beesknees

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Reload page in style: light

When we first moved to London, friends back home would ask if I saw the queen “a lot”. Like, not if I’d seen her at all, but often, as if royalty makes a habit of popping around miserable studio flats in Zone 2 to split a packet of jaffa cakes over instant coffee. I might have been a bit derisive in my responses vis-a-vis the real-life existence of said royalty and the impossibility of encountering such mythical creatures in ordinary spaces.

Which is, of course, all a lead-up to my partner’s trip with Hitchcock to the Natural History Museum yesterday, where he and the kid wandered through the dinosaur exhibit (apparently our place to run into UK celebrities) with two of the youngest three Heirs To The Throne™, their harried mum, and a surprisingly low-key security detail.

Quite disappointed I wasn’t there to also be far too cool to take a photo or even turn my head in their direction. There’s no satisfaction in being unimpressed secondhand.

Current Mood: amused

Soon as we walked in the door last night, my five-year old demanded paper, a ruler, and colored pencils, then settled down at the table with great concentration. A few minutes later, he handed it to me – he’d made a worksheet of math problems and music notations I was to copy/solve as appropriate…which he then graded and told me to make sure I put it in my bag to take to work with me the next day.

I don’t know whether it’s funnier...that I went along with it (and it’s here at my work desk right now), or that he took points off for bad handwriting.