Remember that part at the beginning of War of the Worlds when there are all those crazy flashes in the sky and the people sneak out of their houses slowly and tentatively to look at them? That was today, in a nutshell. The sun came out. We all emerged from our flats with cautious, skeptical faces. Should it really be sunny in London? Come on. How long can this last? Seriously, the jig is up. What is this, some cosmic prank?
But it wasn't. And before you knew it, lots of really unattractive English people were wearing short shorts and taking their shirts off. Spring officially sprung today, and I have a rosy head to prove it.
We took a trip to Greenwich, which features a large ship called the Cutty Sark, a flea-ish sort of market, one of Elizabeth I's houses, and the Greenwich clock observatory at the top of a beautiful green mount. We saw all of those things, and I drank a can of Orange Tango. I like Orange Tango. It's like Orange Crush, but a little less white trashy, you know? 
We crammed on a bus and sweated our way through Deptford. There were a few rounds of 'guess my middle name.' Jamie, Morgan, Whitney, and co took a million pictures of themselves in various poses along the Pier. Luke got yelled at by some angry black girls on the train, but then made friends with them. Jason and I had a nice pub meal together and reminisced about life on Fir Avenue. Everyone did their thing, and everyone enjoyed the sun.
At dusk, Mark and I tossed a frisbee in Hyde Park. A dog named Roxie chased the frisbee as it flew from hand to hand, and when she finally caught it, she filled the inner lip with slobber. When the sun went down we headed back, sated with the feeling that we enjoyed it while we had it.
