Muhammed saves the day

Rachel and two of our new friends (Chelsea and Molly--I told you we had some) set out this morning to see Windsor Castle.

Windsor Castle. Photo credit: not me.

I set out with them, my objective being to charm my way into Windsor Castle (hoping I'd have more luck than I did with the guards at Parliament) because if only I could get inside, I'd then charm whoever hangs out there into giving Rachel and me tickets to the Royal Wedding. I put on my lip rouge, straightened my hair, drank my soy latte and warmed up my famous eye-lock so I'd be fit for a queen.

My famous eye-lock

We got to the train station, had a few laughs over the strange candy stand called "Humbug: Suck it and see," and walked with conviction to Ticket Salesman Window 5, ready to talk discounts. "We want to go to Windsor Castle. What's the cheapest way for us to do that?" we asked Muhammed, our ticket salesman.

"Windsor is closed," Muhammed told us, with conviction.

"What?"

"The state apartment is closed until the 21st."

We exchanged some disappointed glances and tried to explain to Muhammed that we wanted to go to Windsor Castle, with an implied expectation that he make it re-open.

"Have you been to Hampton Court? You should go there," Muhammed said. Then he pulled out a fancy brochure that looked like it contained coupons and pictures of Disney Land.

"Okay, we'll go there! You're the man, Muhammed!"

"Bring me back pictures!" Muhammed said, as we dropped our quid into the quid slot.

It turns out Hampton Court isn't Disney Land, but who needs Mickey and Jasmine when you have the actually-slept-in bed of Henry VIII?

When he wasn't eating, killing people, or starring in a Showtime series, this is where Henry VIII slept.

His bedroom ceiling. My glow-in-the-dark sticky stars are better, IMHO.

On our way up the stairs.

Their backyard. Only thing it's missing is my backyard's cool fire pit. Sucks for them... 

Once we finished exploring the castle and talking about how much better we would be at Princess-ing than the princesses of the past, we met the nicest Italian man who directed us to the best pizza in town. Too bad it wasn't in town...

On our way to the bus stop, to catch a ride to Kingston, the next town over.

We got to Kingston, found our pizza shop, didn't speak for a while so we could properly inhale our food, bought some Cow costumes that double as footy pajamas, and took the train home.

Muhammed saved the day.