So long, Islington

We had a good life in the Lower Holloway area of Islington. Bobby's nursery was very close, and many kids living in our building also attended. His best friend lived in the same building. There were many cafes, all of which knew how to make babycinos (ingredients consist of foamed milk and some chocolate powder), including one on the ground floor of our building.

Some of the last few babycinos at the New Zealand-style cafe, Sacred, on the ground floor of our building; since the hamburger restaurant across the square closed, Sacred became a de facto hangout for the local gangs of small children.

King's Cross was two stops away on the Piccadilly. This area north of the station was an old intermodal port, where goods could be transferred from train to ships on the Victoria Canal. The big brick building was grain storage but is now an art school with various restaurant chains on the ground floor. Next door are former coal storage buildings that now house a high-end shopping mall. In the summer, the huge splash pad was fun, and ice cream was plentiful. Some people miss the old days when the Victorian industrial buildings became disused and the area was full of nightclubs, prostitutes, and drug users, before all the capital got jammed in here.

Carrying a cotton shopping bag is super Islington. Reducing, reusing, and recycling are all the rage here. This is Bobby on the way home from the "shop," using the local argot for grocery store, which in this case was our nearby Tesco Metro.

A gang of marauding children (Bobby in the green John Deere hat) in the square in front of Sacred after being dismissed from nursery for the day.

One of the last dinners in Islington for these two best friends. In restaurants, they bounce around like ping pong balls. Earlier in the day we actually went to a trampoline park to try to harness some of that energy.

My mom, sister, and nephew came to visit London during our last few days there. They came to celebrate Bobby's birthday. They left the same day that our movers came to pack up our stuff and put it on the slow boat to Minneapolis. (That was a hectic day...) We also celebrated Christine's meritorious completion of her masters degree (party and cake arranged by Rachel) and made a short visit to a Victorian beach house on the Kentish coast, wherein it rained most of the time. I had a relapse of the illness in my head and had to be propped up during the trip like Bernie in Weekend at Bernie's. The short bout of illness aside, we had a lovely last few days in Islington. Rachel was having religious awakenings with her americanos at our local cafes, filled during the weekdays with children, young single parents, and others lucky enough to not be in some office on that day. Maybe Lincoln will grow up to be a Gunner (i.e., supporter of the local Islington football team, Arsenal). Come on you, gooners!

various children at home in the Islington flat; three matching shirts

Cousins at play in the Islington flat; it was tight quarters those days with so many Linges in one two-bedroom flat. A few nerves were frayed a few times. And apparently all the fun was had while wearing pajamas!

Lincoln, it's fine to be anti-Brexit at home, but you'd be well advised to avoid discussing it in public unless you want to get an earful: Islington, famous for being home to the so-called Champagne socialists, is strong Remain territory. This newspaper is from the Liberal Democrats, the only party united behind Remain. The real tragedy of Brexit is if all those London-based Italian restaurant proprietors have to leave: the panorama of regional Italian food on Islington's Upper Street will also be missed by us, as will Zia Lucia.

We rented a house on the shore in Hythe, Kent. The property was a lovely Victorian-era house, all fixed up with high quality fixtures and furnishings, except for a fish table that Bobby didn't really break so much as help put out of its misery. The sea was angry these days, my friends; this old house was sturdily built to stand up to those cold and wet English Channel winds and rain.

Mum and babe managed to have some beach fun, while Baba reposed inside. Check out that English beach, by the way. Cold seas and rocky beaches are as English as spotted dick and jellied eels.