AC, Sam, Cerys, and Rhiannon play giant frisbee at Regency Square.

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Sam wrote me a prescription today. I think the dark thing above my head is a virus cloud.

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I fell in love with Scottish oatmeal in Pitlochry and haven’t been able to find the equivalent in Brighton until this week. It’s similar to Irish steel-cut oats: nutty and creamy all at once. The perfect sick food. Yes, apparently my wimpy American immune system has succumbed to yet another British bug.

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At Hove Park.

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England’s out of the World Cup after a crushing defeat at the hands of Germany. Yet most of the pubs around town, including this one at the corner of Churchill Square, are still proudly flying St. George’s Cross. Or maybe everyone is too depressed (or too hung over) to take them down.

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AC crosses the finish line at Hove Lawns after riding 60 miles (from Hove up to outskirts of London and then back down to Hove) in 5.5 hours. He’s the one on the left in the red helmet. And this time, he’s fully clothed 🙂

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Smiling despite the long queue at Victoria Station to buy an Oyster card for the Underground. AC uses his deductive powers to determine that the Jubillee Line was closed and that we needed to take three different tube trains to our destination. Then the Super Sleuth found us a free bus to take us to St. John’s Wood. …

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Cerys and Sam at the West Pier, aka the “Burned Out Pier.”

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