Eye in the sky

Having recently discovered that a few of DS's school friends had chicken-pox, it was with some trepidation that I boarded the plane avec ma famille (when oh when am I going to find German comes more easily than French?) to Mother England for the wedding of DC and DCIL-to-be, henceforth to be known as DCIL.

However, the wedding went ahead without a pock or a hitch (other than the intended), and the Hausfrau and DH had a few extraordinarily proud moments as we, misty-eyed, watched our spruced and beaming offspring lead the bridal party down the aisle. DC was, of course, radiant, and was as amused as I was when, following allegedly impeccable behaviour during the photo session and a very long day as the shortest guest at the wedding, DS yawned loudly during the best man's speech and announced even more loudly during a pause: 'Mummy. This is soooooo boring.'

Not so boring was the rest of London. No indeed. Both DH and I had lived in London as kids, so there was a certain amount of travelling down Memory Lane to be done, and not without a few good cups of tea to fortify us along the way. I even managed to catch up with a Dear English Pal from about 6th grade, with her two children and her DH. Now that was a lot of laughs, especially when faced with some rather antiquated photographs of DEP and Yours Truly.





In fact we covered a lot of ground in a few days, starting with the London Eye, which was made all the more momentous when we noticed, at the crest of the ferris-wheel-like ride, that Big Ben was in fact chiming 12 o'clock midday. Not so much fun for a nearby Kiwi tourist, who appeared to be glued to the centre of the seating bench the entire way, and frequently warned his offspring to stay away from the windows (at which point I must draw attention to the fact that the entire 'pod' minus the floor was comprised of window).







I also managed to get my Hausfrau Art Hit when we visited Dear Youngest Brother (DYB) at one of his workplaces, also known as the Tate Modern. (Oh yes, did I mention The Tate?!) We were treated to entry to the members' lounge, where we had a huge lunch of designer grub and coffee, and then feasted our eyes on - oh joy - lots and lots of art. The Hausfrau was most pleased to clap eyes on some work by de Chirico, having spent many hours poring over reproductions of his looming-shadow paintings in text books during high school. And, as usual, I walked away with the conviction that art always looks different in the flesh.

And so, as we arrived back in the land of chocolate and cow-bells, it was with some relief that I spied the first spots on DS's face. I think of it as a near-miss: chicken pox don't look too flash with tartan trousers.

[Stay tuned for the next episode, in which Spotty Boy accompanies Snotty Hausfrau on some of the most out-of-control Swiss experiences you will ever read about.]