my trip to Devon

Sometimes you find yourself in places you never dreamed you would be (hello, Le Petit Village), life's twists and turns dropping you off in some curious spot or another. A few weeks ago my path led me to a small fishing town in Devon in the southwest of England where Mr. London grew up. (Mr. London was taking part in a charity rugby event down there and he asked The Husband to join him on the pitch. I decided to tag along.)

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There was an old pirate ship (that I was desperately waiting for The Dread Pirate Roberts to saunter off of), and fish & chips and lots of little touristy shops selling sweets and postcards, and a donkey in a colorful bow tie and a clown wig (although I don't think he was for sale). 

We even got to visit a psychic when we were there. She's located in an old shop shaped like a coffin (it's true, it's even called 'coffin house'). Pirates, psychics and a donkey in a bow tie... what else could you possibly want in a mini-break?

{hey number 14... pull up your socks}

The main even took place on Saturday at the rugby club. The Husband ran out on the field for the first time in almost six years. He tried blaming his lack of speed on his age, personally, I blame it on all the beers he and Mr. London drank before the match. But somehow, despite the pre-match beers their team consumed, they still won.  

After the match, everyone took advantage of the sunshine and lazed about the pitch. Mrs. London and I also took advantage of the delicious Pimms (it's like summer in a glass).

Do you see how The Husband has the shoe and sock off of one of his feet? Well that's because the day before, Mr. London had him shimmy through a window of the house (Mrs. London had the key, if they had bothered to call, we would have brought it to them... morons). For some strange reason The Husband decided to do this without his shoes on (of course he did) and in the process, stepped on a nail. This is something that could only happen to The Husband. So in hindsight, maybe it wasn't just the pre-match beers that slowed him down on the pitch after all, but the bleeding hole in the bottom of his foot... moron.

That's pretty much my trip to Devon in a nutshell. I never did spot The Dread Pirate Roberts though, but it was loads of fun nonetheless. Of course, we all know how it ended... 

Bisou!