True Grit

Okay, I obviously suck at keeping this thing up to date. When did I got to London? Oh yes, MARCH. Have I posted about it? NO. Am I going to? Sort of.

SORT OF?!

Yeah, only sort of, because I'm running around like a chicken with it's head cut off (yes, I'm bouncing off of walls and everything) trying to finish up some wedding stuff and getting ready for digging stuff and sorting out other odds and ends that I need to do. This includes applying for a health insurance reimbursement. HA! I know, why bother? Well, as I'm constantly telling Danish Boy, "if you don't try you are guaranteed to not get anything, but if you try, you just might win." So now I have to fill out forms and fax the whole lot off in order hold up to my own saying.

Anyway, London. I love London. I love all of England, but I particularly love London. To me, London makes sense in a way few other cities do. When you see something odd in London, you think to yourself, "oh, of course!" and it seems the most natural thing in the world. I am also a whiz on the London Underground. I need a map, of course, but I get how it all works. I like tube stations and I like minding the gap and I like the whooshing noise the train makes as it zips along. Danish Boy likes London because if he takes me, he doesn't have to think at all for the entire trip. He just goes along, enjoying the sights and the food and takes pictures. The only thing that slightly bothers him, and by slightly bothers I mean "makes him laugh quietly to himself about the absurdity of his girlfriend" is that I am highly amused by odd things and then I MUST take a picture of them.
This is the result. It's a sand box, for road maintenance to keep sand in for when it is cold and the roads and sidewalks may be icy. They come along with shovels and scoop the sand out of the box and spread it around on the ground to keep pedestrians and cars from sliding all over the place. In most of the other places in the world, the sand is in barrels or tubs that have little basic wooden cradles to keep them at an angle suitable for ease of shoveling. But in London.... oh no, they have to be rather nice little boxes. Additionally, it is not "sand," it is grit.

True grit.