Who the Hell is Rita Ora? (Or, I Need To Turn Up My Hearing Aid)

Being fancy, Mom and I flew first class to London. As people boarded, two teenage girls stopped and suddenly got all Beatlemania. I mean, I'm handsome and everything, but normally I inspire disgust in the ladies not excitement. It turned out they were barmy about a young woman sitting in the seat ahead of Mom. They took pictures with their phones and waved. The lady pulled her hat lower over her face. Mom was intrigued. Was that person famous? Hell if I knew. When was our soup coming? Days later, after some diligent detective work, Mom discovered that the person on the plane was none other than... RITA ORA.

"Huh?"

No, I don't know, either. But she's apparently such a big deal that she was allowed on a flight with us: MOM AND ME. You're welcome, Rita.

On our first day in Britannia, we sallied to Westminster Abbey wherein Mom aggravated a problem with her hip and her groin and her bowels and we spent the rest of the day in ER. We waited several hours and got some thoroughly polite medical care and paid not a ha'pence or quoit farthing! Mom had out her credit card, prepared to pay thousands. What's wrong with these people? WHY WON'T THEY TAKE MY MONEY?? First the driving on the wrong side and now this! In the end, Mom was rewarded with a walking stick and I got a candy cane (that's what they call Twizzlers in the UK).

From that point forward we took cabs everywhere. British Museum, Tower, and Harrod's twice to buy Mom some undies. She had forgotten to pack underwear, but at least remembered her passport. I tried very, very hard not to think about her underwear, surrounded as I was by high-rise thongs and lacy unmentionables. Mom found something approximate so at least she wouldn't have to wash her one pair in her hotel room sink every night. Eat your heart out, Rita!

Then we had High Tea. It was brilliant.

"I'm going to photograph you, my darlings.

And then... I'M GOING TO EAT YOU."

"Why isn't this taking a picture??

Wait, is this the on/off button?"

To enrich ourselves culturally, and generate some comedy, I dragged Mom to a local Malaysian restaurant. Because when in London... 

Mom surprised me by ordering the Sambal Udang Gatayang Aroo Booboo dinner. She was expecting noodles and shrimp, Perkins style. Instead.....

"It's not that bad, Mom. You look like you're dissecting a corpse."

"Careful, I think I saw that part move!!"

"Mmm-mmm, savor those meaty Gatayang parts!"

Mommy very sad. No likey weird garbage food.

Next Week: LONDON PART THREE! THE NEVERENDING TRIP!!!