London, Day 3

We started our real last day in London like all the other ones: getting onto the disgusting germ breeding ground that is the London Tube. We got off and headed to Buckingham Palace, hoping to see the changing of the guard today. When we got there, there was already a mass horde of people waiting for it to start. Grandma and I figured we'd never get close enough, but Pa went closer to check it out.
"That sign over there says there's no ceremony today," He told us when he came back.
"Then why are all these people standing here?" Grandma asked.
"`Cause they're stupid and can't read a sign," I said. So, with one thing crossed off our agenda, we went back down into the swine flu party and headed to our second destination, the London Museum. It was pretty much what I expected: a museum about London. The best thing there was all the prehistoric animal bones and jewelry from the people who lived in England before the Romans invaded.
After the museum, we walked a few blocks and started looking for St. Paul's Cathedral. It was pretty easy; when we saw a giant marble building, we figured that must be it. It was taller than Westminster Abbey, but spread out over a smaller area. Since it was Sunday, there was a sign saying that you couldn't walk around in there, but lots of people were anyway. It was more extravagant than the Abbey, with gold plated ceilings and elaborate carvings and a huge, fancy altar, but Westminster Abbey is still my favorite.
We only spent a little time there, because we wanted to go to Picadilly Circus to see Harry Potter. Grandma and I thought it would be really fun to see the movie in London. I think Pa didn't see the importance of this, but he was nice and humored us anyway. To my delight, instead of taking the germy Tube, we opted for the slighty less germy double decker bus. We got on and headed for the top level, but just as we reached the top of the stairs, the bus roared to life and jerked forward. Pa was able to make it to a seat in time, but Grandma nearly whacked a girl in the face and I was nearly thrown to the back of the bus. It was then that I remembered an incident almost two years ago, when I was in Washington, D.C. for a leadership conference. We rode buses everywhere, and on the first day, when we were headed to Philadelphia, our bus supervisor, Kojo (a native of Ghana and a graduate of the University of Wooster), gave us a lecture on bus safety and etiquette. "...And if I see any of you, any of you, stand up while the bus is moving," He had finished. "You'll get your sorry little butt hauled back home before you can say 'Philadelphia'." At the time, it had seemed like a pathetic little power trip to me. Now I know he was just trying to keep us from being thrown out the window. I was wondering how on Earth I was going to make it to a seat alive when I also remembered how Kojo would grip the railings above the seats on the bus when he wanted to come back and talk to us (which usually was to tell us to wake up or to say that if the kid in the green shirt took one more picture on the bus he could explain to his parents why they have a $2000 fine to pay). Holding onto the railings for dear life and feeling very much like a bus supervisor, I made my way to an empty seat and sat down, followed shortly by Grandma.
So thank you, Kojo, for saving me from falling on the London bus and humiliating myself.
We all made it to Picadilly Circus alive and well, and we went to the theater we had been to last night to see when Harry Potter was playing (we tried to see it last night, but we had just missed it).
"I guess we have to go back to that arcade place to go the theater," Pa said.
"It's not an arcade. It's a meeting ground for horror and death." I said, which, while a bit of an exaggeration, was not entirely untrue. It's dark and scary and full of weird people in there. It didn't matter though, because we missed the show again. We left and walked down the street, wondering what to do now. As we did, we passed another movie theater, and it had Harry Potter playing in half an hour! We went in and got our tickets, and it turns out that British movie theaters (or at least this one) have assigned seating! We had to pick out where we wanted to sit, and it cost more to sit in the front of the theater than the back. It was all very weird.
A lot of people I know didn't like the movie, but I thought it was pretty good. The only thing was that I had sucked down three quarters of my Pepsi in about 20 minutes, and so for the entire last half of the movie I thought I was going to have to run out and go to the bathroom. I made it, though, just in time to stand in the long line of people from the movie going to the bathroom.
We ate London fish and chips one last time, and then it was time to return the hotel room and pack. It was just about the last thing I wanted to do, since it involved taking everything out and folding it all over again. Bleh.
I think this is going to be my last blog entry. There's not really much left to say. We're getting up at 4:00 a.m. to leave, and we'll be home by 5:00 p.m. I'm a little sad, because I don't know if I'll ever walk down the Royal Mile in Edinburgh again, if I'll ever gaze at Stonehenge again, if I'll ever light a candle in Westminster Abbey again. But maybe's it a little too early to be thinking like that. I'm only thirteen, and unless my plane crashes into the Atlantic Ocean, I've got plenty of opportunites to go back. I said it earlier on, and I think I'll end by saying it again:
Anything's possible, right?
Love,
Kiera