I took a luvly double-decker coach to Blenheim Palace today. An added attraction was that we drove through a couple of villages enroute. At the edge of town the speed marker says, “Kill Your Speed.” The sign for yielding says to “Give Way.” Even though they can’t speak it properly, these Brits have a flair for the written word.
The weather’s been unseasonably warm for them, but the women here are all wearing black tights. Mind you, their bosoms are exposed, but their legs look uncomfortably hot. And since I’m describing appearances, let me say that English women (men, too, for that matter) are white, large, and rather unlovely. John summed it up by saying that all the attractive people here are speaking foreign languages.
The Brits are really miffed at their soccer team, too. Not disappointed, but mad! They want them all fired.
Back to the sights. The Palace was great. Winston Churchill was born (quite by accident) and married there. Although related to the Duke of Marlborough, Winston’s father was a black sheep. They happened to be attending a party at the Palace when Winston arrived prematurely, in the ladies’ cloakroom. The long walk into the Palace was lined with Linden trees beginning to bloom and smell, so I didn’t miss my tree at home too much.
I also visited the Bodlien Library in Oxford, which holds a copy of every book published in England–more than 7 million!
John spent today again listening to the brains of the world (Gorbachev is apparently not one of them). He’s really quite impressed with the people presenting and the things being presented.
That’s today’s report. No graphics because my technician is otherwise engaged.