We finally had our full English on Friday morning, at our local pub, and it was greasy and filling and all I had imagined. Then we checked out of our hotel, leaving our luggage there, and decided to wander over to the Natural History Museum which was somewhat nearby in Kensington. I'd never been there, only walked past it in Cromwell Road previously, but the building itself is beautiful, Victorian sand and blue brickwork.
Inside, we were greeted by an towering dinosaur skeleton. We visited all the dinosaurs and checked out the taxidermies of extinct mammals and birds. More than the impressive dinosaur bones, to me, was the setting that they were displayed in, the Romanesque architecture was a perfect contrast for the prehistoric remains. But after a few hours, we were even more tired and are feet were achier so back to the pub, then to collect our bags.
The lovely hotel receptionist phoned a minicab for us, and despite notorious London traffic we were deposited at Kings' Cross in about 35 minutes. The cabbie ominously asked us, "Have you been to Kings' Cross before?"
"Well, I haven't, but she has," said Matt.
"Hmm. Ok, at least she has," he replied. I remember it as a big and crazy, but was it really that bad?!
Kings' Cross was batshit crazy. There's a central waiting area, where everyone stands around staring at a main announcement board, willing their train to appear so the platform would be announced. Finally our train appeared with the designation "QC" under platform, that I somehow figured out meant "queue behind C." We found a queue of people who collectively agreed they were "queueing behind C" and we fell in line behind them. Despite the announcement of a "fatality" near Retford and threats of delays and cancellations, and a cheeky text from Elly ("Someone just killed themselves on your line! You may be delayed...") we actually boarded our train only 12 minutes late.
Two hours later, we arrived in York uneventfully.
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