Sleepless in London

'ello loves.  Time to blog(and decipher my notes) before I use the bloody loo. I have been in London for all of five minutes--the same length Madonna was here before she realized she was British too.  It's brilliant, isn't it?  Damn you, autocorrect,  Let me say inn inn it  like they do.  You know what else I have in common with Madonna?  A gapped tooth, although hers was always a sexy trademark, and mine just became more noticeable after I bit into 721 pistachio shells..or, I hate to admit this, I trusted that "no boil lasagna" meant exactly that and I chipped it on a pasta noodle.  So I'm in London, trying to find a working pen instead of enjoying the landmarks in the rain as we cruise the Thames.  Our monotone tour guide is pointing out all the landmarks that are disfigured or under construction, and then bragging about all the famous people who have visited them that can be described like that also. There was no sleep at all on that airplane, so as I snark incoherently, I will tell you that I worry about the house/dog sitter, clogged plumbing(thanks again, no boil lasagna!) and..the London Bridge.  I saw it on the river cruise and was totally underwhelmed, but the thing is, I was sleepless on that flight because it brought up a kindergarten trauma:  I was so afraid I'd be called on to sing the song, and this confused five year old(ditto for the sixty something she grew up to be) never knew if it was "London Bridges!! Falling Down!!!???" or the singular, "London Bridge is Falling Down."  (Kind of like how I used to think "for all intents and purposes" was "for all intensive purposes" until it was a bonus puzzle) But not knowing if the London Bridge was sung about in singular or plural form has resulted in airplane insomnia and a nervous colon.  (I could not only finish "War and Peace" in one squatty potty sitting, I could write the sequel) A blog without a little toilet humor is a blah-g, says she with the emotional maturity of a three year old. I think about the times I used to steal Cosmos, and Helen Gurley Brown, champion of feminism, told us that as women, we should be proud of the soft brown cones our bodies expel. I never read Cosmo after that issue, and never ordered a chocolate soft serve from Dairy Queen. So no, this trip is not financed by squatty potties and meth labs, but because of a fear of death.  Jim wanted to see buildings before we die.  I asked him, "what's fun about a building?  A bug maybe, a bug is fun."  I have a very "BIG" memory..and I better make this into two parts.