As today was Saturday, we explored the market in London Town centre. The market place was, of course, called Covent Garden (what else would a market in London be called?) and it sold fruit and veg, nice food and gifts. After my mother-in-law had made a dent in her Christmas shopping, we had a quick look at the main street and took in the sights for a short while.
Later my husband and brother-in-law returned to attend a beer festival outside Covent Garden which they had spotted being set up. I promised to join them later as bedtime babysitting was on offer and a rare night out was being encouraged. I must admit that I was feeling a bit like I wanted to crawl into bed when my father-in-law gave me a lift back into town as the rain was torrential and I was really tired after many long nights looking after the baby who doesn’t sleep.
I waded through the deep puddles towards the festival area and ran through the waterfalls running off the roofs. Then I stood looking like a person who had capsized their canoe (twice) while I waited to be allowed into the fenced-off area of the beer festival. Eventually I was allowed in and found my husband and his brother (also looking like they went swimming in their clothes) sheltering under the corner of a tent. They had befriended 3 people from Chatham, Kent (the Chatham, Kent in Ontario, not the Chatham, Kent a few miles from our home in England). Apparently the bloke in the group (Chris) had pinched my brother-in-law’s bottom while they squashed under a tent to shelter from the rain. Now they were the best of friends and were playing Hipster Bingo and speculating on what they would do with an island filled with tigers. Clearly the products on offer at the beer festival had proved popular.
Despite attending a beer festival, I actually really don’t like beer. So, for the first time since I was a teenager, I spent an evening drinking cider. Thankfully this cider tasted better than old school 1990’s Diamond White.
Shortly after I arrived, Canadian Chris was renamed Lord Tittington-Jones, and my brother-in-law became Smythe, his butler and expert mammoth curator. Plans were made to attend the beer festival after-party at the London Museum and to use Lord Tittington-Jones and Smythe (and an Ocean’s Six band of new identities) to steal a mammoth from the museum. Sadly, when we arrived at the museum, there was a distinct lack of mammoth exhibits to steal, so we settled for more beer/ cider and people-watching to the beats of DJ Freek on the brightly-lit museum dance floor.
One chap caught our eye. He looked just like Vigo from Ghostbusters II (the serious looking bloke in the painting which came alive), but this Vigo was very chilled and spent the entire evening throwing serious shapes in front of an exhibition about the history of London, Ontario. He had a very distinct and energetic dance style which had elements of Beyoncé about it, coupled with a unique interpretation of the rhythm of the music (plus a signature ‘rapid hand clapping’ move).
We watched as he took on a muscly bloke half his age and an accomplished dancer in a territorial dance-off. There was no eye contact, Vigo just danced closer and closer and encroached on muscle man’s territory until muscle man gave up and went to the bar. I was pleased by Vigo’s victory and in awe of his movement skills and energy.
After observing the master at work for a while, my brother-in-law suggested an organised Vigo aerobics session, so we all took to the dance floor/ museum foyer and copied his every move. Vigo absolutely loved his new status as Lord of the dance floor and danced with even greater enthusiasm and with extra spins. After about 5 minutes of the Vigo Insanity Workout we were all knackered and some had strained muscles from the complex head flick movements, but Vigo was still going strong. I couldn’t help but admire his tenacity and stamina and I am glad that he has stopped filling sewer networks with pink slime and trying to steal babies these days – he looks so much happier for it.