Traveling in Relative Hell.
I started my day realizing that since I didn’t pack a full tube of toothpaste and have been sparingly using the squeezed out remains of my Crest flattened tube that I’m in serious peril of being identified as a native Brit, as my chiclets are starting to take on an English cheddar teeth hue. We started the day on the Thames on a river cruise taking in all the sites. We saw Big Ben, but that’s only what they called the large gay man in the assless chaos marching in the London Pride parade. He kept asking Scott if he’d like to see his clock tower. London was packed in celebration of Pride. While I fully support and am happy to celebrate lifestyle choices, after being stuck in cab for 1 1/2 hours, I wished I had shown my support at the Lancaster, PA Pride Parade instead. (That one is basically meeting an Amish guy who had a gay waiter while on Rumspringa and raising a rainbow colored barn). We enjoyed Borough Market and Covent Garden. Those crazy Brits didn’t even have a garden there or a big top at Piccadilly Circus. Fortunately, I was less literal with the bangers and mash. As he returns home tomorrow, Scott decided to stay closer to Heathrow at a hostile. It’s actually a Sheraton, but since his rage bubbles so ever present near the surface, his presence makes any hotel into a hostile. As for me, I look forward to sleeping on the diagonal in a King size bed (which is the closest Prince Charles gets to being King)
Rubber Chicken 