London’s Calling

Abbey Road

Have you ever been to London?

I have.

And let me just say that it is one of my favourite places in the world.

I’m not even sure why. I think it’s a mix of the culture, the accents, the lovely people, the atmosphere and the accents (yes, twice).

I was in London for ten days in February, 2015, and again for a week in March the same year. I could do it again and again and again.

We saw Broadway shows. We ate scones with jam and cream (well, that was actually in Cardiff, but for the purpose of this image…). We walked along Tower Bridge. Took a ride on the London Eye. Lost our tickets to Madame Tussauds.

It was beautiful and fun and worth every pound spent.

From our hotel room, we could see the bright lights of the signs on the building opposite, advertising the many different shows we could buy tickets too. We heard ambulance sirens every other night, and the walls were so thin we could practically hear our fellow travellers snoring.

It was perfect.

Our hotel provided us with a typical English breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausages, beans and toast. There was also tea and coffee. It was special for the first few days, but by day seventeen, we were about ready to throw the beans across the table.

Those shiny black cabs are so London, I could cry, and the changing of the guards outside Buckingham Palace was something we had only previously seen on our television.

It’s a land of Beatles and bad teeth (I jest!), of Shakespeare and shires. It’s a land that took a hold of my heart, and tugged, pulled and yanked until the point of no return. I love London. And I think you’ll love it, too.

Can you hear that? That’s London calling.

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