P: This is a picture of my tummy.
Me: When did you draw your tummy?
P: When my mom was starving me.

Today’s vocabulary words are as follows:
petrol: gasoline
spirit level: level
a bit crap: terrible
lurgy (LER-gee): general malaise, as we would say, a cold
dispensing chemist: pharmacy
waffles: can be made of potato – like a hash brown patty
plaster: band aid
pastilles: cough drops
trifle: yummy custard-y goodness

As in:
I woke up one morning ::coughcoughafternooncough:: and K asked if I wanted waffles and eggs for breakfast. I answered of course. She pulled them out of the freezer and stuck them into the oven and then made delicious scrambled eggs. We all sat down to eat and M put ketchup on her waffle. I scoffed and pointed out how gross that was, but was then surprised to realize that my waffle was savory and made of potato. My bad.
At some point, D cut his arm and asked for a plaster to bandage it. K then declared that she was feeling a bit crap so we watched some movies.

By the next morning, K had a full-on case of the lurgy and there was enough petrol in the car for D to drive her to work to ease her commute. I rode along for fun.

I thought perhaps I should tape a spirit level to K’s arm so she could right herself despite the lightheadedness or perhaps make a trip to a dispensing chemist for some pastilles but was distracted by the trifle in the kitchen and thus spent my day reveling in the wonder that is custard.

Class dismissed.

I threw on my running shoes yesterday and cruised down to Hyde Park for a run. I made it about six centimeters before collapsing. It was awesome.

I got home and decided there must be something to it. I mean, I’m not that lame. Like…umm…well…we…um…we…must be at a way higher altitude here. Ya! That’s it! We’re on a tiny, flat island, but we’re totally high up. Makes perfect sense. That’s why I could barely breathe.

Unfortunately I’m too smart for my own good. I looked it up. I was wrong.

World: 1
Me: 0

Then I decided to use only the stairs in the tube stations for the rest of the day (has anyone else noticed that no one uses the stairs here?).

Mistake.

I hurt.

Today, some guy working in a cafe said to me, “Ça va?” And I knew what it meant. And I knew how to answer. No. Wait. Let me repeat that. I SPOKE FRENCH TODAY. Okay, so not much French. But I conversed in the real world with a real French person IN FRENCH. That is, in NOT ENGLISH. Which makes me feel so much better than I felt yesterday sitting in a cafeteria in the Natural History Museum overhearing two poorly behaved young boys goof around in French, followed by goofing around in German, followed by a conversation in English about just how darn silly it was to speak in German for no reason.

Ya, kid, I know. Speaking many languages. How foolish.

This is where I sleep in my UK home.