This morning, after reading Lori’s lovely tribute to Paula (see http://goo.gl/dD6B4), I decided to go ahead and write about the recent long weekend Stefano and I spent in London…mainly, about the fun bits, of which there were many…

As I wrote in my June 7^th post, Stefano and I were invited to London by a British blog reader, now a close friend of ours (Paul), who’d bought tickets to “Trooping the Colour.” We (= four of us, including one of Paul’s friends) left early, but when we arrived there was already a long queue of people waiting to get inside the Horse Guard Parade…

As we headed for the queue, one of the guards stopped us, looked us over and declared, “Sorry, but you can’t go inside.” “Why not?,” we asked, completely taken aback. “There’s a dress code: no denim…I’m very sorry about that,” he answered. “But we came all the way from Italy just for this ceremony!,” we whined. “I’m really sorry to hear that, but I still can’t let you in. We’ve turned others away for the same reason, too. The dress code is written on your tickets.”

We checked our tickets. The guard was right. The dress code was spelled out in tiny print on the ticket: no denim. Paul was distraught…I mean, of the three of us, he was the only one who wasn’t wearing jeans, so he could have gotten in. And in fact Stefano, Paul’s friend and I tried to persuade him to go inside and take enough photos for the rest of us. But he wouldn’t hear of it.

As we were discussing alternative plans, a guard helpfully suggested that we try going to a nearby store and buying some acceptable clothes. Brilliant! So off we galloped.

As soon as we got inside the store (and I’d like to note that we were soon joined by a bunch of other folks who had also been turned away at the Horse Guard Parade), we were in such a hurry that we grabbed the first things we found on the racks. But as soon as I began trying on my pants, I realized that they were either way too short (and let me tell ya, my bright pink and purple trekking socks PLUS my gore tex trekking shoes sticking out were too much even for me to bear) or too garish. In the end, I chose a pair of incredibly flappy “elephant” pants that were three, I mean THREE!, sizes too big for me. In my hurry to get to the fitting rooms I hadn’t noticed the size. Oh well. I had no time to waste.

I bought the elephant pants and tucked my polartec sweater into them to help hold them up. But…holy cats, I looked really silly. 🙂 And in fact, when Stefano and the others saw me, they burst into peals of laughter. Stefano joked that they’d all have to hold on to me or I’d fly off like Mary Poppins, with all that flapping (the flapping joke lasted all day, sigh, even after I’d exchanged the pants…). But there was no time for laughter. The parade had already begun. So we raced back down the street (I suppose I might have flown a bit, too, hehe)…and this time, in spite of my really ridiculous flapping pants, we were let inside. Phew!

Trooping the Colour was very impressive…And, as luck would have it, I sat next to a guy who’d been there several times and who entertained me with all sorts of interesting historical and gossipy tidbits. He told me where the Queen will be next Saturday (her birthday), for example, and also that about half of the soldiers there had not participated in a previous “Trooping.” This was their first time. Amazing. The rehearsal looked so purrrrrfect to me…But Stefano reported that he witnessed a few mistakes. Still…an incredible show…

After trooping, flapping about and having a bite to eat, Paul and his friend headed home, but Stefano and I stayed in London for a few more hours. We walked everywhere, from Westminster down to the London Eye and then took the underground to Piccadilly Circus, where we had some tea before heading back to Paul’s home.

It was on the Westminster bridge that we witnessed a most unexpected procession. A much MUCH different procession from the one we’d seen earlier that day in the Horse Guards Parade, that’s for sure. 🙂

Hundreds of naked or semi-naked cyclists, both men and women, came cycling off the bridge. What a sight! Of all the photos I took, this is my favorite (of course, I did a bit of careful, I hope!, cropping here…!!!). Check out the sign on the London bus: “Get your socks off!” This morning, when I first read the sign, I just had to laugh…too funny…

We later learned that this is an annual event. Part of the “World Naked Bike Ride”: http://goo.gl/EUv3Z Every June, not just in London but in cities around the world, naked people hop on their bikes to celebrate cycling and the human body. This is also in part a protest procession–against the vulnerability of cyclists on the road and oil dependency. In fact, one of the cyclists had painted “Burn fat, not oil” on his back…

Well, I know that Paula would have enjoyed these photos and the flapping Margaret story, and that’s why I chose to post about it today…But it’s going to take me a while to used to the fact that she won’t be writing to me anymore…She’s left such a void in my heart and in the myeloma community…

Following Lori’s example, I’m going to try to focus on how much Paula enriched my life, on the positive stuff I mean, but it’s bloody hard right at the moment…I’m just too sad…and I’m still breaking down…However, writing this post and thinking of the hilarious comment she would most certainly have written did help a bit…

Ciao, Paula, mi mancherai tanto…