London
While I endured my last day at work for three weeks, trawling through two meetings with balding building contractors wearing short sleeved shirts and clip-on ties, Mum and Dad ventured out of the house, braved the Tube and headed to the Tate Britain gallery on the Thames Embankment. From what I can tell, they spent most of the day there, and Mum was asked if she was one of the original models for one of the Rossetti paintings. It's a gorgeous, fruity, elaborate gallery, filled with lots of classical and Victorian-era paintings, so right up Mum and Dad's tree.
I got back from work at 7, to find the kitchen in chaos, as Mum was going wild cooking chops, inventively using the bottom half of my white enamel steamer which got a little singed. Still more bizarre was the remnants of her coloured hairspray which ended up splattered all over my bathroom door, which looked comically like the aftermath of a crime scene. Because it's Mum, it's endearing, although I forgot just how much they like to boil their vegetables until they're the consistency of babyfood - denture friendly vegies, I guess.
We had a merry drama trying to get Dad to part with his credit card number so we could prepay one of our hotel rooms. I think it would've been easier to ask them if I could remove one of their kidneys and fry it with a little garlic. Still, we got there, and now they're safely packed off to bed, feeling very proud of themselves for being able to negotiate the London transport system on their own. Tomorrow, we're taking central London!
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