We had a kettle; we let it leak:
Our not repairing made it worse.
We haven’t had any tea for a week…
The bottom is out of the Universe.– Rudyard Kipling
Of course we could not spend a week in London without visiting the Twining’s tea shop, Harrod’s tea department, Fortnum & Mason’s tea shelves, and without having afternoon tea at the Dorchester. That would have simply been silly.
(Fortnum & Mason, London, UK; October 2014)
Is it the gate to an amusement park? No, it is just the Albert Bridge, crossing from Battersea Park to Chelsea. Only the British would find a practical reason to paint a bridge pink, blue, and green and decorate it with thousands of lightbulbs. Apparently this makes it more visible to ships in bad weather. And only the British would keep a bridge that was quickly useless as a toll bridge, ill constructed to hold motor traffic, and generally rotting away only a decade after its grand opening. They fondly named it the Trembling Lady and issued strict orders that all troops must break step when marching across.
And fortunately, only the British would choose to renovate the bridge after its first 100+ difficult years, giving it a new coat of pink, blue, green, and gold, and even replacing the lightbulbs. The Albert Bridge goes on into its second century revamped and fit for a prince.
(London, UK; October 2014)
Sometimes it is wonderful to adhere to the cliché and take a walk in the park. On this particular day we took a walk in the Battersea park. Passing Sunday strollers and joggers and a flock of hungry swans, we also touched the lives of these beings, if only gently and for a fraction of a second. Turning my head to watch an elderly couple walk by donned in matching scarves, their existence made a solid connection with me for a moment. I watched them live their lives for two seconds and caught a glimpse of two parallel universes touching mine, with unfathomable depth and complexity.
While we are all made out of the same matter and energy, we also seem like individuals floating by each other caught in transparent soap bubbles. Sometimes we gaze into each others’ bubble for a millisecond, sometimes for decades, but we only truly know the contents of, and outlook from, our own bubble.
And I was left wondering what the content and outlook of a swan’s soap bubble would be like.
(Battersea Park, London, UK; October 2014)
And then, just like that, it was Sunday and we were strolling the streets of Chelsea. Escaping the throngs of shoppers we slipped into Bluebird, savoring the chance to sit outside just a few days away from November. Among the pumpkins and haystacks we dug into huge heaps of fish and chips, swearing it was going to be the first and last time that week.
And then, just like that, we found ourselves in the old borough town hall and a vintage fashion fair. Oh, there was lace, crinoline, and plumes. Heaps of hats and stacks of ballroom shoes. Dear me, the evening gowns from the turn of the century and flapper dresses from the roaring twenties!
There were silver hairbrush and mirror sets, pearled purses, and butterflies, both on display and in our bellies. And fashionistas, film stylists, and nostalgia lovers going gaga among sequins and tassels and veil-thin organza. Oh if only that gorgeous opera cape in night blue velvet and silver trimmings could be mine…
(Frock Me! Vintage fashion fair in Chelsea, London, UK; October 2014)
Twining’s Keemun tea and warm slippers on a Sunday, while browsing a stack of photos from London. The glass-clear notes of Beethoven’s piano concerto ‘The Emperor’ slowly weave out of the speakers, laying themselves above the floor like a blanket of soft sound. Happy Sunday everybody. May you also spend a moment of calm in the company of only yourselves today. 
(Helsinki, Finland; and London, UK; November 2014)
They drive on the wrong side. They drink their beer warm – and a small glass of wine is as much as a large glass in Finland. The tube never works in the weekends. The trains never work during rush hours. They charge ludicrous prices for tiny hotel rooms in London. They say “alight here” on the tube when they mean “leave the train”. They do not accept cards in the cab. They speak between the lines, persist in claiming class divides are eradicated, and serve awful food.
But they heat the milk served with tea – and the tea requires no fruit aroma to have a flavor. They make clotted cream rice pudding. They gave birth to Coldplay and Muse. And they created London. Bloomsbury, Mayfair, and Notting Hill. And the Twinings tea shop.
What am I still doing in Finland? Why oh why have I not moved back to England yet?
(London, United Kingdom; June 2014)
This blue marble 