This morning I woke up in Nova Scotia.
It's the oddest feeling. I'm accustomed to going to sleep and waking up in the same bed, room, town, province and country day after day. Waking up in different beds, rooms, towns and a different country for 14 days is a mite over whelming.
The purpose of my two-week stay in England was to visit relatives I have there; the many, many wonderful relatives I have there.
Whilst there, I went to London ...
You ignore the "Look Right / Look Left" signs at your own peril.
Big Ben and the London Eye; each an iconic symbol of the city.
Now that I'm mentally processing the trip I realize why I'm so gosh, darn tired.
Not only did I visit Steve and Dave and Kamala and Audrey and Frank and Mike and Sylvie and Rob and Pippa and Louise and Phoebe and Kieran,
but I also popped into the National Gallery for a jaw-dropping wander,
and took in the view of the city from the 10th floor of the Tate Modern Museum,
I strolled past Buckingham Palace,
toured Churchill's wartime bunker which has remained unchanged since they locked the door and walked away leaving everything intact at the end of the war.
I tramped around Hyde Park and Regent's Park,
visited 221b Baker Street and the Beatles store,
and that's just the stuff I did in London.
Did I mention I visited Bath, Exmouth and Bury St. Edmunds too ?
You'll have to stay tuned for that bit.