A weekend in Bradford

For the middle weekend of our English vacation, London and I joined Vicki in Bradford, where her short course was held. I suppose for Brits it is probably just a bog-standard English city, but for us it was pretty marvelous. Here's a view into the city center, which is a pedestrian area with loads of little shops in old buildings. The one on the left that looks like a church is the city's old wool exchange, which at one time handled about a quarter of all the wool produced in Britain. Today it is a bookstore, with an acupuncturist in one corner lot and a Starbucks upstairs (a Starbucks? I'm about to have a heart attack from not surprise!).


Most of the city center is still intact, but a big area between our hotel and the city cathedral has been bulldozed to make a big steel-and-glass shopping mall. Boring! But right now there is no steel-and-glass anything, just a big muddy pit full of earthmoving equipment. That was just fine with London.


On our first night in town we went to a little Italian place called Giuseppe's. You may be able to just make out London's walrus tusks (made from drinking straws) in this photo.


Here's a better shot. When London says 'walrus' it comes out 'ralrus'. So Vicki and I tease him about being a walrus just so we can hear him say, "I'm not a ralrus! I'm a big boy!" Except that sometimes, he is a ralrus. Such are the ways of three-year-olds.


London thought that running around Bradford was about the third-greatest thing ever (playing with his grandparents and the Taylor boys are in first and second, obviously).


He never ceases to be surprised that he can't catch pigeons. He'll chase them and chase them and then run up to us and breathlessly confess that he couldn't catch one. I'm inclined to let him keep trying. Darn pigeons--they need a little exercise.


London is also an avid motorist.


It rained at least a little every day, but you get used to it. Actually, if you're coming from hundred-teens, drought, and wildfires, you may relish it. I did. London is impervious to moisture-related discomfort, unless it's bathtime. Funny how that works.


He is also game to try any frozen treat that promises to make a sticky mess of his face. Usually late in the game he will cross some invisible threshold and suddenly decide he's had enough--but, of course, we are never allowed to suggest such a thing; the decision must be made by London, and by him alone.


On Sunday it was sunny so I took London to a garden exhibition in front of the city hall. He loved the fountains and the flowers and most of all the space to run.


London never got tired of shouting "Double-decker!" whenever he saw a double-decker bus, so of course we heard this about 15,000 times on the trip. It's cool. I don't really get tired of them either. They're part of the landscape that lets you know that you are Not In Kansas Anymore.


For as much time as London spends airborne, it's not easy to capture him that way on camera. He's pretty fearless about jumping off of things.


This is how I will remember London and Bradford: a happy boy throwing himself headlong down the paved spaces between ancient soaring buildings, always certain that he'll catch the next pigeon.