London, part 4
On our way to the airport, we found a copy of the Daily Mirror in the Tube, and read all about Jesus, the Son of Pan, with a photo of Jesus' face in a scorched frying pan. Braise the Lord!
We were accompanied by a violinist, music propped on the instrument case on her lap, who reviewed her bowing in time to her mental music, right hand moving slightly as she read each phrase, left hand holding a pencil which she used to tap out the time and then mark the score.
At the airport, I stood in front of the candy display at WH Smith, looking for dark chocolate (why is it that in this airport - Stansted - you can only find milk chocolate? Is that a UK thing or just Stansted?) when a young woman walked up to me, stepping smack on my toe, only stopping when she felt my foot beneath her shoe. I looked her in the eye (only 6 inches from mine) and said, "Oh! Sorry." and took one step backwards. She didn't have the grace to say sorry or even look down in some sort of recognition that she had behaved badly, but continued on her way. "Cheeky," said K. "No," I said, "downright rude!"
And that's our last memory of London (this trip)!