I am still reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s book about Lincoln, Team of Rivals. The time constraints of my life mean that I have been reading it for many months now. I am on page 567 with perhaps 150 more to go.
The flight to London was uneventful, and I can’t help but reflect on how it took Lincoln as long to make a visit to the battlefields of the Civil War as it took me to get here. Plus, I got dinner and wine served upon doll-house dishes, slightly startling but cheery flight attendants, and a cheese course for dessert.
I had to change airports in London, taking a bus between them. Normally an hour’s ride, terrible traffic problems on the M-24 (I think) meant that we took the “cross country” route. To my mind, this meant driving off-road, but what he meant was off-the-freeway. The bus driver apologized once before we left, once after he closed the doors, twice on the way and once more at the end. I am not a regular bus rider, but I have never heard one apologize for antyhing before.