Sabbatical

After some morning work, Francisco and I headed to another neighborhood for a tour of a modernist house of an architect, Erno Goldfinger, and his family, for whom the James Bond villain was named (they didn't even mention this in the tour; I think that they ignored the lede). 

I have to tell you about the tour. Oh my goodness. Six elderly people who seem to have a group who bikes together to cultural activities were there. And boy they were a riot. They asked really random questions: "Does the scale in the bathroom still work?" (The tour guide did not know.) They interrupted the tour guide, ignored him at various points, were confused about where they are going ("Are we going down now?" Me: "Yes!" Rinse and repeat.) They tried to finish the tour guide's sentences. Why?! No, you don't know what he was going to say! And they proclaimed frequently how much they liked the house. I was glad that Francisco was there so we could share our amusement. Yes, we were the youngest people on the tour by decades. 

The tour guide was also very funny. He didn't really start with the basics. He assumed that we knew whose house we were visiting--we did not. We were able to piece it together by the end, with careful attention, but it was not easy. He also used architectural words like "piano nobile" and "RSJ"--rolled steel joists--as if we would have a clue about what he was saying. He was a little too learned and didn't really bring it down to our level. And he was not an effective public speaker--he would look away and mumble things. And just generally had trouble finding the place to begin in the story (in each room). 

Francisco and I walked through the neighborhood, stopped in a bookstore and thrift store, and had a charcuterie lunch in a pub.

Our family photographs the royal ciphers on UK mailboxes. (I'm assuming this one is Victoria.)

In the afternoon, Francisco picked up the kids and took them to the green, where Q had fun playing football with the ball our friends kindly left. I made a British roast. (I prefer the American version, but oh well.) We even had yorkshire puddings and gravy. 

In the evenings with the kids we've been watching the 5-hour Pride and Prejudice. I'm totally happy with my life now. Q pays sharp attention to follow what's happening (and googles ahead to find out, for instance, if Wickham is lying). Francisco laughs hilariously when Mrs. Bennett moans (he hasn't quite said it, but I know he thinks that I am Mrs. Bennett; talk about the delights of middle age--now I can only wear sneakers, and my husband thinks I'm the worst character in Pride and Prejudice save one). Blaze giggles nervously whenever Lizzy and Mr. Darcy are on screen together--particularly when there is gazing. It's the absolute best. 

 This afternoon the weather is fine enough to work from our garden--pure delight.