Tomorrow

---

Nope, it isn't any less or easier. Never mind, I'll just jump straight in. Chronologically then, this is what happened:
We decided to have a weekend off from travelling. Fatigue at the relentless nature that we are devouring this country and also our bank account was starting to look awfully thin. Instead we stayed closer to home and did a walking tour. There are so many to choose from, how could we be sure of the right one? As usual Cheri had the best idea. She reasoned that a solid investment in our future would be to do the Regent Street Pub Tour. We would get to see an area of London that tourists normally don't find, a bunch of old pubs still in the heart of London and all of it within walking distance of Cheri's work. Which made the knowledge of pub locations very attractive. We turned up at the designated tube stop at the time that the tour brochure advised us to and waited for our guide. We didn't have to wait long. The first thing she asked us all (about 50 of us) was how many were here because it was free. Ha ha, good one. No, seriously, this weekend TFL (Transport For London) have paid for all walking tours, put your money away, this one's free. Sweet. So we set off and saw a few streets which run parallel to Regent Street, but I swear you'd never find them, unless you were stinkingly rich. These streets were amazing, they had shops just like any other street, but the shops were: Prada, Gucci, Bentley, Cartier etc. Not little boutiques either, they were all fairly normal sized, just really, really expensive. You know it's going to hurt your wallet when a massive shop window contains one item, tastefully displayed on a cushion against a black background. We were led to five pubs, one of which still brewed it's own beer. Next time we're in the locale and want to wet the whistle, we'll know where to go.
Warning, this section of the diary contains reference to an extended metaphor. For background history see here. Recently I got taken down by a lone gunman. Unlike Cheri, he wasn't interested in a single shot either. But let me start from the beginning. There I was shooting off CV's like a hillbilly firing his shotgun at his sisters/mothers/cousins wedding. However, it turns out that not only can I not hit the side of a barn, I also can't even scare off predators. While I'm happily blasting away, a warning shot in the form of an email whistles by me. Apparantly, a company has been looking at one of the recruitment websites and wants to know a bit more about me. Not a recruitment agency, a real company. They ring me and we have an informal chat (mere flesh wound). They set up an interview and give me a pretty good grilling (ok, that one hurt). They set up a second interview with The Other Boss. This company is run by two brothers, so far I've seen brother number 1. Between them they run a sort of good cop, bad cop kind of thing. The interview with The Other Boss (Larry) goes ok (but they still don't put me out of my misery). The coup-de-grace arrives the next week in the mail, I have a contract to sign and return. I am now a working member of British society. Yay? The first week they throw me in the deep end. I am now working with the latest and greatest that Microsoft has to offer, one of my colleagues mentions that I'll be so cutting edge, I'll be bleeding. The next week I'm still in the deep end, so they add lead weights.
By contrast, I have had the opportunity of seeing Cheri in action once more. Her contract was due to expire on the Friday, so she rang her agency and let them know she would soon be available on the job market again. (Ha! let's see how she likes staying at home, doing the shopping, making dinner for a month.) They set her up an interview the next night. She aced the interview and the boss went so far as to then ring around the remaining interviewees and let them know that the position had been filled. She started Monday. No down time.
We visited the markets at Camden town, or is it Camden lock? Anywho, there were some markets and we visited them. I told a few people at work of this plan and they all advised me not to take anything I really valued as it would probably get nicked. We told our flatmates of our plan and they said the same thing. So there we are at the markets and a sense of our impending doom has settled over me. I'm looking down the narrow alleys between the stalls, to try and spot our would be thieves. Would I know one by their look? Would they dress like a thief (stripey shirt, mask and bag with "swag" written on the side) or would they blend in. Hang on, that guy just jostled me, do I still have my wallet? watch? liver? Whilst I'm worrying about this, Cheri hits upon a cunning plan to solve all our pickpocket worries. She spends all of our cash within 5 minutes of entering the market. Obviously word spread about our subsequant lack of cash and we left alone by the malcontents for the entire day. The markets at Camden Town are huge. Markets plural as there quite a few of them dotted around Camden. In fact, it might be fairer to say that the market has streets through it and bits of a town inside it.
That night we went to see Paul Daniels.
"And so he brought forth a carrot and said behold this, for it is a carrot. And all about him knew that it was so, for it was orange, with a green top. And he did place a large red cloth over the carrot and then removed it and lo he did hold in his hand a white rabbit, and all were amazed and said this guy's really good. And the people said we've never seen anything like this, this is great, you must be the son of God, and the lord said yes, and I will come again. And the crowd did say but how shall we know of your coming? And the lord said you shall know by my name, for it shall be Paul and it shall be Daniel, and all did say Paul Daniels? And the lord said yes, something like that..."
judging from these exceprts of Rowan Atkinson "Jesus" sketch, the British think quite highly of their most famous magician. Frankly, it's not hard to see why. At 5 foot 5 and 65 years of age, he can still hold a crowd and fill an auditorium. It would be pretty seldom that a soitary person with few props can keep an audience entertained for two solid hours, Paul did it and had us crying with laughter and begging for more. The evening was split into a question and answer section where Paul told amusing stories of his life and answered people's questions and a magic show. The magic show was fantastic. At one point he had a couple of guys on stage, one stting in a chair, one leaning up against a chair. When their part of the trick was over, he told them to return back to their seats. They couldn't. Somehow they were welded to chairs that they were either sitting in or leaning on. Much hilarity ensued as these hapless guys tried to get free and Paul tried to help them. When the fun was finally over Paul tells these two guys that he's just ruined their lives forever. From now till the day they die, people will ask them about this magic trick and they're not going to be able to explain what happened.

---