Just to clarify some points made about circumstances and people - you have to hear it from a sensible source. This is so, because I was voted the most sensible of the bunch by Anglo, and therefore declared the 'kitty' keeper at the pub. So I am an authority on events.

Trafalgar Square was the pre-determined meeting place - 11.30am the predetermined time. Skip and I were early. We went to HUGE efforts to position ourselves in front of the blasted camera (webcam). This was for the benefit of our colleagues the other side of the pond who were anxious to join our gathering in whichever way they could. This camera was positioned on a large building in front of Trafalgar Square, where Skip was liaising with Eimmik via mobile phone - and yelling above the din of the traffic - finger in one ear, and walking around in circles. We went EVERYWHERE... I had followed instructions and worn a yellow sweater for easy identification on the camera. And!!!!!... I even posed with a pigeon on my head to get attention. Well.. it was the pigeon's idea to pose on my head, not mine. Actually.. it made me jump a little. Just a tad. Skippy choked laughing so much.

We spied the others across the square and waded through danillions of pigeons and their dubious deposits to greet them in true Brit fashion. We all said 'Hi' to each other reservedly, whence we carried on our day, positioning ourselves strategically for the camera. This became a quest (and, admittedly, a pain in the neck). Not to mention the bemused gazes from the passing public, who were no doubt wondering why we kept looking skywards and waving corporately at seemingly nothing in particular.

I scaled the plinth of Nelson's Column, and was joined by Mag. Well... it was SO funny seeing Mag scale that wall that Skippy was hysterical and had to end her phone call to Eimmik. Fortunately some of us have decorum!

And now to clarify a point. Once at Nelson's column, I deduced that the best spot to get seen on that camera would be in front of an approaching double-decker bus, and so, COMPLETELY UNSELFISHLY, I made my way from the safe huddle of the group, and threw myself in front of it. EUREKA!!!!! A result!!!!!!! However... scrubbing the tyre marks from my body is rather an effort and may take a little while and lots of bleach. (no no no, they are not tattoos!!).

We ventured back to the middle of the road from Nelson's Column, whereupon we spied a 'March'. It was weird. Please see this from MY perspective - I may be a little naive, but I had NO idea what the letters S & M stood for. In fact, I turned to Skippy and asked why people HAD to dress in leather for this type of occasion. See how innocent I am??

At this point we were joined by Mr Media who left the march to join us (I am only kidding)(I think). I then deduced that the M must stand for Media. What, then, does S stand for ........????????????

We waved our banners towards the camera and people beeped us and waved. No one from Teachers.Net saw our messages. Skippy was in constant contact with the other side of the pond. However... they didn't appear to spot us.

As a surprise to all (and remember - the weather is a perpetual preoccupation of the British)... completely out of the blue.. actually... grey.. it poured with rain. So we took refuge in a phone box. We played How Many Brit. Chatters Can One Fit Into a Phone Box. Well... 4 was fairly ok... 5.. well.. who WAS that other poor man we joined? After having appeared to make an impression and further the cause of Teachers.Net to the phone box population of the little road near Trafalgar Square... we took our leave and crossed the road. {Cue: Scottie: "The Man is Red!!!!".} For explanation - at road crossings in Britain, one crosses the road when the 'man' turns green, and waits to cross when the 'man' turns red. Every time we crossed the road from then on... well.. 'Cue Scottie' with the same refrain. She obviously is not used to crossing a road in London - you have to cross when opportunity avails itself.

The Taxi. We hailed a cab. "Hail, Cabs!!!!!!!!!" we chanted!!!! Whereby one stopped and offered to pick us up... oops.. oh no.. that was the kerb crawler. Yikes!!! Hehe. The taxi (a traditional black cab) could comfortably accommodate 6 people... so, we played 'See how Many Brit Chatters Can Fit Into A London Cab'.. voilá!!!! SEVEN!!!!!!!!!! and Mr Media found himself sat upon. He did not seem to mind too much. Nor did Scottie who just plopped herself without warning onto his knee - it must be said she made herself very comfortable and we are sure that red mark on Mr Media's neck was not lipstick. hehehe.

We hit the cyber café. It was a sight for everyone else who was there. Just picture it... seven of us all lined up.... tappety tap giggle giggle tappety tap OH MY GOSH!!!! Giggle giggle tappety tap NO!!!!!!! Giggle giggle tappety tap... and in the excitement Anglo thoughtfully decided to clean her computer liberally with Pepsi. lol.

We headed towards the Rainforest Café.... Scottie.. as ever lacking direction.. and.. I must say.. speed... followed the wrong party into the wrong direction, went through the wrong door and found herself in the wrong café. This seemed to be a theme. For, after we had eaten and were on the way out... Scottie again followed the wrong party, into the wrong direction, went through the wrong door and ended up in the kitchen, and then came back out and said to Skip, "Why did you let me do that?". Gee.... the Scots blame everyone for everything!!!!!! Och, aye, jimmy!!!!! See you!!!!!! Still.. we swizzed the café out of £20 (waiting around charge!!!!) and Scottie DID want to make the most of her time and wanted to see all the sights of London.

We then made our way en masse to Downing Street, home of Tony Blair, the Prime Minister. We decided to complain to the Prime Minister about the slow service on our salaries.. we thought this was an urgent issue. In fact.. so urgent.. Skippy was willing to handcuff herself to the policeman.. oops.. railing.. at the end of Downing Street. hehehe.... There are big iron gates at the end of Downing Street to protect the Prime Minister, his family, the Chancellor and the Downing Street Cat. Because safety to these people is of paramount importance to our boys in blue, when asked if he would pose for a picture OUR side of the gate, the policeman very obligingly unlocked them and came out - leaving the gates open whilst he did so! The policeman was willing to risk the safety of the leader of our country in order to pose. What an honour. We all ended up behind bars with him. Actually... I wandered into this unaware thinking it was yet another Skippy photo shoot. Photographic evidence will be forthcoming. Anglo fought Skip for the policeman and lost, because Skippy is very assertive when it comes to uniforms and handcuffs.

We meandered over Westminster Bridge (Mag contests this statement, insisting that the word 'meander' has no relation to the speed I walk!!) and headed towards the pub. Crossing under a railway bridge.. Scottie was a little perturbed about the trains rumbling overhead, and, in an effort to protect herself should the bridge inadvertently cave in, placed her hand over her head. She did this to the great amusement of all around her. Please note this in future... hands are apparently an effective safety mechanism for heads.

We were sitting in the pub minding our own business, and quietly supping ale (oh, sorry Brackens, white wine!!!), for we are reserved Brits and we keep ourselves to ourselves. We will not mention any legs getting over anything. (No names mentioned)(You can pay me later Scottie for not mentioning your name). Anglo suddenly spied frenzied activity outside the window involving uniformed officials (she never misses an opportunity where uniform is involved). Skippy was still, just about, seated at the table. Anglo jumped up.. and in her excitement.. "Hey Skip!!! Is it here we mention Anglo's wet pants????".

It turned out that we were involved in a bomb scare. The police cordoned off a small bush outside the glass windowed pub. Actually - cordoned is perhaps a strong term. They put some white flimsy tap around the area. Now - consider the logic of this. They sealed off an area of about 50 square feet - about 10 feet away from our pub. They also emptied the Tate Art Gallery 200 feet away from the sealed area. Firstly, why did they only cordon off a bush? Secondly, why did they not evacuate the pub? Thirdly, and, to Anglo's disgust, why did the firemen not come closer to the window? We were locked in the pub for about 45 mins. It is widely known that in a crisis the Brits react by having a cup of tea. So.. as true reserved Brits... we freaked out by ordering another round of drinks and laughing hysterically at the subject of the moment. There was not one ounce of panic in the pub.. Well.. only when the loo roll ran out in the bathroom - that was a scary moment!!

Eventually we were let out. We were not asked to leave, I emphasise.... we were LET out.

Anglo was so happy at her release, and, in her delirium in trying to attract the attention of the firemen who were by now on the horizon, climbed on to a table and began dancing... much to the amusement of the toothless old blokes swigging their beers, burping, and smoking in the pub. I think she attracted the wrong attention.

We said goodbye at the station to Mr Media (what a sweetie), and all went back to the hotel where Brackens, Mag and Anglo were staying. Once on the tube (underground train) Mag took this opportunity to impress one and all with her vocal prowess.... and proceeded to sing something about hands on heads (poor ole Scottie!!!!). At the hotel, we firstly had to get past an intelligence-challenged man at reception on the ground floor. I asked a simple question. "Is there a bathroom on this floor?", to which he replied, "Yes, on the first floor". Oh.

Once upstairs, we all decided to avail ourselves of the facilities and corporately crashed out on the beds!!!! It had been a tiring day and it was, by now, 9.30pm.

We thought we should go home after this.. and so we did. Skippy and I said goodbye to Scottie who was also leaving to go home.

On Sunday we were relatively sensible. Scottie and Mr Media unfortunately had to leave the gathering on the Saturday evening, so, therefore, were responsible for our entire day's waywardness. Skip and I met the others and went to find a Cyber Café, and all signed into Teachers.Net. How nice it was to be greeted as a group from a Teachers.Net gathering by those present in the chatroom!!!! Everyone agreed that the participation from those at Teachers.Net really made the weekend!!! :-) We feel special now, as this seasons gatherings have got off to a really good start!!!! Skippy and I will take the mantle to many of the forthcoming gatherings this summer... but you have a LOT to live up to!!!

After eating together in the afternoon, we did attempt to take Brackens to get a fingernail broken at the bowling alley, but, alas, the wait was too long. As the bowling place was right next to the airport (it is appropriately named "Airport Bowl"), Brackens decided she would like to go and watch planes take off. Skippy decided at that moment that she wanted to be on her way to the US right there and then.

It really was great to meet everyone - we all got on so well and the time went far too quickly. We plan to descend on Scotland at the end of the year - and have a Christmas UK Teachers.Net Gathering!!!!

Thank you, Teachers.Net, for making all this possible. Thanks, Skippy, for organising this!! Thanks to our friends, WHEREVER you are, for your participation and for making the time even more special. And, finally, thanks to the UK chatters - it was a fantastic weekend and I can't wait to do it again!
 

Photologue:   First slide