Slow Day

Having mastered the Underground and even given myself the title 'Lord of the Underground' on the basis that I have given advice to not only American tourists, but real live English people on how to get from Point A to Point B, I now have emerged to conquer the buses. So far, the 254 and 253 have been dealt with, and pretty soon I will be able to travel above ground without anyone noticing who I really am. And, just so long as nobody holds a mirror up to my face and realises I have no reflection, they will never know.

Christine and I bussed and wandered down to Highgate Cemetry to visit Karl Marx. Surrounding him are those who have chosen to buried in good company. British communists and leftists, many of who lived in exile from their homeland (South Africa, Iran etc) and ended up seeing out their days in London. Also surrounding the grave were live communists and leftists from around the world who make their way to hold up the left fist in front for the monument and have a photograph taken.

Christine and Ganelle have no family in the UK and find it hard to get baby-sitters. They are out at the movies holding hands. So tonight I am bunkering down with their son Raphael, a spicy chicken from the Halal Algerian shop and some bagels. The bagels and the chicken seem to be getting on just fine, so are Rapheal and I. So that just goes to show you.