A Royal Visit
(March 29, 2025)
After a hearty British Breakfast at the hotel, I commenced with what was my second day in London. The temperature was a sunny 59 degrees (15 Celsius), the sun was shining, the air was brisk and stimulating, and it was time to get this day started.
10 Downing Street
 
However, before I could proceed with my day, I had one stop to make. Just past Trafalgar Square is Piccadilly Circus and the West End.  Legend tells of a rare treasure located in all major cosmopolitan cities, and one such treasure was right here in London. It’s called TKTS and they offer same-day tickets for most West End Shows at a discounted rate. To get the best choice, I must get there right when they open.  I had successfully narrowed my choices between two shows that I wanted to see Book of Mormon and Tom Hiddleston and Haley Atwell in Much Ado About Nothing. Out I went, passing all of the sights of the previous day, huffing and puffing up the small hill and eventually making it to the discount booth before it opened. I had arrived fifteen minutes before it was supposed to open, only to find out… (dramatic music, please) it was closed! However, posted on the wall was their website with an invite to try there. iPhone in hand, I visited a nearby McDonald's, ordered a cup of coffee, and stole some precious WIFI.
Immediately, I was reminded of something the actor Brian Cox once said about never passing up the opportunity to see a great actor. And here he was in a play called The Score, with tickets available at an excellent price. Well, I took Mr. Cox at his word and purchased a ticket for the 7pm show. 
 
Digital tickets in hand, it is time to gulp down my McCoffee with cream, take a quick look at Apple Maps, and plot my course for the day ahead.  
First stop, the home of # 6 (The Prisoner), located at 1 Buckingham Place.
 
Any fan of Patrick McGoohan will be familiar with the iconic 60’s television show, The Prisoner. The ITC production answers the age-old question: What do you do with a secret agent who has either outlived his usefulness or no longer feels spying fulfills his work/life balance? The answer turns out to be a mysterious seaside resort where, if you choose to escape, you will be chased down and enveloped by a giant white ball of undetermined origin. Satirical and creepy at the same time, The Prisoner has a relatively large fan base and is must-see television for fans of the 1960s spy genre. 
 
The actual space has been many things since the 60s and is now the home office for a local barrister.  Walking past enough times to appear suspicious, I moved on and wandered into one of London’s  St. James's Park.
This is the most royal of London’s Royal Parks. Shaped by generations of monarchs and bordered by three royal palaces, St. James’s Park is the home of ceremonial events in the capital. From royal weddings and jubilees to military parades and state celebrations, this is the park where history is made. 
 
In 1532, Henry VIII added this sizable stretch of land to his collection of deer parks, fencing it off from the general public and constructing a hunting lodge that would later become known as the Palace of St. James. Since then, it has hosted jousts, fetes, festivals, and, as I understand it, several Star Trek Conventions. 
 
The park itself is expansive and leads to Buckingham Palace and the neighboring Palace of St. James.
 
Buckingham Palace: Home of King Charles and, more importantly, where his mother, Queen Elizabeth, would drink four cocktails a day.
A gin and Dubonnet (A French aperitif), with a slice of lemon and a “lot of ice.” 
A glass of wine and chocolate after lunch
A dry gin martini after lunch.
A glass of champagne and a sizable bong hit before bed.
Can this lady party or what? I just had to take several pictures of the party house, I mean, palace. 
 
To witness the changing of the guard, it is best to arrive at the location well in advance. Thousands gather for this event. I chose to skip the event, instead slipping back into St. James Park to head off to Hugh Grant’s private dance studio, otherwise known as #10 Downing Street.
 
Only nine minutes away, the official residence of the Prime Minister borders St. James Park. I followed the Princess Diana Memorial Walk, skirting the other side of the park, and shortly arrived at… 
 
NEWS FLASH!
Unfortunately, lowly serfs and tourists are not able to walk past the famous residence. Disappointed, but not undaunted, I decided instead to search for the next best thing; the home of Natalie’s parents from Love Actually (Poplar Road in Hearn Hill). The row of cute and connected houses where the movie was filmed is only a short walk from Downing Street, and I found it to be just as photogenic, with far less security than the Prime Minister’s residence.
Coming next: A Night at the Theatre

Friday, March 29. 2025. Temperature high, 10.5 Celsius (which if you remember correctly converts to 7 ft, 11 inches. Sky is grey and the air temp is brisk. Looks like a bit of rain in my London future. Never-the-less, I was up bright and early. Forgoing the traditional English Breakfast, I dined on a simple traveler’s meal of Oat Porridge, juice and one cup of coffee before tightening my shoestrings and making the most of my new day in London. 
 
London is a walking city, the proof being the number of tourists killed every day while attempting to cross the street.
On every corner at every major crossing, there are arrows, instructions for distracted pedestrians to look left/look right for oncoming traffic. These arrows just happen to be situated directly beside the chalked outlines of persons who did not glance down.
 
I had several stops planned for the first half of the day, including Big Ben, Parliament Square, Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Westminster, and The West End. First stop, Westminster Abbey! 
And wouldn’t you know it?  I arrived an hour too early to get inside. Damn. The gothic structure made famous in the sci-fi classic The Quatermass Experiment was closed, and I had two hours before it opened.  
 
 Westminster Abbey, formally titled the Collegiate Church of Saint Peter at Westminster, is an Anglican church in the City of Westminster, London, England. Since 1066, it has been the location of the coronations of 40 English and British monarchs and a burial site for 18 English, Scottish, and British monarchs. 
 
This is a truly impressive and majestic piece of architecture, with a thousand years of British history oozing from the lime mortar, which was pilfered from the Romans.
Most royal events, from coronations and weddings to the occasional Quinceañera, take place here, with the cathedral also serving as an upper-class funeral home.
A few of the historical and literary notables buried here in Poet’s Corner: Chaucer, Shakespeare, Sir Issac Newton, Charles Darwin, Hardy, Kipling, Laurence Oliver, and the guy who played “Screech” on Saved by the Bell (I know. I was surprised by that last addition as well. I always thought he was from Atlanta).
Taking a quick walk around the entire circumference and courtyard, I decided to return when it had opened for the public. 
 
Idiot Mistake #7. Upon returning several hours later, I discovered a line that stretched completely around the entire structure. I had blown my chance at viewing the gravesite of both Henry the VIII and Chaucer. Bad me.
 
In London, history literally surrounds you, and in Westminster is around every corner. From Whitehall to the Ministry of Defense, you are reminded of the men who helped preserve the Empire. Leaving Winston Churchill at Parliament Square, you will soon encounter General Montgomery (Monty), General Gordon (Gordon Pasha), and monuments and statues to countless others.  And there one more historic spot that I passed that is even more heroic and stands as a testament of the true British spirit. 
 
Of course, I am referring to the home of the traditional steak and ale pie, The Old Shades, “Purveyors of Real Ale, and Exquisite Spirits.” 
 
As beloved as any hero, a pub and a meat pie are a staple in the diet of any true British patriot. Historically, the meat in these pies has fluctuated from that of real cattle to an occasional horse, and during more challenging times, perhaps something more. Never one to pass up the culinary guessing game, “What’s My Meat?” I stepped into one of London’s most beloved pubs for a pint and a meat pie. Served over a bed of smashed potatoes, smothered in a rich ale and beef gravy, and baked in buttery, flaky pastry, this little beauty has all the healthy nutrients needed for a full and balanced heart attack. And, by the way, if you happen to be wondering…the meat at the Old Shades was definitely beef.
 
A short distance from Trafalgar, I experienced my first London downpour. It was a real cow quaker, but undeterred, I stepped into a nearby Haberdashery and purchased a typical British cap known as a Flat Cap. Now, looking like I stepped off the set of Peaky Blinders, I pressed on in the rain.
 
Trafalgar Square is a public square, established in the early 19th century around the area formerly known as Charing Cross. The square's name commemorates the Battle of Trafalgar, a British naval victory in the Napoleonic Wars over France and Spain that took place in 1805 off the coast of Cape Trafalgar. 
 
Just beyond the square is the National Gallery and the even more famous Pay Before You Go restrooms. One houses priceless, untold treasures of art,  the other requires a small charge. I will leave it to you to guess which one.
By dark, I had managed to include a hike into Hyde Park and was somewhere near the community of Paddington.
Hyde Park is a 350-acre, historic Grade I-listed urban park in Westminster, Greater London. A Royal Park, it is the largest of the parks and green spaces that form a chain from Kensington Palace through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, via Hyde Park Corner and Green Park, past Buckingham Palace to St James's Park.
The park is huge and really worth exploring. I was in, as Shakespeare referred to it, The Undiscovered Country, and as it was getting dark.  I checked my faithful phone to see exactly where it was and, gasp, I was nearly out of battery.
 
This was my first real emergency on my trip, and it required quick and decisive thinking. I exited the park, stumbling directionless into what is known as the Paddington neighborhood. Much like our President, my precious phone craved power, and I was not entirely sure where I would find it. No Apple Stores, no Best Buy or even Target. I was starting to panic until I saw an entire street lined with bodegas, one of which was an electronic store. Surely…
As tiny as this store was,  it was crammed with electronic merchandise on every shelf. The proprietor quickly assisted me with a portable battery, assured me it had a full charge, and within thirty minutes, I was back in business. Once again, I had artificial intelligence and direction in my life.
 
Weary over my ordeal, I thought it best to secure some sort of transportation back to the hotel and checked my revitalized phone. 
And then I saw it, rumbling in my direction. My savior in red, heading up Bayswater Road. Dare it be? Could it be? 
 
It sure as hell could. It was the signature red of the London double-decker bus. Once I confirmed its destination on Apple Maps, I climbed on board. There was no need for exact change, as I had set up my Apple Watch beforehand to work with the London transit system. Just place the face of the watch on the reader, followed by a slight vibration, and I was up the winding metal stairs to the top floor of a double-decker. The fleet is almost exclusively electric now and more modern; a far cry from the classic buses of just twenty or thirty years ago. But, even at nighttime, the view from up top proved enough to take this rider on a nostalgic trip into London’s magical past.
 
The ride back to the hotel was quick, the bus dropping me only several blocks away from my hotel, and I was all ready for some supper.

​The City of Westminster is a London borough with complete city status.  It is the site of the United Kingdom's Parliament and much of the government. It contains a large part of the city, including most of the West End, such as the major shopping areas around and the entertainment district of Soho. Many historic landmarks are within the borough, including Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey Whitehall, Westminster Abbey, Whitehall, Westminster Cathedral, 10 Downing Street and Trafalgar Square. Over 200 thousand people live in the district. Converted from the metric, that is well over three million souls. – The Internets 
 
From Victoria Station to my hotel was only a short walk. But being an obese American, ever vigilant at the prospect of marauding pickpockets or “Droogs,” I decided to take a cab. 
Disappointed that there was no horse-drawn Hansom Cab anywhere near, I was forced to take the next best thing, an electric taxi. Once inside, I rapped on the plastic partition with my walking stick and ordered the good man to take me to the hotel. And, if he happened to manage the trip in under 30 seconds, there would be an extra “fiver” in it for him. I was quite confident that I would not have to pay as I was at least 45 seconds from my hotel.
 
Weather 1st day: 16.11 Celsius (converted into American totals over sixty U.S. dollars). Wind WSW at 12 MPH, Humidity at 67 percent.
 
Spared of relinquishing my fiver, I arrived at the hotel several minutes later and checked into The Westminster London Curio Collection by Hilton before 1pm. Check-in was easy and after spending several minutes in the same device used in shrinking the Proteus for the movie Fantastic Voyage, I was finally small enough to fit into my rather weensy room. I should have spent the extra 20 quid on miniaturizing the suitcase as well as the room was so tiny, I literally needed to step over it every time I wished to move around the room.
It was still early enough in the day to experience some sights, so after a quick Elvis bath (pits, crotch, Brute, and A and D ointment to keep my lips soft), I was ready to take on The Big Smoke. Watch out London, here I come.
 
Other nicknames for London that you may be unfamiliar with: 
The Capital, The Swinging City, The Metropolis, The City of Dreams, The Global Village, The City of Villages, The Green City, The Foodie Capital, LDN, London Town, The Great Wen, Londinium, and last but not least and  one that I came up all on my own, Runny Eggs and Bean Town (more about English Breakfasts later). All, save maybe for the last one, are suitable ways of addressing the city, so feel free to use any of these when conferring with locals.
The Curio is conveniently located two blocks from the Thames, MI 6, and six blocks from Parliament. I decided to start with these ands if my stamina chose to hold, fan out to other locations from there. 
MI-6
The SIS Building, also called the MI6 Building, at Vauxhall Cross houses the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service, (SIS), also known as Military Intelligence, Section 6 (MI6), the United Kingdom's foreign intelligence agency. It is located on the bank of the River Thames. The building has been the headquarters of the SIS since 1994 and is the home of James Bond 007 before he was killed by Jeff Bezos and Barbara Broccoli. The Internet.
 
I’m sad to report that the house that Bond built has seen better days. From my vantage point across the Thames, it had appeared to have not been taken over by Blofeld after all, but rather poor relations from the States. But I was surprised that after the fatal explosion during Skyfall and the demolition of the entire building from Spectre, the old girl still stands. Only goes to show what’s possible when the British and Q put their minds do it. 
Heading east, it did not take long to stumble into a park that led to a view of the backside of Parliament and the historic structure that has been the seat of British Government for over six thousand years. It has been often said that at one time the sun never set on the British Empire and that was due in no small part to the controlling of the earth’s weather from this very building (the antennae located somewhere inside Big Ben). Unlike MI 6, this building has not suffered at all from the ravages of time. She stands proud, tall, and erect, much like the Grand Dame Maggie Smith in most all of the Harry Potter Films.
 
Six hours later, in darkness and wandering through unfamiliar neighborhoods, I had managed to see all of the above, with the addition of Westminster Cathedral, Victoria Station, Big Ben, and the theatre where Hamilton is playing. In search of a special first night in London dinner, I passed several hundred examples of pubs, taverns, cafes and restaurants that all happened to be filled to capacity with locals.  Without any luck, I headed home through the unfamiliar neighborhood.
 
Even though the neighborhoods were dimly lit, I never felt threatened by Droogs or any other menacing gang of tapdancing, pickpocketing hooligans. The streets were quiet, safe and worth another look in daylight. Finally arriving back at the hotel, I ordered a pint of the local beer and a Caesar salad, strategizing my itinerary for the following day.

Did you know Heathrow is at least an hour’s distance from London? I sure didn’t. Converting the distance to Britain’s own metric system, it is well over 20,000 kilometers. Doing the math in my head, that’s the number I came up with. Feel free to figure it all out for yourselves. Just make sure you don’t forget and carry the 3. That’s very important. I am not sure what the great distance equals in minutes, but there seems to be plenty of time to figure that out on England’s jolly old transportation treasure, The National Express Bus.
 
Heathrow offers a variety of options for getting from the busy airport to the city of London. There’s…
*Taxi (for the very rich, those with huge families or groups, or those wishing to spend their entire vacation savings before setting foot in their hotel.)
*Express Train (Around 18 pounds and featuring non-stop service to Paddington Station. It is rumored that this is the very same train that a particular world-famous bear happens to take.)
*Tube (Many stops, no place for your luggage, and the threat of pickpockets lurking around every corner make this the popular choice amongst both victims and native Londoners.)
And this leaves… 
*National Express! (A shuttle bus that wends and winds its leisurely way through the countless terminals of Heathrow before eventually spitting you out somewhere in the forbidden zone between London and the airport. It is another hour from here before you arrive at Victoria Station.)
I took National Express in both directions, and while I will share more about my return trip later, I do have one bone to pick with this company and all shuttle buses in general: the sincere promise of all buses offering free WIFI. First, this promise is like the existence of Santa Claus, often repeated and never verified.  If it does exist, it must be powered by some Flintstone-inspired technology based on the faster you go, the better your connection.  Undoubtedly, the whole operation is powered by some prehistoric squirrel on a treadmill hidden discreetly in the luggage compartment below. “It’s a living.”
In both my trips, to and from, I never once managed to get online.
Even though I was on the lam (see last week), finding the appropriate shuttle was easy. I merely followed the exit signs until I reached traffic, where airport officials could point me in the right direction. Once aboard, all I had to do was sit back, relax, and enjoy the promised free WIFI. Instead, I chose to gaze out the window and marvel at a geography that shared so much in common between many locations, major cities, and their sister airports - nothing.
I was getting excited, though. Despite being sleep deprived, at age 71, I was in a foreign land. And I would soon be in one of the major cities of the world, London.
 
Roughly 20,000 kilometers later (an hour), I stepped off the shuttle and set foot in London and historic Victoria Station. The sky was blue, the air was chilly, and the streets were filled with Londoners, no doubt gaping at the "idiot" from the land of idiots, who had no doubt illegally and criminally entered their beloved country.

​I’d seen enough movies to know that getting your Passport stamped was all part of the overseas experience. No shortcutting this step. If you made it through the entire process and did not have a stamp representing your entry, you messed up somewhere along the line. And badly. I had seen enough movie spy thrillers to know, if not stamped you had entered the country illegally. 
“Let me see your papers.”
I maneuvered through the stanchions, inserting my passport into a series of scanners and having my digital picture snapped several times and still had nothing to show for it. Besides a measly hand stamp from a strip or dance club, I’d never been stamped in as officially entering foreign soil and was really looking forward to it. Maybe, I had screwed up, and without my even knowing it, had entered England unofficially. Maybe I was now already on the run. 
 
They were probably already looking for me. Hordes of custom officials staring at bank upon bank of monitors and following my every move on their sophisticated and state-of-the-art CCTV system. Like it or not, I was now an idiot without a country. 
 
It’s not like this has not happened before. Once, in the eighties, I had visited Canada with the purpose of working as a stand-up comedian. One problem, I did not have the money to pay for my work permit. So, being an idiot (you see how this keeps turning up? Sort of like a theme), I decided to enter the country through the truck stop. The ensuing manhunt lasted 24 hours utilizing untold Canadian manpower and resources. Actually, my appearance at the Edmonton Yuks-Yuks was pretty well documented, so I was apprehended by a couple of good-natured Mounties the following night an hour before showtime. Needless to say, my appearance at the club was postponed. I did, however, was offered to spend the night in an Edmonton jail, where the immortal instructions by the burly guard during the strip search still ring in my ears, “lift your sack, funny man.” The comment  will continue to haunt me for the remainder of my days. Eventually, I was eventually released with a promise that I would never do anything like that again and soon after was back working in Canada.
 
But what had I done almost forty-plus years later, I had somehow not managed to get my passport stamped. Maybe I should have not ambled through that door that proclaimed I had nothing to declare. Maybe that was just for Brits. Well, it was too late now. No doubt, in a very short while, I would be exposing my sack for ridicule from some stern-faced constable. I needed to pause and gather my thoughts. Should I just turn myself in, throw myself upon the mercy of their judicial system. One question though: Would I need to buy one of those wigs in order to plead on my own behalf? Questions. So many damn questions.  
 
Maybe there will possibly be something on the traveler’s most trusted companion, the Internet. Wasting no time but risking my already fragile overseas data plan,  I googled “On the Run in Great Britian” and discovered to my chagrin, that jolly old England is moving away from the old stamp your passport deal. What? What kind of deal is that? I have only just arrived, and I am already being ripped off. No stamp!
 
Oh well, I have bigger fish to fry, I have the National Express shuttle bus to Westminster to catch. And Heathrow being one of the biggest airports in the world, offers plenty of places to hide out from the local  constabulary. And my 71-year-old direction skills being what they may, I best be shaking a leg. But not quite yet. That breakfast sausage (the one from last week’s entry) is attempting to enter Great Britain illegally as well. I guess we’re both on the run, as it were.

These are the four official airfare designations shared by all airlines offering International travel. Some airlines give them different titles, but they are basically the same.
 
Skinny Economy. Perfect for children under six, waifs (see kids under six, yogis, starving soothsayers, holy men (all denominations), college students, and adults who wish to pass what little inheritance they do have to their families).
Obese Economy. All adults under 155 pounds (11.0714 stones). The only advantage is that the curtain separates you from the class lower than you. And you get a hot towel. 
Look at me, I’m in a Cubicle. For those who require an option for a little more space and a reminder of what it’s like to work on the third floor of any accounting office, this is the choice for you. From what I could see when I was herded past, they also have a little rest that folds up for your feet. I can only imagine what the hot washcloths are like.
 
And finally…
 
Start the Revolution. AKA Let Them Eat Cake AKA I Did Not Have the Time to Cross the Atlantic on the Queen Mary. To give you a small idea of how luxurious this might be, they did not even herd us past these last accommodations. I can only imagine that stairs are involved, a fully functioning bar, a temporary seat of airborne government, and hot wash clothes made from the fur of domestic minks.  
 
I chose Obese economy, thinking my 200-pound-plus weight (14.285+ stones) would be more comfortable with a slightly bigger seat and more legroom. My seat companions, in both directions, having been elbowed upon countless occasions, would most suggest that I consider the cubicle option, where a wall would separate my closest neighbor from a broken nose. 
 
The Plane Itself

A380 Airbus
The Airbus A380 is a double-deck, wide-body, four-engine jet manufactured by Airbus Industrie, the European consortium.
It is the world's largest commercial passenger aircraft, and the upper deck extends along the entire fuselage length. It is also one of the greenest, with lower community noise and emissions per passenger than the Boeing 747-400, despite having almost 50% more floor space and 60% more headroom.  British Airways.
 
We can’t say this enough: Boeing had nothing to do with it.
 
Wedged into my obese seat utilizing very much the same equipment that comedian Dick Gregory used to get that huge person out of their house, I was immediately struck by the claustrophobic coziness of myself and the young adult English Male occupying the window seat. I celebrated this new relationship with a quick elbow jab to his chin while searching for the insert holes for my headphone jack. Mimicking the younger, more patient, and seasoned traveler like a young ape first learning to use tools, I eventually found the correct input and attempted to settle in for a very lengthy flight.  
 
It took roughly the entire 13-hour flight to figure out the seat controls buried under my fat's layers, and the all-important entertainment screen.  I still have no idea what the purpose of several of the more colorful buttons was.  I know that one alerted the stewardess that I needed help, as she stopped by countless times during the crossing.
 
Helpful hints that will assist you throughout your flight:
 Hope for a seatmate who is more travelled than you. This will undoubtedly help with the whole seat button scenario.
Find compression socks that are functional and possess a bit of flair. 
Sleep will undoubtedly prove elusive as a newbie, so pick a random passenger somewhere in your section and stare at them. 
Study the flight status map on your personal monitor and guess the number of mid-air collisions that were narrowly missed while over the U.S. airspace.
Remember to get up as often as possible to stretch your legs. This advice applies to anyone seated in a middle or window seat.
 
Meals
Not counting the vegetarian and vegan options, there are basically three ways your meal will be prepared.
Boiled.
Microwaved.
A combination of the above.
​
For dinner I had the beef, boiled to a pale gray perfection and served alongside two baby potatoes and three green beans. It was served with side comprised of a wilted bowl of lettuce, a dessert, a roll, a slab of butter and to keep the meal at least appearing somewhat continental, a cracker and a slice of Tillamook Cheese.  Of course, being an idiot, I ate all of it.
 
Whether it was the excitement of my adventure or the relatively small size of my bladder, I did not sleep and chose instead to pry myself out of my seat on the hour, amble up and down the aisle like some restless spirit. I usually ended up in one of the bathrooms to enjoy a thorough hand cleaning. At this point of the journey, the cabin was dark, the lights from the small personal monitors providing the only light, the aircraft’s only sound, the hum of the powerful jet engines accompanied by the crack of my bony elbow against several of the passengers’ sleeping skulls.
       “Sorry.”
 
Breakfast was a halfhearted attempt at English style, complete with baked beans, eggs, bacon, and a plump sausage, coincidentally boiled to the same pale gray perfection as the boiled slab of beef. 
I was about to try my first attempt at digesting this second meal as the captain announced we would land shortly. The oversized mechanical bird was about to drop out of the sky at the same rate of speed that dreary gray sausage attempted to jettison my digestive system. A fitting reminder that my stay in Great Britain would be brief. 

At the age of 71, I decided to take my first trip overseas. I made this journey alone, without the benefit of wife, daughter, friends, elves or dwarves. That I chose to take this trip so late in life is what officially qualifies me as  an idiot. I travelled with only one hundred pounds, just as many Euros, a credit card, a suitcase, backpack, notebook, reliable pen, passport and a heaping plastic bag filled with prescription medications. In case of emergency, I had a note pinned to the inside of my wool coat that read. “If I am lost and wandering aimlessly an unfamiliar neighborhood, please contact my wife.”
 
Instructions sent to all United States Embassies
 
If I am abducted by extremists and beheaded on local cable access as an act of defiance against the recent actions of United States of America, hey, I fully understand. I get it.
 
If I am sold into white slavery and human trafficking…this is really a tough one. On one hand…  While on the other, the human trafficking deal might just require another prescription from my physician. 
(Note: This crack is in no way condoning the real heinous crime of sex trafficking. I was only suggesting that if they intended on utilizing me as a Turkish Top, I may require further medical assistance.)
 
If I should suddenly disappear unexpectedly without a trace, the act most likely happened on purpose and of my own free will. I will notify my government, my wife and family in my own good time.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness".        Mark Twain.
 
As stated earlier, I fully realize I am an  idiot for waiting so long to finally decide to travel to Europe. Further proof was in the back of my mind, I mistakenly thought the collected James Bond 007 movie library would be enough to quell any sense of adult wanderlust. That turned out not to be  the case. There were far too many other examples that proved my qualifications for the title and special designation of Coddiwompling Nincompoop. All of these actions all took place during my journey and will certainly verify that the continuing self-depreciation is warranted. 
 
Among them:
 
*A basic failure of the understanding of the Economy Plus seat instructions on a British Airways Air Bus A380. 
*Fumbling and dropping my “Rick Steves Travel Wallet at least three times in highly visited tourist destinations. 
*The losing of one pair of prescription sunglasses.
*The loss of a watch.
*Ordering hamburger medium-rare in France.
*A nearly depilating case of Norovirus that the maids in a small boutique hotel in Paris have most likely still not forgotten me for.
 
Already sounds too damn exciting, doesn’t it? If you are lucky, and I remember, you may hear more grueling details of these escapades later!  
 
For the next several weeks, these excerpts of thoughts and observations from my travel journal will document my misadventures in Europe. These entries are intended for solely for entertainment purposes only and is in no way any form of  legitimate travel journalism or guide. 

​Next Week: Getting There

As a college girlfriend was fond of saying: “Yeesh.” And what a week it’s been. 

But enough of all this doom and gloom, end of the world shit. Let’s all talk about something we all, red hats and blue shirts, have in common.  Let’s talk about, (drumroll please), let’s talk Law and Order. For the time we will omit the angry bulging tatted biceps of Stabler and his show Law and Order Organized Crime  as well as the dour sincerity of Olivia Benson of Law and Order. CRV  and concentrate on what I think is the brightest celestial body of the Dick Wolf universe.

The original Law and Order.

Not only does this show highlight good solid writing ripped from the headlines, but it also features a good weekly runner. Someone who, when confronted with possible arrest, makes a dash for freedom. There also needs to be some toppled garbage cans, scrambling civilians, and preferably a chain-link fence cutting off any possible mistake. 
Gone are the days of the witty remark at the end of the cold open. Lenny was the best at delivering these, but all of the detectives have had a spin on the catty quip. Lenny Briscoe was the undisputed king. And while still not published in any bedstand or bathroom book, here are a few of my favorites.

“Well, he wouldn’t have been a single parent, if he hadn’t of killed his wife.”
“Rock, paper, scissors, gun.”
"Grandma always said a smack in the head was the best cure for the crazies"
“There were enough drugs in there to jumpstart the '60s.”
“You've heard of the Seven Rings of Saturn? These are the Two Rings of Riker's.”
And my personal favorite:
Just like the Bates Hotel. They check in but they never check out."

And here are a few more, uttered by the great bard himself.
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When you find yourself staring at a blank page, do what I do. Dance. No. Not really. First off, I am not that good of a dancer. Second, I might damage the rusty remains of my two metallic hips. Honestly, one more hunk of metal added to my anatomy, and I will start to resemble a Cyberman from Doctor Who.

And speaking of Doctor Who. I have been in and ongoing relationship with the Doctor since Tom Baker in the 70s. It is not really what I’d call a serious relationship, more of a Netflix and chill with me having the freedom to walk away and come back when I couldn’t find something better to watch.

This all changed recently with a viewing of the excellent bio picture An Adventure in Space and Time. The film recounts the creation of the good Doctor and the person who embodied his first earthy appearance, William Hartnell. I enjoyed this production a great deal and it inspired me to revisit the later episodes (90s on) with the intention of returning to the older shows.

For the record, here are some things that I like about the show in general.

It is literate, with a dramatic foot hovering in and around history, literature, art and the sciences. In short, it does what real science fiction does well.

It is well crafted. Even in early episodes they did amazing work with very limited budgets and resources. It was very much Independent filmmaking on a grander scale. The Doctor materialized at a time where rationing was still a thing. Budgets were smaller, and imaginations tended to be larger. It was a perfect balance for a startling new character.

The actors, even in the later ones, are all top-notch!  Pick and old episode and scroll through a random star or guest star’s credits. You will see credits ranging from Shakespeare to Rasputin. 
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And, most important, Doctor Who is fun. Sometimes bordering on silly, while still be able to produce a tear. It is great television and worthy of a look.