Money, God, & Jamie Oliver

Michael & Barb,

Today was a bit different.  But it ended with a Michael favorite (as he will see).

It began with a late breakfast.  K & EH were up late watching *Revenge of the Siths* (Sky TV is showing all the Star War movies on a dedicated channel) & regaled me with their criticism of the direction & the acting, as well as the whole plotting.  No one was buying the motivation of Anakin to turn to the dark side.  Sigh.

Breakfast:

Then, eventually, off to the Museum of the London Docklands.  Which, unbelievably, is in the East End, in the Docklands.  Trivial fact: in 2000, in the first year of the London program, Collins, a young EH, and I were supposed to stay in a flat in the Docklands.  The agent, on the way there from the student hotel, took a call to find out the renter had decided to not move out that day and stay!  We stayed in Wapping (farther from downtown on the river) instead, but, upshot, never got to explore the area.  This is what it looks like from the light rail station:

Yes, there was money in these docks.  The exhibit indicated the earliest big money was made from the West Indies in sugar and slaves.  At one point in the 18th c, London was the largest slave market in the world.  & a quarter of the English economy came from trade with the islands. 

It wasn't until the middle 20th century that this international dominance subsided. 

From the docks we made our way west to St. Paul's cathedral, which we have visited before.  However, this time K wanted to sit through Evensong.  The best news about Evensong (for you non-Anglicans) is it was only 35 minutes long, with neither sermon nor Eucharist.  The downside is that it's like Legislative Assembly in that they give you a program but you still can't follow it. 

This is an illegal photo of the altar end (the west end) of the chapel. 

Your Sheldon Fun Facts for St. Paul's: there's been a church there from like 605.  The medieval cathedral was the largest wooden structure in Europe with the highest steeple.  Wooden.  The Great Fire of 1665 started about half a mile away and the church didn't survive.  The current structure was designed by the King's designer/architect Sir Christopher Wren (he also designed about 30 parish churches that were built after the fire in London).  The Wren design is one of only two domed cathedrals in England and one of the highest in the world.  It took 35 years to complete. 

If you look at this picture, you will notice a difference between it and the one of the west apse:

In the twentieth century, when they went to remodel and renovate, they found that the paint on the ceiling was 19th century and Wren's original design was more classical with lots of white.  The Victorians it seemed liked their embellishment, the design be damned! 

Then across the street to a Michael favorite -- Barbecoa, a Jamie Oliver restaurtant.  Of course there was lots of meat -- here's the 3 rib platter --

To the left is a St Louis style rib, on top, darkened, is a short rib, and beneath is a spare rib.  Meeeeeat! My cardiologist would be so proud.

Today's EH moment: "Of course, you get that kind of meat at a place called Barbecoa."  Why?  "You know that's the origin of the word barbeque?  From some tribe Columbus eradicated."  Right.  Like we knew. :)

And then dessert.  The thing on the right is sticky toffee pudding, there was some mention of bourbon in the toffee sauce...on the left is merely white chocolate cheesecake with a macaron.

And then, after a stop to buy tickets on the train for tomorrow, back to the flat in the rain.  In London! who knew?!?!?!?  Hope for decent weather tomorrow.  I promise neither good weather nor quality food porn from the provinces (as it's known here).

Episode III: Bad Kids on Pilgrimage

Today, we went to Canterbury.

But, first...one of several funny anecdotes from the day: K and I went & picked up pastries but the "Pret" (a FF breakfast place) got my order wrong -- instead of a pain au raisin, an almond croissant (afficionados will recognize they aren't interchangeable).  So, when we arrived at Victoria Station, I thought I would grab one (pain au raisin) before we got on the train.  We quickly purchased our tickets, found our platform and were at the turnstile when I said "we have 3 minutes, I can grab a pastry."  EH said "I thought you might have said THIRTY minutes"...LOL.  I got the pastry (a stand was next to the turnstile), but the tickets didn't open the turnstile & we ended up needing an attendant to open another door to let us through.  Meanwhile, the voice overhead said "the doors on platform 3 are about to close..." I jumped into the first door, then turned and K & EH made it just as the door slammed shut.  K gave me the knife eyes for part of the trip toward Canterbury.

We knew we were in the right place when we saw this:

That's the knight on the right, several nun's priests in the foreground, and a falconer in the background -- the reeve?  And, in the background, that's the great Westgate (of the medieval wall) into town.

So, it's almost noon by the time we get to town (doesn't the sunlight - yes! sunlight in England in December! - look like mid-day? :)) so we decide to have lunch before going to the Cathedral.  Bad move.

For two reasons: first, although EH chose Moroccan cuisine (the lamb and tabouli salad is pictured),

but before we had gotten our drinks there was a series of bangs at a nearby table (we were in the basement) and it turned out a customer had fallen and hit her head.  So, as we sat through lunch, EMTs came, then another set...we know "June" is 84, what her meds are, how much pain she was in and where (they asked repeatedly) and she's 84.  Her next of kin...her date of birth -- you get the idea.  No, we don't know if she turned out all right or not...you get it.

We walk the two blocks to the gate to the Cathedral and...they were closing?!?!?!?  A sign said that on Dec 29 they were closing at 1:30 for....a 3 o'clock service! Whoops.  WE are allowed onto the grounds, but not inside!

So we walked around.  The entry gate is on the southwest corner.  We walked around the outside and through the Dean's close on the north side and there was a list of services at the base of the Dean's stairs.  So we took the stairs and came in through the north door -- causing EH to say "you all are bad kids."  Clearly, she was NOT along, too. :)

We saw the inside, in some hurry, as they were herding people out the south door, but saw the main events, including the spot where Thomas a Becket was murdered in 1170.  Back in Michael's day. & were hurriedly ushered out. I was back in someone's good graces after sneaking in.

We went to the cathedral shop (of course there's a huge one, right?) but EH & I were disappointed you could buy neither vials of Thomas's blood nor a piece of a finger.  What kind of relics are we talking here, anyway?!

And then a long, tricky walk back to the other railroad station (yes, Canterbury needs two!) because, nearby was this castle --

You know, just a little thing thrown up by Willy the Conqueror to help protect the country he'd just won in battle.  Now almost 950 years later, it's still standing.

Then back to London and the flat.

For dinner, we went to a Michael Fav -- Zizzi's.  EH calls it "institutional Italian."  Here's the bruschetta

-- which you can see is better than institutional.

Tomorrow is London cultural sightseeing and gourmet dining.  Preview: serious food porn tomorrow. I think one of the specialities is pork belly on the side on everything (I think including dessert).  You know, everything is better with high end bacon.

And now, for those wondering about whether I have been ground into the English turf more than last time, my Fitbit's step counter screenshot.  Notice the neat pattern...):  Just sayin'...

Episode II: The Tourists Awaken

So, M & B --

Today, we got around "early."  Michael time.  We finished breakfast at Natural Kitchen (I was told for the last time) -- EH had porridge -- around 11.

The EH of the morning (a good example of the phenomenon) was: free range chickens eat more worms so protein, which means their yolks are a brighter yellow than those that are just grain fed.

Huh. (you can imagine the conversation before this tidbit)

Then to the Tate Britain ("home of the Turners"), which I did not get to visit in May-June.  This is EH's picture from there --

Having fumbled around with my Oyster card (the refillable pass for the Tube & bus), we taxied to Westminster Abbey and stood where I took this picture, waiting to pay 20 to get in -- this is the north side & if you know about such churches, you know the west end is where the big glass window is and the altar is in the east nave.

Here's illegal picture of the inside of the Abbey.

You can see the two Christmas trees, the garland on the pillars, and even a bit of the manger scene.  Illegal, though, remember. :)

Then, to the Cellarium, which is in the Abbey close, for high tea.  How "in the abbey"?

High Tea took forever (literally, over an hour) to deliver, and Jude Law never showed up as puffed by the web review ):  But the tea tray was pretty impressive, don't you think?

K & EH ate the cucumber sandwiches first (I HATE cucumber) -- we agreed the quiche and the clotted cream were the highlights.  The brownie (tier 2) was serviceable.

Then off to the play -- Terence Ratigan's *Harliquinade* starring Kenneth Branagh.  I suspect he called Michael for tips on how to play a "veteran" actor.  He was quite good and the play, which a review said was like "Noises Off", is a piece of fluff that is full of funny timings and lines from the wrong place -- they are rehearsing *Romeo & Juliet* and Branagh's character, the Romeo, becomes a grandfather during the play! He admits at one point he can't even see how it works.

With a post-procedure new record for steps (Michael will recognize May all over again) in the books, we go on to episode III -- out of town.

Episode I...in a country far, far away

So, it's time for another S road trip, but this time with a new set of sidekicks -- how did that work out for Bob Hope? -- but back to a familiar city -- London.

But this blog is about our Road to Morocco buddies, Michael and Barb, who sang along (Michael ALWAYS sings along...or alone) in our first big adventure in summer '14.  Here's the obligatory Bob & Bing screen shot (remember -- I'm the good looking, funny one who DOESN'T sing :) --



First, the point needs to be made: we flew the same airline Michael flew in May and June and WE HAD SEATS!!!  He'll know what I mean (and there are counter people at both JFK and Gatwick who'll know too :))

Second, I arranged a flat with the person who supplies them for the student program Michael and I have been a part of for some years.  It's less than a block from Baker Street tube station -- very convenient -- and it reminds us of Michael because he stayed in this building in 2012 and we visited and stayed here.  Well, technically, in the flat directly above the one we are in.  A nice two bedroom flat with two bathrooms for the 3 of us.  We think of this as "Michael's flat."


Third, we ate lunch at Natural Kitchen, a couple blocks from the flat (the great thing about staying in this area is there is lots to do nearby, like eat and a movie theatre, grocery stores, etc), which Michael and I ate at twice in the spring and he approved.  Here's dessert, a chocolate tart with toffee ice cream.  (Food porn #1)

Finally, after we all caught up on our sleep -- the hour on the plane didn't seem enough -- we went to a Michael favorite for dinner -- Wagamama's.  It is 50+ degrees here (like home), so nice weather for the .6 mile walk.  There EH (the nickname for these initials will be apparent by the end of this blog) had this -- chicken ramen with spicy chili:

And that's day one.  Day two is full-packed, so be ready, M &B!

The End & Still No Bill Nighy (and it's still "just 4 blocks")

So, dear Reader, we are at the end of another S & H adventure.  No, we never found the right French bistro in London where our friend Bill Nighy hangs out (he only finished in New York this week, so we didn't have much time), but it was still a pretty good trip.

First, M and I had breakfast "out" for the first time.  I had the vegetarian (yes, again, but a different restaurant, which those with half an eye and memory will notice) --



At one point he turned and asked "where do you think the waitress is from?"  I think this was based on her accent.  I responded, "London."  He thought was so funny.

Then he AGAIN wanted to walk the "only 4 blocks" to Oxford St.  I convinced him we were going all the way to Oxford Circus so he should ride the bus.  He conceded.

After shopping, and finishing packing, he was like a caged tiger, pacing the flat.  I asked J if she had some pharmaceuticals that would help.  Then he (kindly, if not impatiently) carried BOTH my bag and his downstairs (a concession to my not supposed to lift much yet).

The students, to their good, were ready in time and we were on the coach early.  It took 2 hours to get to the airport.  Requisite inside of coach picture.  Rah rah.


But life got more interesting in the airport; M had no ticket and I had TWO!  I checked in, my big bag was .3 of a kg below the limit, and was ready to go to security.  Nope, they weren't getting him on the plane!  The person at Norwegian (motto: least helpful airline in Europe) sent us into a long queue (a British term for sheep) at the "service center."  Seems a plane to Faro (where?) was cancelled and they were reworking itineraries.  One couple in line next to us was happy about staying at the airport hotel and getting voucher for hotel food!  SMN!

The woman, Naomi, at the service desk was great.   She called Norwegian three times, including once having them on two phones at once.  She told the second answerer "don't put me on hold...at least not for more than two minutes"...ten minutes later the line hung up on her!  Naomi was NOT happy.  M was chuckling at her.  She said "this should take 5 minutes, but they have us locked out for some reason."  Finally, she got through and zap! It was done.  He was checked through, no extra charge and has a ticket.

One of the students got in trouble "" with her carry-on -- it was overweight.  We waited on her to get through and went through security.  I was held up by my mini iPad -- this is my 6th time through security in 2 weeks and the first time they've pulled it -- and then I stopped in Duty Free for our driver tonight.

Then M disappeared.  The student with the overweight bag said "he lost his ticket."  !!!  As he's said "took all that to get it and just left it on a bench."  The guard had it for him, so he's okay.  But it was a moment of stress.  So...

The plane is on time.  We are leaving London.  The H's are back in December (some didn't get their vacation 4 weeks ago due to "extraordinary circumstances"), but S is making noises about "I don't know."

And, with that, I wish my Reader good life, heart health, and safe travels.#

A Day at the Races

Okay, today, I went to the races.  I went to Epsom.  Tomorrow is "the Derby" (pronounced "Darby") which Lord Derby started in 1780 under an oak tree in Epsom.  His horse won the first one, anyway.

So, like tracks all over Britain and the States, the day before the big 3-year-old race (sometimes with a filly -- I was at the Kentucky Derby the year, 1980 or 81, when the last one won), the 3-year-old fillies run in an "Oaks," named after Lord Derby's tree. 

Today was the Oaks.  I went, had a seat (didn't imagine I could stand the 5 hours -- I covered 11,400 steps today -- "heart healthy" plus), and had fun.  

But, before getting there, I had an misadventure (feel free to say "of course").  I left the flat hoping to get the 1120 train out of London Bridge station.  London Bridge is 6 stops away on the Jubilee line (the fastest one in London Tube).  I got there about 5 after and looked at the board that said "1120 to Tattenham Corner [the racetrack]" with the platform indicated as "-".  I ran and got brunch (a delicious bacon toastie [irony sign].  Came back and still no platform.  

1120 came and no platform yet.  And then it disappeared!  F***.

I asked an attendant and he nicely told me to go into the other hall and look. 

The other hall, it turns out, was upstairs and around the corner.  I was sure I missed it.

I never saw a sign with a platform, but then I saw the sign over Platform 15 (I had been standing at platforms 1 through 3) that said "1120 Tattenham Corner" and many people were going through the turnstile to it.  I followed.  The train wasn't quite full (it filled at the first stop), but I made it.  You know, Brit Rail, no problem being like 6 minutes late.  But I made it.

Now, here's the shot from my seat, including the friend I made there. 

As you can see, we were NOT alone.  Far from it.

Ladies Day at Epsom is famous for its hats.  Here's the link for photos with LOTS of hats (my wife asked about a certain woman and I responded "what bosom?"). 

I cashed a show ticket (i.e. money back, but not much) on the first race.  

It went that way the rest of the day.  It was tough getting to bet -- here's the hall under the grandstand (yes, there are a lot of people, many in fascinators [our word for the day] there).  

You will note that almost all these people have drinks.  MY drink highlight (theres a picture somewhere, but can't get it from my phone to the gallery) of the day, for my daughter, who loves Pimms (I'm not sure why; for those of you who don't know, it's gin-based but with something like a licorice taste) is this guy carrying a cooler of Pimms on his back -- making drinks with a hose and a tray of fruit around his waist.  Ponder THAT.

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Here's a shot from near the track of the horses going by.

Here's an entertaining tidbit -- see the line to the women's room.

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See two women in the men's room.  Yes, really.  Is there a correlation between alcohol intake and this?

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The big race, the Oaks, was won by a 50:1 shot, Qualify, who beat the favorite by a nose with a burst in the stretch.  Do I need to tell you I didn't have Qualify?  and I *had* the favorite?  Ah, well...

One last picture here -- here's my seat.  The three women next to me were fun -- the one next to me, Lara, spent some time in Rochester.  She had the winner in the 4th race, a 7:1 shot, and was pretty intense rooting it down the home stretch.  

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Then back to London (it was an hour ride each way, plus a '10 minute walk' [the racetrack used M distance in calculating this] from station to track]) and a final spaghetti dinner, fixed by J, at the student flat.  I have no usable pictures of that.  

Home, now, tired.  With part of a day in London before a 1 o'clock coach trip to Gatwick.  Wish us well.  I plan one more before leaving.#

Wickedly Tired

We are getting to the end.  Today's blog will be short -- and maybe a bit less exciting.  We have not had a quality jewel for some days.

Maybe first off for your amusement is an email from our landlord saying the students had generated complaints about their partying late into the night.  When we brought this up, they were all "it's not so bad, they complain over nothing."  Sigh.

Next, the airline seems to move around our departure time daily.  We were at 1630 at one point this week, but are now back to 1830.   We arrive at JFK at 2130.  I can't do the math.  Is it uphill?  Clearly one airport or another keeps moving them -- it's the same plane back and forth.

After class, M and I tried a new lunch spot, Natural Kitchen.  He had the tuna salad.

Then we went shopping.

Today's M highlight was about walking.  Today I hit 13,700 steps (the pedometer indicator stops at 10,000 for "active" but keeps counting).  I suggested getting the bus right outside of the restaurant but he said "it's ONLY four blocks."  I grunted.  Maybe it was "only."  He admitted later it was "maybe over four" (how many more?).  Yes, it's tricky with a notion of a limit (my body tells me if the pedometer doesn't) and he's been good about asking but he's not good on planning -- that "extra" 4 blocks was a big part of the "extra" 3,700 for active.  Thus, I write now (at 5:20 AM EDT), not last night.

We went into Harrod's.  M had a shopping list from home.  Something about props for a play. Uh huh.  This is the outside of Harrod's, which has its  own Tube stop.  There are no inside pictures.  It is a maze.  And nothing is on sale.  They have almost everything, but nothing's cheap.  Everything I looked at was overpriced.  I left purchasing nothing.  M had a bagful of stuff.

Then we went to Wicked.  Here's the marquee at night (if you know the show, you know why the green).

And here's the stage before they come on.  As you can see, we were almost in the last row.  The seats were more comfortable than the night before at Elephant Ears.

I hate musicals.  And this one just reinforced it.  M said the music was good; I thought the songs insipid ("I'm popular, yes I'm popular...woo woo").

The students seemed to love it, though all who had seen the Broadway version thought it superior.  Good to know.

Then, a late supper.  It's a chain called Giraffe (they don't actually serve it and they seem to be South American, which makes no sense, but there you have it).  M had the unusual offering of jambalaya risotto with three meats (prawns, chicken, chorizo) and it was pretty spicy.  He enjoyed it.  Almost licked the bowl.

Then home, to bed, awakened at 6 GMT by thunder.  But that's cleared for race day!  Wish me well and that I don't hear M singing "there's a horse right here, his name is Paul Revere...can do..."#

Day 10: Elephant Day -- Seeing, Remembering, Tramping

Oh, patient (and, as you will become aware, dwindling) Reader, we are coming to the close of our adventure.  In part because the trip is almost over, in part because our Publisher (a hard-nosed business person and friend of Sepp) is threatening to pull the plug on us.  You see Reader-ship has been down to a trickle, down from the high water mark of the War & Peace homage of Friday from Paris.  The Publisher wants me to bump it up; you see, our sponsors, Float-ee-o's & Starbucks (motto: To show you're addicted, we have a shop in every city in Europe), need more numbers.

So, Readers, tell your friends.  Or at least your family.

I must begin with Elephant Man.  Because...

You have to know we had awful seats.  We got them cheaply, which is good, and both J and most of the students were SOOOOOO enthused about "seeing" Bradley Cooper.  But from where we sat, it could have been Sheldon Cooper on stage.  It was the singular most uncomfortable seat I've ever sat in, too -- a plank for my backside (a rather narrow one at that) and, of course, no leg room.  I spent the 2+ hours between leaning forward on my knees (in part because I had to look significantly down to see the stage) and straight back with my arms crossed.  There were no arm rests to speak of.

The play is "episodic," to quote M.  It seems to have no clear point, other than to give the lead actor a chance to do some physical acting -- and bit with his voice.  Not sure if the play is supposed to be about our general lack of charity, or our lack of understanding of our fellows, or what, but whatever, the play failed to give you much, other than some decent performances.  Including Cooper's.

The students ('cept one) ran to the back door, as did J.  C'est la vie.

But (working backwards) before Sheldon Cooper's brother on stage, we went to that traditional London restaurant of my family -- Wagamamas.   It was recommended some years ago (10?) by a colleague from LHU -- a recommendation that is not far off from recommending Applebee's in the states.  Not quite, but it's not Jamie Oliver's.

But it is rather fun.  You see, it's "Japanese style," by which they seem to mean you eat at a long mess table, like a diner there's an open window to the kitchen/cooking area, and the wait staff take your order but it comes out as it's prepared -- so you might get the main course BEFORE the pot stickers.  They do some curry, some blah blah noodles, and, the dish first recommended to me, their curried chicken over starched rice.  Below.

Now, timeline back again, (this is an attempt at Post-Modernism, to try to bump up the audience of intellectual Readers)...

After class, I decided to go back to the scene of our first year's trip: Wapping.  In 2000, the other M and I brought 11 students (is that kismet?) but we stayed in Wapping (on the river, 10 tube stops from where we are now) and the students stayed in central London.  Today, for the first time since then, and since the OM's death in '09, I visited the place.  There's our place on the corner on the 2nd floor (in England, the first), with the blue balcony.  As you can see, it overlooked this park/garden.

Wapping isn't even the "east end" of town (as it's a mile or so east of the Tower), but I jumped on the 100 bus (like old times) and headed to Aldgate, where I began exploring the east side.  I started with Brick Lane, which is the title and the setting of a contemporary novel I may well teach next spring.  Here's the entrance -- it's a very Indian/Pakistani/Bangladeshi area -- not at all the white district we are living in.   Every one of the many restaurants had some variation of Indian food, or, as Raj says, "food."

Then I jumped another bus to "Bank" (I thought I had a picture), which is the Bank of England, with the Royal Exchange next door.  I followed for way too many steps a map of Wren churches in that area (which used to be known as East London, but as the city has spread many miles farther east, that seems a misnomer).  Sir Christopher Wren is famous for designing St. Paul's Cathedral (London), with its famous dome.  But he also designed like 20 other churches in the City (the cap means something, if you don't know) after the Great Fire in 1666.  He was a neoClassicist, or Palladian (is there a difference?), so his churches are quite different from the Gothic structures we visited in Paris and Rouen.  Here's a shot of the Monument, which is supposedly on the spot where the fire started (in Pudding Lane, if you believe that).

I didn't walk that far.   I set a new record for steps today.  Not a smiley face.  It's not really good, unless you like the "doesn't kill you makes you stronger" idea.  I don't.

Next was St. Mary Woolnath, which was by Wren's rival Hawksworth.

You will see how tight the modern roads are to the churches, which are all still in use today.

Then past the Royal Exchange, here...

Up a few blocks to the city hall -- the Guildhall (you can tell it's been around awhile with however many types of architecture) --

St. Lawrence Jewry is right next to the Guildhall.

Then like four blocks to St. Mary Le Bow -- known as Bow Bells.   One definition of cockney is living within the sound of Bow Bells.

Now past tired, I climbed a bus to Oxford Circus and another to Haymarket, where M and J awaited for dinner.  Okay, not actually.  The Wagamamas at Haymarket was closed, so I drug my weary bones to Leicester Square (not far, but more steps than my weary feet and legs wanted to do) for dinner. 

And, to continue backwards down memory lane, I started the day by going "out" again (I have run out of coffee in the flat), today, for old time's sake, to the Pret-a-Manger.  When I started coming to London in '97 for research, I thought these were a great English innovation -- if you would, a Dunkin Donuts that served croissants (and fruit).  Their coffee was just okay (there are better shops these days, including our sponsor, Starbucks).  But today I made the 1900 step journey to there and had this heart healthy (clearly, this needs definition) breakfast.

Tomorrow is our last class day.  M is taking half the class to talk about "musical theatre."  The other M rolls in his urn.

Farewell, faithful Readers, and remember to forward this link to your friend. #

12 Degrees (C) & Wet in London and the new additions to the flat

Okay, great Reader, I need to warn you there is no picture link today.  You will get all the pictures; London was NOT scenic today (it has days).  It was chilly and wet and windy here today.  We came for the weather, right?

But there will be food pics.  Porn is in the eye of the beholder, so I won't label them as such.

Earliest, for the first time since arriving, I went to the sandwich shop less than a block from the flat and had an English breakfast.  Back when I first came to Britain, Jimmy Carter was President, if that helps you date it, I thought a full English breakfast was as good as their cuisine got (okay, fish and chips were pretty good, too, then...now out of date).  So, here's my "heart healthy variation" (the board called it the "Vegetarian" -- none of the three kinds of meat I could have had).  And, yes, I like beans.

And then back to the flat to "the kid."  (Since I'm not using names here, I won't use hers)

The kid is 8 going on 15.  She's pretty cute and still thinks getting a Build-a-Bear is the cat's pajamas.  She also think it is good to call me nicknames like "Trouble."  In return, I hid her laptop for awhile (not long) this morning.  Yes, I can be THAT childish.

The kid's funniest comment du jour, and I think it'll be long-lasting, is an abusive overuse of the word literally.  As the sagacious Reader will remember, dictionaries began to change the accepted meaning of this word not long ago.  Here's your link.  The kid literally uses it so often that it is literally mind-boggling.  I told her I was going to charge her 10p every time she said it; I was up 50p by the time we left an hour later for class.  (She did NOT confirm this bet, BTW)

After class, M walked my book up the 55 steps to the flat (I'd done it already once and it takes me a good 5...maybe 10 minutes to catch my breath afterwards; M is still amused that one day [inspired by the play we had just seen] I fell on my knees on the landing of flats 3 & 4 and prayed that we be in one of those.  It is a prayer I repeat frequently; tonight, in the final trip up the stairs for the day, I didn't make it to the second level before wishing to be staying in the lower flats) and then we took the Tube to Southwark, which M had never done, and walked to the Globe Theatre for the afternoon production of King John.  If you aren't up on your Shakespeare, King John is not in the top ten most likely Shakespeare plays to be produced, yet M and I have now seen 3 productions!

We had seats this time (the group came as groundlings earlier -- you see the people standing in the picture -- that's where the proletariat saw plays from in Will's time.  But M's view was restricted.  This led to jokes about "looking wooden," "that actor being a blockhead," etc.  But M liked the production, which was quite interestingly designed (as you can see from the picture, with the forward thrust [it's not usually there]).  By the way, the picture is contraband; M got busted for taking one next to me. :)

Then we got home, changed for formal afternoon tea, and had to take a taxi (no longer proles) to get there by our reservation time, and then sat.

For those of you uninitiated, afternoon tea is one of those things the English claim as iconic in their culture.  This would be "high tea," meaning you get sandwiches along with cakes and your "tea."  M had his usual Earl Gray and I had my usual decaf coffee.  I show the tray -- again, this picture is contraband.  Three years ago Mrs M was taking pictures of their offering and the waiter busted her -- thus the "memorial restaurant" line in last night's blog (an inside joke, I'm afraid).

We agreed on several things: one, that we weren't fans of the whole thing as produced here (at the Wolseley, which is across a small street from the Ritz...yes, the real one in London); two, that the lemon cake (closest to you on the 2nd tier) was the single best thing on the tray; three, if we came back, instead of this full thing, we would go for just the scones (on top), which come, of course (this is part of the whole thing) with clotted cream and strawberry preserves.  So much to remember.

There was a discussion of what clotted cream really was.  It was determined it was definitely NOT heart healthy.  I pointed out I was getting my vegetable du jour from the celery sandwich (2nd from right), so...that mattered less.  I refused to eat the fingers (yes, it is at least the third time today I've made that joke -- I like dead horses -- and, no, curious Reader, that ISN'T finger in the first sandwiches on the right).  And then M finished the experience with "I don't think this is my cup of tea."  Rim shot.

We are running out of days.  It is to be similar weather tomorrow.  The supposed highlight is seeing Bradley Cooper (who?) in Elephant Man.  This is good news or bad news: it's a one-hander, as they call it in the thee-ay-ter, so there'll be A LOT of Bradley Cooper.  And we might have seats so high up (as we have before in the Royal Haymarket, the third oldest theatre in London, circa 1720 -- it's big) that he could be anyone on stage.  Which might put a damper on enthusiasm for the experience.

Countdown is now 3 days.  Sigh.  Ah, well, good news is it will be good to be home, be it ever so crumbled (that is literally the cliche, right?).#

Antibes, Cannes, beyond, and back

So, perspicacious Reader, here we are at the end of our long weekend in France.  There is plenty of scenery porn (SP) in this, and little FP.   We have reservations tomorrow at what is known as the "Barb Memorial Restaurant," so FP lovers may be somewhat satisfied then.

The day began with this view and breakfast in the hotel's restaurant.  Yes, it was nice in the south of France today.

Upon checking out, we asked the woman at the counter if the Picasso museum was open and we were told that such things aren't typically open on Mondays (it wasn't); neither was the 17th c. fort there.  To which the woman said, "They are either closed, or on strike.  That's France."  M cracked up like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.  I said "Vive la France" and she repeated it.

Oh, for those long-time Readers, the standard "I am in the water" photo.  It was warmer there than in Oregon, soCal, or most anywhere else I've done this the last year.

Then we weaved our way to Cannes (which is west, toward Spain, from Nice and Antibes [where we stayed last night], ignoring "Ken," who didn't want to take the coast road, and getting this view as one of our benefits.

Then to Cannes, which is touristy.  Here's the link so you can see all the photos, including several of the big hotels there on the promenade and the film festival hall ("palais").  

From there, up to the Musee Castre, which is an old fort and overlooks the city.  One pic shows the walkway up (just so you know what HE's putting me through) and here's the view from there --

Is that enough of the gorgeous views?

Well, okay, here's the one from outside Theoule-sur-Mer (still west of Cannes, if you are following), where we had lunch.  This is where we stopped going west (as you can see, the top of a grade) and stopped in Theoule for lunch.  M said something about buying a place in the area and this one looked "okay." :)

And here's my lunch, fish soup.  A bowl.  okay, it's  tureen.  With cheese and croutons (yes, those are the croutons).  Right on the water (you know, 'mer' means something like sea in French...I hear).

And then to Nice airport, searching desperately for a gas station (Ken was not helpful and we saw two on opposite sides of the road we couldn't quite get to), then to through security and !!!! our flight was late.  M pointed out the irony of us being over an hour early for a delayed flight and yesterday we were ten minutes late for one that went on time.  BTW, both were full, and so was the next plane out of Nice and a plane that left right before ours to Stanisted (another London airport).  Our flight was overbooked and they offered 200Es (that's about $220) if you volunteered to change flights, but that meant a night in Nice (could be worse) but an early morning (might kill M) and missing class tomorrow.

And, for those of you who want to know, M followed a night with like 5 hours sleep with a night of 10 1/2 hours sleep.  And I woke him, unpurposefully, by turning on the shower lights (there was no door...yes, the hotel room was nice [OMG! again?] but had quirks, like the no door to tub and shower (commode and bidet were in a different room with a door) AND the rain forest shower.  M said he was glad now he didn't put one in the new house they are building.

And now for the morbid joke du jour: by the time we got through Cannes we decided to come back for longer with our spouses.  He said "we could do this AFTER the rest of California trip" (we want to complete last summer's journey from Seattle to San Fran by going from San Fran to Tijuana).  I responded "given our age and condition, should we make long-term plans?"  He laughed and laughed and said that was funny.   I told him because it was so true.

The other recurring joke, which I have to work in somewhere, was about Morocco.  As we keep humming, and M keeps singing the open bars, or some bars, or in some bars, the Bing and Bob "Road to Morrocco" song, I kept saying that in the south of France "we aren't that far away."  I kept saying that piece of land out there was Morocco.  I was told, repeatedly, that it was one big sea and I wasn't seeing it.  It was today's Starbucks joke (there's one in Antibe, by the way).  But he kept singing "we're on the way to Morocco..."  Uh huh.  Poor Bob and Bing.

Tomorrow in London.  A play at the Globe and dinner reservations.  The weather here sucks: we left with it in the low 50s and raining and returned from Nice (where it was 80 and sunny) to 55 and windy and some spitting participation.  I tell students constantly that they don't come here for the weather.  How true.

Until then. #