I love books, but I know I’m in trouble when I read too much.
For the past few days, the Philosopher has found me reading while brushing my teeth, stirring soup, and while watching the TV show Friday Night Lights (I only snuck a page or two during the boring parts — nothing serious).
It can get to be like a hunger. I become sort of cat-ladyesque – drawn into the pages, oblivious to the sensory world around me, and not under any circumstances willing to leave the house until I’m dragged away by the wrists.
It’s sort of fun. But probably not a good place to live for very long.
We had a four day weekend for Easter, and although books claimed 50% of that time off, thankfully I had scheduled in advance just the remedy I needed: a trip to London.
The first day London poured with rain, so we huddled inside with some good friends to eat the most tender fall-apart slowcooked ham you’ve ever tasted. Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…
The second day felt like summer! A friend and I hopped the tube into the city to enjoy Buckingham Palace front gardens in a balmy 65 degrees.
We joined a huge mass of people waiting expectantly for something – even though we had no idea what. Had we stumbled, by chance, upon a Will/Kate/George sighting? Was the Queen going to come out and wave?! My mind briefly wandered, thinking that this would be a fantastic beginning to a dystopian/futuristic YA novel… before the changing of the guard yanked me back to reality.
What a job, right? Can you imagine the boredom? The feeling of inutility? My British friend harrumphed at the idea, suggesting I couldn’t possibly call myself English if I didn’t understand.
I felt ashamed for a moment – but, let’s face it, I still don’t understand how anyone would queue up for that job.
Clouds darkened the sky as we walked underneath a war museum of some kind – but they made for a beautiful scene. How timeless is this picture, huh? Could be 100 years old. That’s why I love London.
In the heart of it, it is still an ancient city. Very few cars, even fewer ugly buildings. It really is enchanting.
Maybe love for that old order, that ancient enchantment, is why people audition to be a lobster-backed guard.
If so, the novel-reading-cat-lady inside of me completely understands.