Oh, Look! Another Dead Body!

Hey Mates,
Between the dead body they found yesterday morning in Kensington Park and the perfectly preserved ancient people on display at the British Museum, it's been a day of gruesome intrigue. No wonder I felt like listening to the third movement of Shosty 8 this morning. And actually, the way people are carrying on in my flat, I really prefer my new dead friends to the crazy partiers of floor 3. At least they are quiet and respectful. My flatmates are very into drinking. Every night. Even school nights. And they're not funny drunks; they're obnoxious. At this point, punching some people seems appealing. However, I will not resort to violence! Mostly because I would not stand a chance against a 170 pound - drunk-off-his-ass-"gent". Besides, my tongue is sharper than my fists, though I have been good at keeping that docile also. If this carries on, however, I might have to unleash the beast.

As Maggie mentioned, we met up with our friends Lisa and Erin at a pub called Gloucester Arms, which is quite close to our flat. And there we saw HENRY CAVILL! Yes, Henry Cavill, the dreamboat himself! Shannon took a stealth picture of him, which I'm sure she'd be delighted to post on the blog, so all you doubters can see for yourself that it really was him.
Besides the obvious excitement of Sir Loverpants, I had so much fun hanging out with Erin and Lisa. They are great girls and so much fun. The hard part came when it was time to say good-bye as we knew we would not see each other for 4 months. And in true Grandma Dell fashion, I cried. Good-byes suck!

The next day was High Tea. Shall I list all that we had to eat? Ok. Ahem. Three kinds of sammitches, eclairs, cupcakes, scones with clotted cream and preserves (!) and tea. The thing is, the waiters kept bring out more food, and we kept eating until we were about to, you know, forcefully HURL all the sugar from our body. Lots and lots of sugar. And this is coming from yours truly, the sugar addict. I have the highest sugar tolerance of everyone I know, and it was too much for me. Would you permit me to ramble on about scones for a minute? Thanks for obliging me. SCONES! OH MY GOD! They are...well, they are like big, flaky chunks of bliss on one's tongue. Ever since I first read The Secret Garden I've wondered what clotted cream is. Dear reader, it is better than whipped cream. Julia Childs would certainly approve as it contains about 1,000 calories. Not that you mind when you're eating, because it's so rich and delectable that all you want to do is shovel it into your mouth, bowlful at a time. And this is what I was thinking about during our elegant and dainty tea. I'm sure the Queen never gets this overzealous about clotted cream. By the way, do you think it's called clotted cream because it clots one's blood and therefore clogs one's arteries? Interesting...

As aforementioned, we visited the British Museum yesterday, where our tour guide informed us that Brits never lose battles. In her words, "We win, we almost win, or we don't talk about it". In addition, she prepped us for some of the more controversial exhibits like the Greek statues and Egyptian mummies, by stating that the British never steal, they "acquire" objects. Probably the highlight of this trip was the Rosetta Stone. Seeing it right before me, and not in a textbook was so exciting! It's amazing how advanced ancient civilization was.

Well, I have to run now as Maggie, Alex, Shannon and I are going to Petticoat Market this morning and I was instructed not to be late.

Adieu, adieu, adieu, to you, and you, and you.
Lauren