Last Tuesday we rented a tiny little car, jammed it full of three women, a heap of camping gear, and a six week old kitten named Grandpa Hamish.

I was relegated to the back seat for the trip, because I was the only one who didn't get car sick. I was also the only person who could read in the car, so I was relegated to the Reading Princess Bride Aloud.

It was easiest to keep the kitty in the back seat, so I spent most of the trip looking at this ^ view. This was the look I got just before Grandpa Hamish leapt up and bit me in the crotch.

We drove towards the Isle of Skye. We got a bit of a late start (due to Kelly and my propensity for sleeping late) and so only drove for a few hours before we decided to locate a camping spot.

We found a beautiful copse of tall, old, moss-covered trees covering a small hill, next to a river. Stags roamed the grasslands around the hills, all majestic and antler-y, which would explain the hunting tower at the top of the hill.

There is nothing quite like cresting a beautiful rise, surrounded by this beautiful grove and glossy green rhododendren bushes , looking out on a field of grazing deer and the Scottish highlands, and taking a big ole wee.

However, that being said, upon waking in the morning, I discovered my first and only nemesis.

MIDGES.

Later on that evening, I counted my midge bites. I had two hundred and thirty-two midge bites.

Let me rephrase that.

I HAD TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO MIDGE BITES.

Midges are tiny insect that resemble a fruit fly in size and wing span. They get everywhere. They come in swarms. At least mosquitos are more or less solitary. And visible. Midges cover every last inch of visable flesh as soon as you expose it. There is nothing that stops midges, except apparently a very particular moisterizer that Avon sells.

Both Kelly and Amber barely got bitten, those bitches. I have the blessing of having a very nice complexion and pale skin. I am also cursed or blessed with skin that marks up very easily. Ergo, my expanse of midge bites looked precisely like I had a very terrible case of the chicken pox. When ever someone caught sight of me for the first few days there, they'd slow down, stare, and ask very quietly whether I'd gotten bitten by something. Upon hearing it was midges, they'd grimace, wince, and shake their head in wonder, and exclaim they'd rarely seen someone bitten so much.

We discovered a sale of outdoor equipment in the townhall of Glencoe, and a sweet little old lady sold me the Avon moisterizer, and a midge net that covered my head. I wore in immediately, despite being indoors.

I also saw this lovely house all covered in marigolds. The picture just doesn't do it justice.

The air here in Scotland is something else. It's very clear and bright, blue-white (as opposed to Calgary's yellow light), and sharpens all the colours something fierce. It's just beautiful. Much like Vancouver, only better, because it's Scotland.

We headed farther north, stopping at Eilean Donan, the castle that was used in the Highlander movies (which I haven't seen). It was a neat castle, and my first real castle of my trip.

We could not go inside, as it had been turned into a museum, I think, and was closed. But we did run around it, giggling like morons, and yelling things like: "THIS IS A CASTLE!" and "I'M IN FUCKING SCOTLAND!" but not in the earshot of anybody else, in accordance with ladylike behavior that my mother so dutifully taught me.

North, north, north. Shortly after that we crossed the Skye Bridge, saw another castle in the distance (but didn't stop), and careened our way up the narrow, bumpy roads of Scotland toward a hostel that Amber knew about. They allowed camping in the yard for a small fee, and had hot showers, which we were all thinking about rather longingly. I personally was hoping to boil the midge bites from my flesh.

The woman who answered the door of the hostel office was old and bent and sweetly Scottish, took our ten pounds, and stared at me in shock before asking quietly whether I'd been bitten by something.

The next morning, after the hottest shower I could stand (causing my midge bites to turn fiercely red), we hopped in the wee car and trundled toward the town of Portree.

The road, much like most roads in Scotland, was one lane, with frequent passing pulloffs. It was such a rough and tumble road, I was worried we were heading to someone's farm, which wasn't helped by this lovely herd of cows, most of whom were pregnant.

But no, we safely arrived at little Portree. It was a sweet little touristy town with boat tours and gift shops.

We puttered around, looking at things. I shopped a lot, but didn't buy anything. I kind of wish I'd bought some of the orange hand spun single ply yarn one of the shops had for sale, but I didn't, and I kind of wish I had, for naalbinding. Oh well.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way out of town and bought bacon and vegetables for dinner. (The Scottish sure love their bacon, I tell you. It's the easiest meat to find. You can buy packages of six slices in the gas stations.)

SIDE STORY TIME.

I can't remember at what point in the journey this was, so I will say it is now.

We crested the top of this hill and Kelly, in her gentile Kelly way, screams "OHMYGOD WE HAVE TO GO LOOK AT THAT!!"

So we turned around a found hundreds and hundres of stacked stones, pocked among the heather. It looked like a little slice of Nelson on a hilltop in Scotland.

We got out and poked around. It was a lovely view of the valley and I took a few shots, but I won't bore you with my scenery photos. Kelly and I stacked some stones, until Kelly, in her gentile way, screamed "OHMYGOD I HAVE TO GO LOOK AT THAT!!" and went bounding off out of the stones, towards the road.

She made some new friends.

(I think she was just using him for his car, which was the red convertable number on the left.)

His wife, who was wee and white haired and wearing a cap and goggles to match, was highly amused by the whole situation and Kelly made me take about half a dozen shots of her and the car. To hell with the guy.

END SIDE STORY.


How can I explain how beautiful Skye is? It is an olive velvet cloth, dropped into the ocean, all soft peaks and gentle folds. It is slate cliffs, black and bleak, and dustings of purple heather. It is the silence so deep you can feel it in your bones. It is rusted tin roofs and three hundred year old gardening sheds. It is fellows named Iain, out walking in gumboots with his dog, chatting up three Canadian girls on the side of the road. It's sheep humping in the middle of the road.

Except for perhaps the sheep humping part, I really like Scotland.

Oh, and I hate the midges.

Fucking midges.

(Only now is my skin starting to look normal, though I still look a bit like I'm recovering from the zombie plague.)

So we started heading back to Paisley, with the idea that we'd have a few days with the car and have beds without midges. We got about two thirds of the way home when Kelly realized she'd lost her iPhone. Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with modern technology (hi, mom), an iPhone is probably The Most Expensive Phone on the market right now. I could be wrong, but it's definitely up there.

Needless to say, Kelly was interested in going back for it, even though it meant a lot of retracing our steps and staying on Skye for another night.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

I think I replied with something like: "I'M IN FUCKING SCOTLAND! WOOOOO!!"

So back we went. We got to visit Eilean Donan just after the sun went down.

With nothing for it, we made giant shadow puppets on the castle wall. We danced like harems girls, and those plastic monkeys from barrels. We tried to make a shadow of a giant rabbit and didn't do so well.

I wonder what all the people sitting in the parking lot, watching from their cars thought...

And from there, over the bridge to Skye, round and round the rickety roads, and back to the hostel.

No phone.

Then we slept.

And I will do our magnificent return trip tomorrow, because it is almost 2am and I am very tired...

I went to the Isle of Skye. Kelly, Amber and I rented a car.

It was bloody well amazing. I am very tired now, though, so I will post pictures not tomorrow, but the next day. Tomorrow we're daytripping to Edinburgh...Edinborrough...Edinnnnnnn...fuck. You know, that city to the east what with the good Fringe.

There.

So the day AFTER I will post photos. Promise.

(I totally climbed all over a 13th century ruined castle, waded out to the castle Aaaaaaaggghghhh, terrorized a cathedral, and made giant shadow puppets on the walls of the castle from Highlander.)

SCOTLAND!

I like Scotland.

I took the night bus back, jammed in next to a six-foot-six fellow named Lou who was nigh on three hundred pounds, came from South Africa and had lived in Scotland for the last ten years with his wife and two daughters.

I slept a little. Well, I was unconscious a little, if not asleep. I remembered to bring my ear plugs on the bus, which helped, but I HATE these earplugs. They don't squish very well and make my ears hurt.

Oh! After I checked out of my hostel on Friday, I went to the Camden Market.

OH. MY. LORD. What a fantastic market! A lot of booths were really just the same thing over and over again, but about thirty percent of the booths were artisans, hawking their wares. I got some great inspiration.

There was a whole store selling rave gear. At least, that's what I thought when I first went in. The store went down a few levels, and the deeper you got, the less rave it got, and the more cyberpunk. I LOVE cyberpunk, providing it's done well. There was a whole line of handmade cyberpunk jewellry which I'm going to have to emulate when I get back to my tools. (It was good, but not as good as I could make it.)

I would have taken pictures of that store, but they were very strict on no cameras, and had people patrolling, keeping people from taking pictures.

Oh! And there was a whole room of cyberpunk erotic clothing! How hilarious is that? (Says the girl who would buy one of everything in that store if she'd had the money...)

The picture up there is from the side of the river, looking up towards the backside of the market. I had a sit down there and ate my lunch and read my terrible romance novels and made friends with pigeons.

When I got into Glasgow, I hopped on a bus and headed towards Amber's place. I dropped my junk, and we headed out to a big ole flea market. I ended up buying a tiny silver mussel fork, and a triple string of really excellent fake pearls. They were all crusted with crap, but they cleaned up really nicely. I'm tossing up whether to strip the pearls and make them into something else, or keep them as is, because it's a very nice, simple necklace.

We wandered around Glasgow for a while. Found that amazing cheese shop with the French guy with the Scottish/French accent. They were amused to see us again, and fed us a lot more cheese, and we bought a bunch of cheese.

Saw cool graffiti! Made me think of Tyne.

Anyway. Ran into Fergus, the Scot what works at the computer store, and we ate fish and chips and Indian food, though not together.

Then sleep.

Then yesterday the four of us went out walking in Paisley. Kelly and Fergus fucked off to take pictures of buildings, and Amber and I went to the grocery store to find dinner. There was a duck on sale, so we grabbed that, and some butter chicken sauce, and were heading back when we passed a little pub.

It looked like a nice pub, so I suggested we stop for a pint.

So there we are, sedately drinking our Guinness, when the four Scottish men standing at the bar (there always seems to be four Scottish men standing at the bar here) asked us whether we were American or Canadian. When we replied Canadian, there was high fiving and bets settled.

Then they bought us a round. And challenged us to a game of dominos.

Those men took their dominos seriously. It was kind of hilarious. There was a very old Scottish man with a face like a wrinkled apple who kept talking to us, but I couldn't understand a damned word her said.

Five pints later, we decided we should probably go, because we had a duck. Those guys would have kept buying us beer until we fell over, I think. (I also spotted the other cute Scottish guy, who was having beer with his mother and uncle, and I know this because AMBER IS A BASTARD WHO LIKES TO MORTIFY ROSIE).

We stumbled off down the road, taking a wee break on a nice grassy patch with trees.

We also found a church along the way that I'd never seen before. Not surprising, though, seeing as there seems to be an enormous church when ever you turn the corner.

After a while of laying on our backs, trying to make the world stop spinning (we eventually worked out that we'd had five pints in two hours, an act which I don't think I'll repeat any time soon), we pried our corpses up and tottered off down the road.

Fortunately, Amber's house was a lot closer than I'd thought, and we made it home without falling over and napping.

Then duck! I made Fergus de-bone the bird. He'd never stripped a bird before, so I was trying to teach him. He was not very willing though.

"You've never de-boned a bird before?" I asked, aghast.

"No," says Fergus, quite startled that I would think that any person in the early twenties should have by now.

"Well, how do you get the meat off the bones, then?" asked I.

Fergus looked at me as if I were daft. "We have butchers to do that."

It's true, though. There's a butcher on every corner here. Also, bakers and delis. The pre-made meals you can get here are amazing, and the packages desserts are of such incredibly variety and quality.

Anyway. Made it through the duck without stabbing myself or Fergus, and it was all cooked and very, very good.

This is Grandpa Hamish.

He is Amber's new kitten.

He is fierce.

He likes to hump stuffed animals.

(By 'hump' I mean 'attack ferociously'.)

He likes to do laps on my naked back in the morning.

Grandpa Hamish needs to stay out of the bedroom, I think.

Whelp. This is an entry of not very interesting photos, so I will have to get some better ones for youse folks tomorrow.

We're gonna road trip soon, so there will probably be long stretches where I am silent.

Just so you're warned...

Yesterday morning I had breakfast with a Polish guy named Kooba, who was a musicologist by trade. He was working on his PHD, studying the evolution of pop music. We had a really interesting conversation about the evolution of heavy metal, from it's start to what it is now.

Then I hung around the hostel until the afternoon, at which time Nick, the Canadian guy, suggested we all go to the British Beer Festival, downtown.

So we did!

There was me, Nick (Canadian, who worked in marketing), Michael (a Dutch guy), Tony (another Dutch guy, with round rosy cheeks and worked in a bakery), Mateas (German, who smoked like a chimney and rolled his own), Colin (Irish), and a French guy whose name I can't remember but won a very nice false beard in one of the pub games.

Yep. I was the only girl. I was pretty much the only girl at the beer festival, too. It was about one woman for every fifty men.

You had to rent a glass, and it had markings on it for a third, a half, and a full pint. I only drank thirds, because I wanted to try a bunch of different ones, and not get really drunk or poor. I had some good beers. There was a nice Dutch one, the name of which translated to something like 'Blood, Sweat, and Tears'. I think it was my favorite of the lot.

Then it started to get very crowded so we left and went to a pub, and had a couple more, before heading back to the hostel. Michael decided he wanted chicken, and bought SIX POUNDS of chicken, which he proceeded to cook, and then try to make everyone eat. I tried to eat it, but he slathered it in chili powder, and I'm not keen on spicy food.

It was a really fun night, though. I really needed a not-really-touristy kind of hanging out night.

This morning I was up at the crack of horrible, because one of the girls' alarms went off. It was the one with the terrible dreads. I kind of felt sorry for her, because she didn't really talk to anybody and looked really unhappy. She didn't even talk when everyone else was talking. even though we all didn't know each other. Also, she rarely smiled, and spent large parts of her day laying in her bed and staring at the wall.

But there's only so many times you can extend the olive branch before you have to accept the fact that they don't want it.

Oh well. She left this morning, hopefully to happier pastures. And hopefully to somewhere with a clipper, so she can shave off those terrible dreads. She had a really pretty face, which made it even more terrible.

Anyway, I'm in an internet cafe, printing out my bus ticket to Scotland. Tomorrow morning I will be in Scotland again, and Amber, Kelly and I will do some proper Canadian terrorizing of the poor Scottish men.

By the way, there is nothing funnier than a Dutch man who doesn't speak English very well trying to understand an Irishman whose just spent a year in Australia. That was almost as good as the French cheese seller who had a French and a Scottish accent, all in one.

This morning I went to view the Wallace Collection. It was primarily 17th and 18th century paintings (which I don't much care for), but had a very large collection of arms and armour through the ages, and, to my surprise, a fairly sizable collection of pages from books of hours (mostly Florentine; they sure liked painted jewels).

Also, second most interesting after the illumination, they had a room dedicated to how things were made. There was a very interesting display on how inlay work was done on 17th and 18th century furniture. It made me want to try it. It didn't look nearly as difficult as I thought it was.

But that means more tools, which means more money...If I ever won the lottery I know I would spend the whole damned thing on books and tools.

I thought that perhaps I could get through the whole of the Wallace Collection without running into a Picasso, a Rodin, or any artist I knew (I'm not that keen on 17th/18th century art, so I figured I'd be safe), but I failed when I spotted a couple of Rembrandts. Oh well. Rembrandts are allowed.

Ate my lunch in a nearby park. There were pigeons. I made friends with them.

Then looked at me ole map, trying to decide what else to do today. I had wanted to get over to the Horniman Museum, but it is Really Freakin' Out Of The Way. Ergo, I decided to go check out the ACTUAL portrait gallery, rather than the FAKE portrait gallery I went to the other day (it was actually the National Museum).

So I did! And it was filled with portraits. I like portraits.

But not 17th or 18th century portraits. BOOOOOOORING.

There was a lot of pieces I did like, though. I really need to get into portraiture. I enjoy that shit.

And now? I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm tossing up between taking a walk around the theatre district (though it's disgustingly busy, and I'm not sure I want to fight the crowds), or just heading back to the hostel and hanging around with the folks there. I suspect that will win out.

And just for a final cap on this entry, here is a picture of what I suspect the Horniman Museum will look like.

It apparently contains a poorly stuffed, rather elderly walrus, but really, this is all I'm thinking of.

Hot, man-mannequin window-sex.

Ooooh yeah.

And that's all, folks.

Monday morning I popped awake bright eyed and bushy tailed, ate a healthy breakfast, and traipsed off into the rising sun, ready for another adventure. (I'm lying. I dragged my poor, sorry carcass out of bed, jammed some terrible muesli into its interior, and blearily tottered off down the roat into the mid-morning sun.)

I was off to the Globe!

I checked out the performance schedule, and the only thing playing that I could have caught was Henry VIII, and I didn't particularly want to see it.

And looking at the prices, I probably would have ended up getting a standing room ticket.

So I decided to screw that noise, and just go see the exhibit they had, and do the tour.

It was quite interesting, though not quite as in depth as I was hoping for. Don't let that discourage you! If you get near the Globe, go do the tour and see the exhibit, but, well, they didn't really tell me much I didn't already know. I could have expanded on the tour guide's information about the technical elements of the shows quite a bit.

There were some technicians working on stage, setting up for that evening's show. You have no idea how much I wanted to ask them for a job. (Screw you, Steve!) (I KID, I KID. Please don't fire me...)

After the Globe, I went and ate my picnic lunch on the banks of the Thames. DELICIOUS SANDWICH. Then I started wandering around, and discovered the Tate Museum of Modern Art.

"But you hate modern art, Rosie," I argued with myself.

"Yes, but it's free, and it's close," I argued back.

"Oh, very well, suit yourself, but you'll be sorry," I said.

So I went into the Museum of Modern Art.

It was about at the point where I was standing with a few other people, quietly contemplating a pale red canvas decorated with a dark red vertical line, that I realized MODERN ART IS STILL SHIT.

BLEAGH.

I should point out that this painting was in the very first room I walked into.

Needless to say, I took a very fast walk around the Museum of Modern Art, with every room only reconfirming what I already knew.

Not to say there wasn't pieces I didn't enjoy. There was a Dali piece I quite liked. I have to say, though, I'm not a fan of Picasso's cubist period. I much prefer his blue period stuff, but even then, I'm not a big Picasso fan at all. There was a room dedicated to a particular style of art which, for the life of me, I can't remember (it surfaced briefly around WWII, I believe), involving hyperrealism and giant canvasses. I liked those paintings, and not just because they were all naked people.

I walked into a room wallpapered in neon pink cows, and I thought: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS CRAP? And I checked the label, and it told me it was Andy Warhol, and I thought: ANDY WARHOL IS CRAP.

There was a room of photographs, done by a woman who was travelling around, knocking on people's doors and asking to photograph their livingrooms. I thought that was quite interesting. It was neat to see other people's livingrooms.

Then I left the Museum of Modern Art in a dignified, incensed huff, and had a lay about on the grass, reading my book and making friends with pigeons.

The one in the back is called Louis, and the one in the front is named Louise.

They don't talk much.

Afterward, I toured a church that was nearby, because I like old churches. There were plaques everywhere, commemorating people of the parish who had died. Even the flagstones were carved with people's names. I found a flagstone commemorating one of Shakespeare's younger brothers, who apparently was an actor in the area, and died of the plague (along with his other brothers). Of course, I can't for the life of me remember the kid's first name. George? Something like that.

Then, because I felt like doing something that wasn't very touristy, I went to a nearby mall. On my map, it looked comparable to Northland Mall (or Chakko Mika Mall), but in person, it was TINY. Ten minutes to walk the whole thing.

That was boring. So I went back to the hostel. Stupid mall.

Yesterday I hooked up with Scott, and we went wandering through street markets. A man tried to sell me a hat that was Too Small, but I was having none of it.

"No, no, it fits just fine!"

"No, it's tight."

"It's just your hair, maybe if you moved you hair--"

I hate to break it to you, man, but no matter how I arrange my hair, providing it's all pointing downward, my head will always have the same circumferance. Whether it's braided or not just affects what overall shape my head has.

Silly man. He had nice hats, though, just none that were big enough for me.

Ate Indonesian for lunch. Wandered more.

There's a lot of really neat architecture in London. I'm not just talking about historical buildings, but modern ones, too.

This one on the left did not look finished when we first saw it in the distance, but coming closer, we realized it was just a style.

Very cyber-punk evil-villian. I approved heartily.

After wandering on by this place, we discovered the Tower of London.

It's not so much of a tower an a lumpy bunch of buildings.

I didn't feel like paying for a ticket and going it, so we watched the recreationists from the railing, then walked around it.

Their herald was very good. Even us, way up on the railing, could hear everything he said clearly.

The 'fights' were amusing, but got boring quickly. I couldn't help but think they needed more rehearsal and a better fight director.

Silly people.

They could have dome something really great and terrifying, for both children and adults, but instead they took some fantastic garb and information, and just made a farce.

Oh well. Can't win them all, right?

After that, we took a walk across Tower Bridge, then went looking for a tube station, because Scott had to work. I figured I'd follow him and check out the cheap ticket booths, and see if I could catch a show.

I ended up going to see Wicked, because I always had a hard time picking up the storyline from the soundtrack alone. Plus, I heard it was a spectacle show, and I hadn't seen a spectacle show yet.

OH. MY. GOD.

Technicians wet dream.

Mechanized set pieces rolling on knife tracks, a giant dragon puppet that spanned the proscenium and spat smoke, lights and fans and smoke machines imbedded into the floor, traps and rising platforms, robotic fly system, multiple flying monkeys, gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh...

I spied on the technicians operating the dragon puppet (which was actually quite simple, but required obvious practice and coordination) and two of the followspots. I would love to have that job. I would love to work there.

Technically, it was the second best show I've ever seen (next to Ka), with the bus from Precilla coming in as third.

It was also superbly cast, which made me happy. I didn't like the casting for Avenue Q. I found their cast to be all hobbnobbed together. They didn't work well as a unit. But the Wicked cast sure did.

And damn, the voice on the woman they had as Elpheba! Wow! Goosebumps, I tell you.

Anyway. After the show, I went back to the hostel, and pretty much straight to bed.

And now? I'm gonna drag my sorry carcass off this couch and go check out the Horniman Museum, I think, and perhaps the Wallace Collection, if I have the time.

Rock on, peeps.

Here I am, waiting in a pub across the street from the theatre Wicked is playing in, waiting for the show to start.

I wasn't gonna see anything tonight. But then I was hanging out with Scott again, and he was heading back to the West End, and I thought: I haven't spent any money today. Maybe I should go see a show.

And then it seemed like a good idea. So I tossed up between Wicked and Les Mis, and Wicked won out, if only because I can't pick out the storyline very well just listening to the soundtrack. That, and Les Mis will always be in fashion. Wicked may well stop playing next season (though I doubt it).

My connection is SHITE (much like the service in this damned pub, but hey, the wifi is free), so I'll have to wait to upload photos until I get back to the hostel.

I could have gotten a ticket to Wicked for about twenty-five bucks, but the sightlines were terrible, so I took a deep breath and spent fifty. I think this will be the last show I see in London. I've seen a new musical, a lower budget off-beat musical, and now I'll see a spectacular musical, and I think that's enough for now.

I'm looking forward to it.

(The service in this pub is the second worst service I've ever had, next to the Original Joe's on 8th Ave.)

I just went out walking today. Didn't really do much. The area of town I'm in right now is a bit sketchy, so I didn't go far off the beaten path.

And oh, the path was beaten.

I found this algae covered river along the way. I think fairies live there.

Disgruntled fairies who have dirty toilets and live on welfare.

I walked and I walked and I walked. I walked entirely into a different city. Neasden? I dunno.

Most of the shops were closed, it being sunday, but it was okay. It was sunny and nice (though a little hot for my tastes; I don't like it when my eyelids sweat). I found this classy little place:

And I thought of Kelly when I saw it.

On the way back I walked past it, and it turns out it was just a pub. I was a little bit disappointed, I have to say.

Then tomorrow?

I think tomorrow I'll go down and check out the Globe, and do the tour they have in the morning. Then afterwards, well, I dunno. I'll be in the area what with interesting things in, so I'll poke around.

Then I think Scott and I talked about getting together tomorrow evening and seeing a show or something, it being his only night off.

Yay! Vacations!

Guess what I did yesterday?

NOTHING!

And it was great.

Hung around the hostel. Did laundry. Talked to other people here. The folks at this hostel are really friendly. One of them invited me to go out to a club, but I'm not big on clubs, so I declined.

I didn't even take any pictures. The only time I left the hostel was to go to the grocery store with this big Australian guy named Dave. (The food in England is stupid cheap. STUPID CHEAP. Ridiculously so.)

And then I slept.

Today? I'm not sure what I'm going to do today. Maybe head off to another museum, or maybe just walk around the neighbourhood. In any case, it'll be a good day.