For my sister:

Near Oxford Circus.

At Covent Garden.

This shop front looks to me as though someone punched a hole through a wall and candy came pouring out.

On a British game show called Golden Balls. I am so not kidding. Golden. Balls. It features golden balls. And golden slots. Sometimes there are killer balls and they say things like, “that’s the damage killer balls do,” or “let’s hope it’s a 300 pound killer ball!” And when you close the golden balls and drop them in the suction tube, the sound effect is a man’s echo-y voice whispering, “yeahhhhh.” I could not make this up if I tried.

Number of times I accidentally flipped someone off while trying to ask for two of something: 1
Loads of laundry currently hanging to dry in the bathroom: 2
Number of near death experiences due to looking the wrong way while crossing the street: 2
Number of times I have been called “Ginger” on the street: 3
IQ of the Royal family’s next generation based on the photo below: 3

Number of bobby sightings: 4
Number of Nutella sandwiches consumed: 4
Number of hookah cafes within 500 feet of my flat: 5
Number of unbelievably bad musicals bearing ads in the tube stations: 7
Cups of tea: 12
Number of dollars to see a movie: 20

The BT Tower, which I can see from our window, gives me the creeps.