Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the Queen!

Pussy cat, Pussy cat, what did you dare?

I frightened a mouse from under her chair!

 

Except I’m not a cat and I didn’t see the Queen (or even visit her).

We went instead to watch a pussy cat, rather The Lion King. Which, as expected, did not fail to entertain except for Simba, both as a cub and as an adult. His performance was a little weak.

Not saying I could do any better mind you, but I’m guessing he’d be a pretty rubbish QS, so fair’s fair.

 

I found myself strangely delighted with London this visit. I lived there for a while when I first came to the UK and since moving away, every time I go back I feel a little like a pack animal. This time, however I delighted in the differences between people. I survived the tube and the engineering works and I was touched by the pianos being played around the city.

 

We had good food and good drink, some sunshine and music in parks and subways. I was with two people I love dearly and we plotted away our mealtimes with plans for our trip to India.

It was magical. It should have had a soundtrack.

Then on the way home a man was thrown off our coach for being drunk and disorderly, displaying shifty behavior and generally being rather unpleasant and smelly and we were brought back to earth with a bump.

Still smiling though.

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