In England, a “gentleman’s club” is not a euphemism for a strip joint.
Heather and I have the same classy reaction to seeing things we’ve only read about in books: “holy fucking shit it’s Westminster goddamn Abbey”
So, I’m posting this stuff – I think – but I can’t actually read it. The 3 3G network has blocked my website as “restricted adult content”, and I’d have to be able to prove my age to access it. I can’t (it won’t accept a NA credit card and I don’t have an account), so I’m SOL until we hit wifi. That’s right – my blog is SO INAPPROPRIATE that it has to be shielded from the general UK public. *snort*
My accomplishment for the day: being allowed into Harrods, where I bought a glitter crow. Yeah, you jealous.
We were out for 12 hours today. I think we have both seen and purchased all of London. We are too tired to eat, and flopping listlessly about the flat. Miss Cleo senses our exhaustion and is being very friendly – I think she is planning on eating us.
H&M in London sells clothes for fat girls! Sure, the section is small and in the basement and hidden in a back corner so no one has to look at us, but they do have clothing larger than a size 6! I bought a shirt. It was three pounds. Hooray!