Because it was nearby and I needed a literary antidote to the massive dose of pop culture, we went to 221B Baker Street next, where there is a small museum. Doctor Watson is available to answer questions and pose for photos. T. humored me and then requested ice cream for lunch.
Thus refreshed, we walked toward the British Musuem. One reason I love walking is the sort of interesting prose one comes across in the process. This sign goes in my personal cache of signs I tend to misinterpret (like End Roadwork, the cause of my people). I was diverted just by the sign:
I prefer this blunt warning label to the kind we have at home:
This one I like because it informs you how polite it is:
Along the walk, T. developed a headache. I gave him some aspirin and took him directly to the café in the British Museum to get him some water and some non-ice-cream food (cashews, in this case) to see if that would take care of the problem. He did not feel better. I told him we could come back tomorrow, which seemed to take a load off his mind. He is now asleep. I’m sure he’ll be better tomorrow; we’ve been doing an awful lot of stuff and I think he’s just worn out a bit.
Update at posting time: T. is fine. He woke up long enough to eat a huge dinner and went back to sleep. I had run out of books, but I picked up a couple at the station on the way home, so I have now read Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol, which is the kind of reading I prefer to do at the beach. It was only mildly diverting (hey, maybe the sign was pointing to the book?) and also mildly irritating.