"My Feet Are In Pieces"

...said my cousin Dan yesterday as we sat on the Jubilee Line towards North Greenwich. My brother, who is 9, has been up visiting for the weekend. Dan and I are his godparents and promised to show him a good time. To a 9 year old this means:

FRIDAY:
- Dinner at the Rainforest Cafe (can you believed they deep fried a filo pastry parcel. eugh.)
- Visit to National Portrait Gallery
- Playing the Trumpet
- Bed.

SAT:
- 7.30am wake up. Ouch. It's early.
- Sobell Centre in Holloway for ice skating
- Wander over to Emirates Stadium to "check it out". Meet Emmanuel Petite. Don't meet Thierry Henry sadly.
- Tube to Natural History Museum. Visit dinosaurs, blue whale, panda, etc. Lots of stuff
- Home (collectively the above takes 12 hours)

TODAY:
- 7.20 am wake up
- 9am get up (Dan went out last night, rolled in at 5am. I knew he wouldn't get up so I stayed in bed)
- Go to Imperial War Museum. See much sad stuff. Much amazing stuff. Discover that it costs 1/5 of the cost of training a dog to sniff for landmines to train a pig to do the same thing better. You can also use rats
- Home for lunch
- Two hour drive to coast and back to return brother to parental unit.

Exhausting.