OK, blog audience, here's looking at you.
My blog has, of late, gotten an increasing number of readers. And I'm quite flattered, but I have to admit, you're making me nervous. What do I have to say, that you want to hear? Self-consciousness on the Internet might just sound loony, but there you have it. Despite my relative invisibility, here in a strange city, in a strange apartment, late at night, sitting around in my sweatpants - quite a few of you are out there listening.
So I must try to keep it interesting. But days like today, I'm at a bit of a loss.
Do you want to hear about my walk in Kensington Gardens this morning, eavesdropping on passers-by to catch what languages they're speaking? (50-50, something other than English).
Or about my afternoon, when I agreed to babysit another child, putting my household just over the edge into a daycare atmosphere? How lucky I am to speak French, so that I can firmly tell a 2-year-old in no uncertain terms to stop eating the crayons?
Or should I tell you about the naked man who appeared at my kitchen window yesterday? ...OK, that one's going to require a more detailed explanation, isn't it. Unfortunately I don't have much to offer. Here in this most-upscale of London neighborhoods, I really don't know why a man was standing outside in his birthday suit. I think he may have been trying to urinate on the sidewalk. But he was there for an awfully long time. And it is February. I am immensely grateful that I was able to distract Isa away from the windows, so I didn't have to explain this situation to her.
And speaking of naked men, it was Movie Night here in the Kennedy household, and I rented Disney's Tarzan. We all enjoyed it immensely. What does it say about me, that I'm a sucker for Disney movies? (don't answer that.) And that Baz and I were both openly weeping when Tarzan had to say goodbye to his gorilla-mommy?
It's time for more serious fare, I'm off to read some more biographies of the kings and queens of England.