Bleak House

Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun.  Dogs, undistinguishable in mire.  Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers.  Foot passengers, jostling one another's umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest.

Charles Dickens

Well, not really, we were just a little rushed to look for flowers in London town

The British Museum. The new glassed-in courtyard and the restoration of the Reading Room are gorgeous. We peaked at the Rosetta Stone, the Assyrian collection (one of my favorites), the Elgin Marbles, and the early British stuff (that cool chess set and some wooden tablets from one of the forts that we had been to along Hadrian's Wall).

A wonderful museum. The British stole all the best stuff.

This time however, we took special care to hit the British section to see the stuff they didn't steal, but was theirs in the first place.

I ogled the Lewis Chess men and we got to see the writing tablets that were uncovered back in Vindolanda.

Tea at the Ritz. Ohmigod, so much food and it was all sooooo good. We were seated in the Palm Court full of golden marble, gilt, golden fabric, and um... potted palms of course. It was everything I was hoping for.

To our disappointment - they were redoing the Fashion exhibit so it was closed. We did see the wonderful wrought iron gallery and my absolute favorite, the glass gallery. I love glass, especially art glass and they have a beautiful collection. Their fake's gallery was very cool. I particularly liked the replica of Trajan's Column. Hee, faux.

Ahhh, the show. It was excellent - great songs, amazing dances, and I was within 20 feet of Michael Praed. So dreamy. It was the first musical I've seen that made me cry, I think. Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald did not live happily ever after.

Sad tragic…Michael Praed.

When I was in England last time, I saw M. Praed in a wonderful production of a DuMauier story. It was sad and tragic and star crossed.

Not much has changed. He's still darn good looking. I mean, ahem, fine production values, and songs.