London Countdown: T-Minus 7 Weeks

Oh, bloggykins. I shudder with tremulous delight. As I write this, Louis Armstrong is telling me what a wonderful world we live in, and though I rarely agree with Mr. Armstrong, I'm compelled to concur at the moment.

The time is coming, my friends, when I shall pass into that glorious land of myth and fairy tale known as . . . England. Even the very name itself rolls off the tongue with a delicious magic, like some ancient Celtic spell. Soon she'll be all mine, the leas, the rivers, the rolling hills, the fog, the heaths, the moors, the overpriced transportation. I realize I sound a bit like a maniacal Bond villain, poised to set in motion some fiendish plot to take over the world, but I'm really just planning a humble trip to the greatest nation the world has ever known. That's right, America, I said it.

I feel like an explorer about to embark on an epic journey to a land he's only read about in ancient, mysterious tomes. My ship has come within a few hundred thousand miles of my destination, and I'm making preparations for my final descent. I plan to be your Bibb-on-location during this trip. If there is anything you have always wanted to do in London or Paris, just let me know and I will take a picture of myself doing it (within reason). I call it vicarious vacationing, and I thoroughly enjoyed it when my in-laws did it for me on their trip to the Holy Land a couple of years ago.

Seriously, I'll do almost anything. Want me to kick a Buck House Guard in the shins? I'll do it quickly and run away. Want me to hurl a croissant at a street mime in Paris? You know I'll do that. Want me to lie down in the "zebra crossing" in front of Abbey Road Studios and sing "Octopus's Garden" in its entirety? I'd rather do "Oh! Darling," but whatever; you're the boss.

*Beep!* "Shall we prepare for our orbit of descent, Captain Bibb? Over."
*Beep!* "Set a bearing of 49 degrees, Commander, and bring her into Gyre Descent Pattern Gamma. Over."
*Beep!* "Aye, aye, sir. Over."

Tee, hee!