Legends from our own lunchtimes

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Going Up

One of our very favourite things to do in London has surprisingly not yet made it to the list of things to do for sensible people.

It can be experienced for the price of a ticket on the Underground too.   

The Underground is called that because that is exactly where the lines are located, some of them so far underground that connections between stations and the surface are often via long flights of escalators.      The journey is so long that it is quite easy to become a little disoriented  if one tilts one's head deliberately and ever so slightly so that one's shoulders are parallel to the handrail.

In this position one can in a very short time become hypnotised into thinking that all the other travellers are actually leaning at rather odd angles, particularly those travelling in the opposite direction.    This phenomena provides mild amusement to one of us, while it has to be said the mirth experienced by the other at times is reminiscent of that she experiences while viewing home video tapes of accidents involving the potential for serious bodily harm.  

But we didn't travel on the tube today, instead we walked through Kensington with Shell and Jules, had lunch in a pub where the size of the fried chicken serving was large enough to make us believe a worldwide egg famine might be just around just around the corner, and generally set about doing absolutely nothing whenever the urge to do something appeared in an effort to ensure that we didn't waste our Sunday.


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