London, baby.

London is a special place for my husband and I. We first met in London. It's where we fell in love. Then, a year and a half later he popped the question right in the middle of Travalgar Square. We used to fly over for a long weekend at least once a year, and then along came Jack, and that put a stop to our frequent visits.

An opportunity to visit arose this year (see previous post here) and we thought Mister was more than able to cope with the traveling. So Jack took his first flight in a plane. Needless to say he loved it. At the other side we hopped onto a train and then travelled on the underground. What would he make of this then? You guessed it. Total pro. It was like he had lived in London all his life. At busy times when no seats were available he hopped on, held tightly onto a pole and waited patiently until we arrived at our stop. "Time to get off!" he would inform me.

I've always found that Londoners tend to keep themselves to themselves, especially on the tube. However, this trip, Mister Jack was quite the conversation starter. What a lot of lovely people we met!

It was also a great opp to introduce Jack to some old friends who hadn't yet seen him in reality. Plus, my sister and cousin have been living there for a while now so we all met for lunch on the Southbank, followed by ice-cream.

One of the highlights was taking Jack to Buckingham Palace, affectionately known to us as "Bucky P's". We walked up to the gates, pointed in and explained that this was the Queens house. Then out of no-where Jack started to wail. "Don't want to visit Queeeeen! Want to go to Granny Yvonnes!" Alright, pipe down love, says I, no-one has invited us in anyway.

Scowling outside the palace. Channelling Sid Vicious?