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Part I Chapter 1 (10-Aug London)
    The flight went off without a hitch. I arrived on time on negotiating the proper tube ticket to my hotel destination. Halfway there, the train conductor announces that Earl’s Court will be the final stop, due to emergency track work. So there I am, 10PM at night, in a strange London neighborhood, miles from my destination and hardly speaking the language! But thanks to my foresight, I found a stationmaster who told me the proper shuttle bus to take before I left the station.
    With map in hand, I oriented myself and set off to the bus stop, followed by the other aggrieved passengers and Lo! Soon I was directing these lost Londoners to Paddington Station; helping the natives get home! When I finally tumbled into my cell-like room in Bayswater, I belted down a double scotch in celebration. The next day I saw the crown jewels at the Tower of London and the Bascules at Tower Bridge. The roadway even lifted (no doubt in honor of me). The shadow of the bridge is visible in the upper left corner of postcard #1.
Cheerio, Mickle

Part I Chapter 2 (12-Aug London)
    “...Never before in the course of human endeavor has so much been owed by so many to so few.” With these stirring words, Churchill steeled the nation to the Nazi air assault, and I have seen the seaman’s mount, A.K.A. the cabinet war room, which boasted a direct feed to the BBC. The British skill at historical preservation is evident in the detailed display of various maps, telephones and the accoutrements of the 1940’s. Frozen in time like some Pharaoh’s tomb, precisely as it was when the last Royal Marine turned off the lights and locked the door on the last day of the war, 1945. The was rooms capped an informative walking tour of Parliament Square, after which I trundled through the National Portrait Gallery on my own, seeing many a stiff upper lip in oils, but also a wall of excellent Sargents, which rekindled my enthusiasm. At lunch, the service was so appalingly bad that I bolted without paying; the meal is now memorable in hindsight.
    I will attempt a Beatles walking tour tomorrow (if the espresso I’m drinking doesn’t keep me up all night!).
    It seems the only thing I neglected to bring is an inflatable love doll. My feet are killing me.
The Right Honorable
Sir Mickle of 92nd Street.
Postcard 2- Cecil Beaton(1904-1980)Prime Minister Churchill at 10 Downing Street, September 1940.
(Imperial War Museum)


Part I Chapter 3 (15-Aug London)
    The English have French postcards!
    These lovelies are posing not too far from the rebuilt Globe Theatre, which I saw today, and if Willie the Shake could see this, he would undoubtedly shake his willy! Mind you, I chose NOT to mail some of the other postcards I saw considering that you have daughters and that every postal official on both sides of the Atlantic will undoubtedly read this.
    After touring Clerkenwell, a London neighborhood which in the 19th century provided the setting for Dickens’ Oliver Twist, I saw a man carrying an infant hurrying past me with his trashy wife. Suddenly there was a loud yell behind me, and as the crowd and I turned to look, we saw his fist pommel his wife’s head. The infant screamed. The crowd gasped. I just leered. London still has inspiring sights! Aargh! It’s time for my daily rum ration. I’ll think of you at 3 bells.
H.R.A. Lord Mickle of Sasquatch
(M.B.R.E.SPQA J.D)

Postcard 3- Tower Bridge and English Lovelies


Part I Conclusion (17-Aug England)
Another Day, another adventure:
    Greenwich two days ago; the Observatory and the National Maritime Museum, which had the very best ship models I’ve ever seen. Harrison’s Clocks and the Observatory telescopes were also exciting. A walk under the Thames in a passageway and a connection at the grandiose train terminal capped the day.
    Yesterday, it was the British Museum, which was a major disappointment due to extensive renovation, followed by a visit to Somerset House and its Impressionist Gallery and a dinner date with a friend of a friend.

Today, it was Oxford and the Cotswalds, an outlying region of quaint stone cottages. Tomorrow, I leave for Paris to continue the quest for Nirvana, but suspect I’ll find it in Manchester, which I will visit when I return to England, for it is there, I believe, one can find the remnants of Dickensian warehouses and factories still redolent of soot. The buggers done converted all the London ones to Condos! Feh! Hail and farewell, fine fellow. Der Mickle Postcard 4- Harrison’s first Marine Timekeeper (H1 1730’s). John Harrison(1693-1776)

Part II Chapter 1 (19-Aug Paris)     Oy! My feet are throbbing! I carry a camera, film, maps, sweatshirt, lumbar pack with a bottle of water, plus my pipes, so it adds an extra 10 pounds weight (all concentrated on my tiny, undersized feiselach).     It drizzled off and on all day, but I still managed to see the Luxembourg Gardens, where Sargent painted an early work; the Louvre, which was a bit of a disappointment as it had only a few Monets; and the Musee D’Orsay, which had room after room of Impressionists and which left me feeling as though I had died and gone to heaven. My feet don’t believe it, though.     My high school French is good enough to enable me to navigate the city, but I always wind up eating something other than what I thought I ordered. It’s an adventure.     The smartest item I brought was the pack of Bandaids—several of my toes are wearing them—but I haven’t yet discovered the essential item I forgot to pack. However, it seems that the bathing suit was unnecessary: the temperature is a consistent 72 degrees F. Consequently, many places are not air conditioned or adequately ventilated, and this unfortunately includes the subway. The Metro is not as bad as the Tube in London, which was bored through the ground deep below the surface. The tunnels are round in shape, necessitating round cars which produces two distressing effects:     1) It is impossible to stand up straight except along the center axis of the car, and     2) Anyone in that unlucky position is forced to breathe the accumulated hot B.O. stink from the unwashed masses pooling at the top of the ill-ventilated tin saunas.     The Paris Metro, although equipped with larger, square-roofed cars, compensates for this advantage by carrying passengers even more poorly bathed than the English. And it has yet to hit 80 degrees F! Perhaps I neglected to bring noseplugs.     The D-Day Museum at Normandy looks out, but I will try for Monet’s Giverny tomorrow. Hope you are well, look forward to seeing you, Le Roi, L’etat, Le Mickey

Postcard 5- Les Anges Du Pont Alexandre III (Antonio Carrara)

Part II Chapter 2 (21-Aug France)     The sun finally came out, so did I.     The trip to Giverny was rain-soaked, but it cleared long enough to stroll through Monet’s Garden sans parapluie (umbrella). I am now relaxing in the Tuilleries Garden after having booked a ticket to Amsterdam at the Gare Du Nord.     The best thing about Paris is the railway stations. They are excellent examples of Victorian architechture, all steel and glass and wrought iron, so much so that they converted one into the Musee D’Orsay, where I saw the Monets the other day. I exchanged the return Eurostar ticket for an earlier one so I could spend more time in Manchester and environs, looking for smokestacks.     Despite their reputation as cold, the Parisiens have been friendly and understanding when they hear my halting French. I think they appreciate the effort. By the way, I believe this is Part II, chapter 2, but I’m not sure because this is a senior moment. I know it’s 8/21/00 ‘cause it says so in my datebook. Got tired of scrubbing underwear and found a laundromat. Now I must find a toilet.

Postcard 6- (Claude Monet) 1872 In The Garden

Au revoir, mon ami
Mickle I