(Not a great day for photies. This is about as close a graphic depiction of Gem's day as I can offer.)
I suppose it was only a matter of time before our gustatory indulgence would inflict its ass-biting vengeance on us, or to be precise, on Gemma. From the wee hours of the previous night, the contents of Gem's stomach have been staging a re-enactment of the Titanic's last hours, with repeat performances throughout the day. Apparently, it's a riveting tour de force that keeps her gripping the edge of her oval plastic seat.
While I stick around making appropriate husbandy faces and noises, Marty leaves for Sussex to bash some relatives and the others do more of London.
By about 6 in the evening Gem decides that the show really needs to either end its run or find another venue. This requires the services of someone with a "Dr" in front of their name. Unfortunately, at this hour, the only one available is the 24 hour Dial-a-Doc, who arrives hours late, pokes about a bit, prescribes some pills and charges us 200 quid (around $425 AUD) for the privelege. Hint: never EVER take the word of anyone who says travel insurance is a waste of money.
As it turns out, the pills do what they say on the packet and are therefore worth every pretty penny.
The next day, Gem feels a-bit-better-but-not-great so stays behind while the rest of us head out to Notting Hill where the fringes are floppy and stammering is sexy. The Portobello Road Markets are open and chockfull of antique shoppers as well as shoppers of antiques.
John stops by at the local military recruitment centre. An ex-Army reserve man himself, he has fond memories of his belly-crawling, whistling days when he got to play with cool guns and stuff.
Just before he's about to take on the Zulu uprising, John has a change of heart.
Not much chance of adding to the Coalition of the Willing around here.
Better off helping Robin fight world hunger.
Later on we head back to the hotel where Robin, still feeling a bit tender, tags Gem, who is now as pilled-up as Elvis on a good day (youtubery) and feeling well enough for a stroll. So out we head again, this time to Camden Lock, because Saturday is Market Day and also most likely our last opportunity to pick up cheap trinkets and tat that we will later pass off on our friends as exotic curios of the Antepodes.
We meet up with Angie again and stop for refreshments at a posh wine bar where John wonders why we can't get fries for half the price at the KFC across the road
The Camden Market is all kinds of super sexy awesome as we shop, drop, shop again and only stop when our wallets start giving us that "don't look at me" attitude.
Later that evening, we meet up with Martin fresh out of the kitchen. As both Robin and Gem are still on the mend, we opt to stay in Earl's Court for the night. After dinner, we say goodbye to Angie and then many drinks later, to Martin.
It's been a rough couple of days but our evening with family and friend sticks a big fat J-curve in our collective mood. As local minstrels Chas 'n' Dave would have it - mustn't grumble.
Next: Harrod's, Hyde Park and (ugh) Heathrow
*Today's title is a tribute, via the Happy Mondays, to the late and great Tony Wilson.
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