needed some air. I'd argue he needs a lot less air, but she doesn't listen to me anyway.)

We went to the Novello to see "Noises Off" but you can guess where John and I remained.

She went out to dinner with a friend and didn't bother to invite us. We sat in bed and waited . . .

(Yes, John, you're in the middle again. Get over it.)

Finally, today we went to the National Portrait Gallery. Trafalgar Square. Stopped for lunch . . .

Then went on to Covent Garden. I don't see how they can call it an Easter Egg "Hunt" when the eggs are all right there for anyone to find:

Later, walking back through Green Park we came upon a sort of ceremony.

And now? Now we are back at the flat. Watching her write. Again.


XXXII: London 2012, Part Two

Yesterday we went to Covent Garden. In her bag. She didn't let us out there, either. She just bought a bunch of etchings by a local artist.

But she did allow us some air in Green Park:

Rather a grey day, though, and windy.

Today dawned bright and clear, however, and we persuaded her to take us to Regent's Park, even though we knew it would be crowded. So after she did some work and ran to the market (I'll grudgingly admit she's getting the hang of that), we went out.

And she did let us out a bit.

Wearing my deerstalker to avoid being recognized
by my adoring public.

Jim tried to trick us with an April Fool's . . .

Her favourite spot, mind, is here:

Garden of St John's Lodge

Fine on a cloudy weekday, but far too crowded on a warm and sunny Sunday.

I chose a shadier spot:

Of course, with her going on about needing to get work done, it was back to the flat before long.

Sitting here watching her work is really boring . . . Anyone interested in coming to amuse me should apply at 21 Eccleston Square.