Quite the juxtaposition.
For the umpteenth time that day, the elderly gent who collected three pounds from anyone who wanted to climb up The Monument heard the same droning question, this time from me, "how many steps is it to the top"?, "311", he said. Go on, guess my next question because this poor man must hear this all bloody day long, altogether now; "how long does it take"?, "takes me five minutes", he said, and with that the gauntlet was thrown.
While I left Jules having a swift half at the bottom, I cockily said to Gramps "time me", "no need" he said, "I'll see you when you get to the top, give us a wave" and with that I confidently took two stairs at a time, until I couldn't. It took me about 5 minutes with the added bonus of feeling slightly queazy at the top, where I waved weakly.
Trying (as one does) to eat St.Pauls, where we whispered in her gallery and viewed London from just below my boob!
"I don't wanna worry you girls or nuffin", said cockney Rob as we whizzed up The Mall in his cab, "but this is what I'm reading right now"!
11:00pm Piccadilly Circus. If it weren't for the fact that it was dark, lit up like Blackpool Illuminations and a woman was puking from too much booze behind a phone box, it might have well been 11:00am. Busy is an understatement.
I've been lazy and dragged out these posts as we were just in London for a week. It was way too short a time and the days simply weren't long enough to fit in everything that my mind wanted to do. Still, I left deeply satisfied and thirsty for more, Perfect water anyone?