What adventure awaits at the end of this verdant tunnel? What secret lies just around the bend of this ancient Kentish laneway? The crumbling forest hideaway of Queen Guinevere? The final resting place of a gallant knight? Nope, a poopy diaper.
The mighty turrets of Dover Castle tower over the harbor far below. From up here you can peer across the Channel and see the French surrendering before they even know it themselves.
Useful for brewing vats of boiling oil to dump on the French. Doubles as a soup pot in times of peace.
If this is Game of Thrones, no one is leaving this room alive. If this is Downton Abbey, the same applies because everyone has died of boredom by the first ad break. The great mystery of who curdled the cream for the scones will remain, alas, unsolved.
For King and Country! After we Brexit we can use this tower to throw non-conforming eggs at the Continent.
Churchill said we'll fight them on the beaches. Preferably their beaches because our windswept expanse of frigid pebbles isn't anything to write home about. Plus over there they do topless bathing.
Nothing perfects the dad bod like jumping on a trolley instead of walking the 100 meters to the next exhibit.
For millennia the fearsome White Cliffs of Dover have defended England with the same ferocity as a Spitfire Mark V and a stiff upper lip.
Lieutenant James Bigglesworth reporting for duty, Sir. Could I trouble you to make sure you load the car seat after the bombs?
Don't worry, no one is going to attack at afternoon tea time, the scones wait for no one. She'll be 'right.
From the White Cliffs of Dover to the White Truffles of Mayfair. Ryan checks out the yacht that Daddy isn't buying him, unless they happen to sell a Lego version in there.
All the world's a blog, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven diaper changes.
Peter makes a cameo appearance. After featuring in this esteemed broadsheet the paparazzi won't leave him alone. Page 3 here he comes!
Ryan's first night on the town. Because having a baby strapped to your chest is the ultimate pick up line.
Curry in a hurry. Dishoom, a hipster take on the classic Bombay cafe, delivers on all fronts. They even let people with babies cut the queue; if the opportunity to skip the wait at the hottest new tables in town doesn't boost the birth rate then there really is no hope for the human race.
The legendary Chiltern Firehouse is one of London's most celebrated restaurants. Unfortunately their brunch is rather disappointing, but one star for the cute salt and pepper shakers.
A passable mocha but it's still not New Zealand standard. Much like their rugby team now that they have an Aussie coach.
That's right, burn off all your energy now before that seven hour flight starts.
Daddy, do American or Kiwi passports taste better?
Turns out he travels like a champ. This Little Man was born to fly.
Having passed the beginner test to Nantucket and now the intermediate test to London it's time to start training for ultimate endurance challenge: the epic 15 hour ultra-marathon from IAH to AKL.
That's right, Daddy's feelings exactly.
No comments:
Post a Comment