Today for the first time, I went to the Natural History Museum in South Ken. Now I know -what? I've lived in London for over ten years and I've never set foot there? My excuses are that (a) I didn't grow up in London, childhood being prime visiting time for such places - and instead I was a regular visitor to the dinosaur exhibitions at Kelvingrove Gallery in Glasgow; and (b) I can't really understand west London, let alone that part of it. By saying 'not understanding' that is of course code for I can't understand what would make someone want to live there (ooh, controversial, I know). But undoubtedly the museums are great, so we headed off. And now I'm , thinking - why didn't I go before? The dinosaurs (and the especially, the living, breathing, T-rex) are just brilliant. George beamed and did his Nelly the Elephant dance when he saw the stuffed elephants, which made DH and I giggle and all was well with the world. George fell asleep in the car on the way home, wearing his bobble hat and clutching his new plastic diplodocus. I looked at him for a long time and realised that in such moments, I really am living the dream.