Cambridge - Where Newton Cut Down the Apple Tree (and didn't lie about it).
More London. And Cambridge too. The moneyshot is, I think, me dancing in front of the old buildings there. Or perhaps it's me with Achilles. Can you tell which is me and which is the Greek warrior/crankypants?
Sunday we took the train up to Cambridge, of which we have lovely photos, but then again so does Google Images. I remember drinking at a pub where Syd Barrett hung out while forming Pink Floyd, and there was an informative punting trip in which we learned that it was illegal to trap and eat the geese and that students used to do it anyways. I hollered and hollered for Stephen Hawking, but wither he wasn't within earshot or I couldn't hear his electronic response because the volume was set too low. We had a great lunch at The Eagle and marveled at the ceiling, where RAF and USAF pilots had burned and lipsticked their names and squads while stationed in Cambridge during WWII. I briefly considered waxing nostalgic, but then thought better of it and decided not to care about the heroic and the dead at all.
Well, there were too many sights and good times to recount, but i will say again that London is Fundon and now i remember why i had so many Brit friends in all those countries i used to live in: the Brits are all right.