Harrods

We have no artifacts of our interesting conversation with the very knowledgeable lady/curator at the exclusive Renoir and Monet and Chagall and Matisse and Miro (how do you put the accent on the "o"?) and Dali and Chihuly and Warhol and Bob Dylan-ridden art gallery.

Mr. Zimmerman, kinda resembling Mr. Chagall

There were a few sculptures of a mildly provocative, somewhat stylized/indirect but still ardent/coupled nature.  "Very athletic," says Claire, and then asks again where the pets section is.

We have no artifacts of the astounding, astoundingly and probably justifiably pricey furniture arranged in seemingly endless luxurious sequences through the third floor.  We didn't sit down, kind of like you don't touch the paintings in the art museum.  The wheels in Spencer's head are a-turning...

We did sit here—the grand kids' books display, in the expansive kids' section:

Claire proves herself to be very knowledgeable about current trends in football footwear.  A bit wistful about, also...

Caught up in it all!

These good guys: