Oh give thanks to the Lord, call upon His name;
Make known His deeds among the peoples.
The night after the murder I dreamed that flies filled my room. I dreamed that they covered the bunk above me, swarming blackly, flying everywhere. I dreamed that fly eggs the size of jellybeans covered the floor and hatched out gigantic vindictive flies. I woke up convinced I needed to switch rooms or hordes of flies would repay me for my sins.
Thankfully I survived the night without additional any insect issues. For breakfast I decided to attempt creativity — desperation being the mother thereof, and I desperately need to use up 1.5 kilos of flour and an enormous container of baking powder. Clearly, it sounds like time for Creative Crepes, which are like regular crepes only you leave out anything resembling a measuring cup and estimate all volumes. I did know that 2 cups = 1 pint, and our kitchen came equipped with a pint glass, so that helpful hint allowed fairly accurate estimation. For tablespoons I used a large spoon, while teaspoons I measured with a tiny spoon. I mixed the wet ingredients gingerly, having underestimated the sheer volume of 2 cups of milk; when I added the wet to dry ingredients, they simply did not blend properly. My vigorous forking improved the situation only a little, so eventually I gave up and simply hoped for the best. …Which, incredibly, happened. The crepes cooked fairly normally despite their lack of vanilla (who would buy vanilla on a trip?) and tasted good enough I ate three of them. An incredible success!
Good thing, because I needed sustenance for a long day of walking. At 10:00 I embarked for the Tate Britain, where Delorey and I met up at 11. We spent about three hours there, looking at art that varied from traditional oil to William Blake watercolors to weird, creepy sculptures. Then we went to the very, very cool Museum of Natural History. It primarily displayed stuffed dead animals: I saw a Great Awk and two Dodos, and no, I took no pictures of them. We stood in a room that simulated an earthquake in Japan, rode an escalator through the middle of the earth, saw lots of rocks and meteorites, dinosaur bones, stuffed birds and primates, explanations of volcanoes and earthquakes, and tons of creatures carved into the walls of the beautiful building. It really is a lovely building, specially made for the museum. Afterwards John bought me softserve ice cream with a flake, which is sort of thin bits of chocolate rolled up into one convoluted tube that falls apart into flakes when you bite it. Then we went to Marble Arch, where I did some truly painful shopping.
I walked back from Marble Arch through Hyde Park and to Knightsbridge tube station. Then, walking down Sloane Street, I decided to take a detour — a shortcut. I know, you’re probably thinking: “Hoo boy, I know where this is going!” Ha! Shows how much you know! I followed roads I thought more or less paralleled Kings Road and felt confident I headed in the right direction; how could I get lost so close to IES? I recognized roads, or at least styles of houses. I walked with confidence, until suddenly I had a feeling I didn’t think I was where I was. So I walked out to what I thought was Kings Road and discovered its identity: Brompton Road. Well, crap. Brompton Road eventually encounters the South Kensington Tube Station, but I hardly wanted to walk all the way down there and then back. Two legs of the triangle rather than the hypotenuse, and all that. So I walked down Brompton Road, wondering what to do, when a road caught my eye. I don’t know why, but I walked down it and just kept walking in a direction I strongly felt led towards IES and a bathroom. Just when I started thinking I really had lost myself, I discovered the rear end of a church/park I recognized because bus 49 goes right past it. Saved! I cut through the badly misnamed Chelsea Farmer’s Market (no farmers, no market, only organic food stores, pet food stores, restaurants, and a store called Funky Funky) and emerged one block off from the wonderfully tall IES building. So yes, I suppose I did get a little lost, but still the walk from Knightsbridge only took 20 or 25 minutes, so I don’t think it really counts.
All in all a triumphant day of successes pulled from the brink of sheer, gaping disaster. All in a day’s work, mates.