We're in London!

London: that's me on the right

Heathrow only returned two of Burbank's bags. They probably thought the life-size metal sculpture of a cat skeleton in the largest piece of luggage was a joke. In fact, it probably was a joke. Burbank says he would have loved to see their little faces as the luggage went through the x-ray machine. I told him he couldn't eat his cake and have it too. Burbank asked if I meant that he couldn't donate beautiful sculptures to the London Gallery and use them for cheap airport gags too. I told him that's right.

My agent, Lenore, was waiting for us downstairs in the meet and greet area. She's young and hip and has two-tone hair and always wears a flower behind her ear. Always. I think we'll probably get married some day.

I hadn't told Lenore that Burbank was coming on the trip. I guess I wanted it to be a surprise. I had to explain to her why he was coming on the book tour. You see, as I mentioned, he's also a writer, and is part of a critique group called The Penned Antics. They told him that a key part of being a writer is noticing stuff. Like when a bee almost flies in your ear, your whole body goes goose-pimply, stuff like that. But they say—well, mostly just this skuzzy bloke called Nicky Drendle—he says that Burbank's not particularly good at noticing stuff. That he needs to live life before he can write about it. So when I said I'm going on this tour, he thought, brilliant, I shall travel the world to notice things and become a successful author like Milo.

I'm sure he'll be the best noticer ever by the end of the month.