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London

Speaker's Corner

Inns of Court

Leicester Square

Clapham Junction

Coptic Street

Camden Market

Knightsbridge

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I completely fail to understand why anyone would want to stay in a large hotel when small bed-and-breakfasts, pensions, and other cozy places are to be had for a fraction of the cost. When we visit London we always stay at a tiny French brasserie on Coptic Street, within rock-throwing distance of the British Museum. (Although one wonders why they call it the British Museum, as there's damn near nothing from the British Isles to be seen in the displays. It feels more like a plundering hall of fame. I mean more so than other museums.) Coptic Street is a small street, one which the cabbies seem to always miss. But it's a grand location: between the museum to the north and the theater district and shopping areas just to the south, Covent Gardens nearby, and the Underground three minutes away. This is the view from our room, looking south:

Isaac is six months old. He spends must of his time on his back, playing with toys he bounces on his feet. He doesn't crawl yet, but he has managed to get on all fours and wiggle back and forth. Sometimes he'll squeal contentedly. We moved the beds away and put the mattresses on the floor, so that Isaac has nowhere to fall, should he somehow make it to the edge of the mattresses. To make doubly sure we line the pillows up as a second line of defense.

The heart-shaped clear inflatable toy is filled with small styrofoam pellets and one little monkey. As Isaac plays with it the static electricity makes the balls fly around the ball. He's delighted. Just a little thing we bought at the hippie market adjacent to Covent Garden marketplace.

Next, Camden Market.