While planning the trip to England, it was decided that Erik and I would take a day to drive up to Scotland so I could see the home my Grandfather lived in. Dad was pretty stoked and while providing me with Grandfather's Scottish address, requested I take lots of pictures as he had never been to Glasgow himself. "Nooo problem!" I replied cavalierly.
On the way to discover my heritage, we stopped at this incredible, beautiful, broke-down castle. I can't recall the name of it but I do remember trying repeatedly to pronounce it and sounding like the equivalent of a drunken southerner with a mouthful of marbles.
After wandering around and realizing how incredibly tiny people were back then, I naturally knighted myself Towering well nourished bad-ass of the Ginger clan. I think the pink really brings out my menace.
After a couple of U-turns and some positively terrifying round-a-bouts that are even more troublesome when happening on the wrong side of the road, we managed to find the street in Glasgow my Grandfather lived on.
I was ecstatic and elated and other e words that mean happy. These feelings were swiftly replaced with confusion and crushing disappointment. Precisely where my Grandfather's house should have been, was now a parking lot.
I immediately started frantically scanning the area looking for a quaint house that would be an ideal stand-in for the lie I was already forming in my mind to tell my Father. But no such luck. It was a strictly industrial area.
We pulled into my Grandfather's former home, paid for an hour of parking, and with a thoroughly dejected air, walked along the River Clyde until we found a coffee shop run by a charming fellow whose accent was so thick I needed subtitles to understand him.
The next day, Erik's Sister Jean and I dragged everyone through the streets of London visiting all those iconic Londony things you see on TV. And it was glorious.
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Erik was obsessed with the architecture of the Gherkin. I've decided not to delve into the multitude of questions this brings up for me. |
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Tower Bridge. Not to be confused with the far less remarkable and more than mildly disappointing London Bridge, which probably fell down out of sheer boredom with it's own design. |
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One of Erik's amazing shots. This was a view of Big Ben from the side opposite the Thames including the architecture of the Houses of Parliament. |
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The Tower of London. Bad things happened here. Very bad things. |
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And then, just a typical day of Velma getting her ticket for the tube while Erik's Dad looks on in bemusement. |
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I was curious to know how many people had to have been kicked or bitten before putting up that plaque. Tourists are fun. |
Me: "Want me to check Craigslist tomorrow?"
Erik: "No."
Me: "KSL?"
Erik: "Only if it's king size and new."
Me: "What if there are minimal splooge stains and they give us a good deal?"
Erik: "NO."
Me: "You have no sense of adventure."
Erik: "Whatever. I chose you didn't i?"
Me: "You're equating me to splooge stains?"
Erik: "Not at all. I'm equating you to adventure. A highly volatile unpredictable ginger adventure."
I'm pretty sure he was still suffering from jet lag.