I have had a week off this week and on Wednesday Mrs K and I traveled up to the big city for a day out and this time, we took our own grub. The price of food in London is horrendous. Just a couple of sarnies with coffee/tea would put a serious dent in the national budget.
So with my knapsack on my back we took the 09:54 to Victoria. Not wanting my lug'oles to be assailed by several trilling ring tones and shouts of, "Yeah, I'm on the train", I wisely had Eric Clapton soothing me on our forty five minute journey.
On arrival, straight down onto the tube to Lambeth North via the Embankment.
We love traveling on the tube. The fact that once on the platform, within a couple of minutes you are being whisked away to some far flung corner of London, is very satisfying. And it is so easy, though Mrs K would dispute that.
Our destination was the Imperial War Museum. Now I had last visited this place when I was a young strapping lad who was still in awe of the second world war. As we stepped inside, I immediately started reeling off the names of all the exhibits in the entrance hall.
Spitfire, Sherman tank, 8mm Howitzer etc. etc. These were all the things I grew up with when we used to play war games.
The highlight of the museum was the Holocaust exhibition situated on the top floor. This is a must see for anybody and I would recommend the youth of today come and visit this exhibition.
It doesn't do any harm to be reminded of mans inhumanities towards man. The pictures, artifacts and letters are compelling viewing no matter how shocking.
Strangely they have put an age limit of fourteen to visit. I think you can never be too young to see this.
We were so engrossed, that we didn't have time to visit the Victoria & Albert Museum, which was our intention, so we took our time and walked back to Victoria Station along the Embankment opposite the Houses of Parliament. A beautiful sight since it has been spruced up.
We sat for a while beside Westminster Abbey and people watched. Everybody is in such a hurry in London and aren't there so many strange types?
A man with grey tousled hair and a magpies feather in it rode by. A battered old candlestick strapped to his bike. He rode with great purpose. The man deserved a medal for riding a bike in London as far as I'm concerned.
Once on the train, I was shocked to realise that I had lost a channel on my MP3. Eric was only coming through one ear, so I had to endure "Yes, I'm on my way home now" from several wankers who felt compelled to shout to their beloved ones continually about the state of their day/journey. They can't have anything to talk about when they get home. It's all been said on the bloody train.
Back home. Knackered. We're not getting any younger and it shows.