Things we like to eat in London: Clotted Cream, in all its incarnations

Like just the regular rich clotted cream, with scones of course, or Waitrose clotted cream ice cream and strawberries, or M&S clotted cream milk with wild Italian strawberries. It just goes perfectly with the English summer.

Summer Time!

Summer finally arrived. We ventured out to the Golders Green park to make a teepee, catch some bugs, and eat carrot cake next to Anna Pavlova's London residence (in the 20s that is). Pavlova lived in Hampstead for 20 years before she died at nearly 50 in 1931. Her old house, the Ivy House, where she lived with her manager and pet swans, now offers ballet classes.

Strange large fire balls flying over Hampstead

Approximately 10pm and suddenly the sky is filled with bright glowing objects. There must be at least fifty of them. They glide silently towards the Heath and then quickly disappear. Did we witness a UFO sighting or just a fabulous Chinese flying lanterns display? In either case, it was pretty cool.

Maga Bo inspiring us to see more of the world

Few new Bo music and videos. Every time Bo passes by, wherever we are, Kai always wants to follow. It's the appeal of a raw adventure.

Glamour Night

Rio made her first catwalk appearance last Friday during the Glamour Night charity event. She quickly decided that she likes it better than reading, math, swimming or even tennis. Unfortunately my camera didn't cooperate for the "it" moment. But, then I got another chance when she took Ila for a quick trial run. Apparently there is a professionally produced DVD of this event somewhere out there, which we'll try to get.



However her modeling aspirations are not clouding over her school progress. This is from her last spelling test. She was even sent over to the principal's office - luckily only to get a special spider stamp.

And just like that our Parisian baby turns 2 in London

aqaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaws...that's Ila's comment on Rio's lack of humour at the end of the party.

Finally!

After nearly two years of anticipation - Rio finally loses her first tooth!

Needless to say she's on cloud 9.

Isle of Skye and Highlands highlights

Scotland - a land of glens and lochs, whisky and long-haired cows. This is how the media represents Scotland. But when you immerse yourself in this austere land, where the radio plays exclusively a grate and drone of bag-pipes, you'll slowly also come to appreciate the Black Face and his pivotal role in shaping Scotland.



No. We're not referring to this guy.

The Black Face has a crooked horn; sometimes two. He is unclean. He speaks rarely, and in monosyllables; ruminating rather on the theatre of his destruction: a wasteland far and wide. Entire mountains bleak, valleys brown, not a tree as far as the eye can see, no blade of grass that his tongue hasn't caressed and tooth torn.

Once upon a time there were nymphs and glades that comprised Scotland. Such pockets can still be found where barriers have been built against the Black Face and his ladies. From time to time a Scotsman ventures forth and grabs a Black Face by the horn, dragging him kicking back to the chopping block. And the axe will come summarily down on his neck. On that night we'll have a good bit of haggis.

But the trees won't grow in any case - there are simply to many millions of Black Faces around.