So the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham palace might be pretty cool, if it weren't like 4 degrees and windy and you weren't being shoved into a wrought iron gate by an old Spanish woman yelling "move! picture! move little girl!" over and over again. Incidentally I finally turned around and told her i was going to do no such thing and that she'd already pushed me far enough. I'm sure she thought I was a nutcase, but whatever. Apparently the Star Wars themed marching band music and men in furry hats was just too much to handle for her. We went, we saw, we froze, and we ended up in a pub called "Bag O' Nails" for the most glorious meal of my life. I don't think I've ever wanted tea more in my life. But the best part was that someone asked me directions to Harrods directly afterward, and I could actually tell her! I think that means that I looked like a local- me! a local!! I crossed the street and had a little happy dance to myself and promptly got back on the #9 bus to Kensington and crawled into bed. Worth it.
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