August 31st, 1990
Night flight from BOS – LHR
Queen Lizzie is once again up front, where I just came from (yummy biscuits!) Most of the First Class passengers are asleep but not mum, who not only has Hubert at her beck and call but apparently the Captain has invited her to sit on the flight deck for landing into Heathrow. Nice!
Anytime Millie and I do a trip together, we splurge on room service, but I knew mum would enjoy going out for breakfast, which of course was ample and delicious. From the diner, we walked to a wondrous place called the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, where, earlier this year (according to Millie) a couple of guys posing as police officers managed to talk their way into the museum late at night, tied up the two security guards and proceeded to steal several priceless paintings, the frames of which we saw hanging empty today.
We were in our element wandering through each of the exquisitely decorated rooms, filled to the brim with the treasures Mrs. Gardner acquired from all over the world, now housed in a replica of a Venetian palazzo, which from the outside didn’t look that impressive, until we stepped inside and began to experience the most magical place.
Stepping back into the sunny afternoon, we felt slightly dazed from all we’d seen and eagerly took Millie up on her suggestion to head to the water front. Took the tube, known as the T, to State Street and walked from there to the expansive harbour, where we took a cruise and listened to some guy with what I assume is a Boston accent regale us with tales of the Boston Tea Party, which sounded nothing like the way we pronounce, “party.”
Regardless of Mr. Boston’s incessant talking, the cool breeze felt amazing and the view was pretty fantastic.