Invading Dublin (again?)

 Yo, Loyal Readers,

We’re back!  

The day began with an email from SAS saying our flight home was cancelled.  I got on the phone to their help number and waited almost an hour to talk to someone.  The music was to groove to, though, admittedly the 20th time your heard the same loop it was a bit overdone.  

I had 4 options ready if they were willing.  The first was in business class direct to Newark.  Sven, who answered the call, responded to that with a redirection play — through Charlotte.  I then went to option 2: direct to Philadelphia (possibly America’s most difficult airport in terms of service).  Sven had to leave me for a few moments, then came back and double-checked the flight number and said he could put us on that!  Hooray!  

It turned out better than the original plan. 

I met TK, Bitch & Mrs, and RR for breakfast.  The Lemon Jelly.  It was quite good.  2 for 2 on breakfasts here in Dublin. 

After seeing everyone else off to the airport, we headed toward the sites.  First we had another cup of coffee, this at Cafe Nero — a Starbucks similar chain.  Then off to Dublinia.

For those of you who don’t know, Dublin is a Viking city.  In the 9th century they settled here, where there wasn’t much, and first had a winter home, then a full-fledged establishment.  It wasn’t till the other Vikings, the Anglo-Normans, conquered them in the 12th c did the Vikings lose their command of the city. 

This is a prelude to the fact that our first excursion of the day was to Dublinia, an interactive Viking experience.  

This is, of course, Sven.  The guy who took my call at SAS this morning. :)

It was good, though a 3-story walk.  🥲

Here’s the highlight, if blogger.com will let me upload it. 

Then we tried to figure out how much was on our Leap cards (the public transit pass here), and found a shop that put 5€ on them for us.  It turned out to be just enough. 

Then we wanted a snack and RR saw this churro shop. 

Turns out churros are only a delivery system for that chocolate sauce on the side.  And the “Traditional Spanish Hot Chocolate” seemed to just be a bigger cup of the dipping sauce. 😁 

It turned out both Dublin Castle and the Trinity Library were closed today.  The first for a state function we were not invited to! 😡

There was shopping in at least two venues (I got nothing; tell you anything?) and then back to the hotel to rest our puppies before dinner. 

This was (my version) the discussion about going to dinner. “Do we have to walk that far? Can’t we take something?”  “Google says it’s best to just walk.” “But it seems a long way.”  “I can figure out a way to make it less walking.”  “That sounds good.”  So, we get on the bus four blocks from the hotel, get off 3 stops down, then back up the street a block to the street we want.  “Aren’t we backtracking?  Why did we do this?” “To save steps.”  “It seems easier to just walk straight from the hotel.” 🙄 

Oh.  And this.  I reupped the room for the night this morning after finding out about our flight.  But I gave them room 520.  We were in 518.  DBrolaw was in 520.  I was there when Mrs D checked in Friday afternoon and ever since was confused about our room number.   So we come back from our day and the keys don’t work.  I’m like, huh.  Then I check and it works in 520. 😂 

Oh.  And this.  We stopped at the front desk on our way to dinner to ask for some things.  The staff person asked where we were going and I said and he gave a blank look.  Doesn’t get out much.  Then he offered that there was a big buffet place nearby for 26€.  He said the whole first floor was food.  I’m not sure what we looked like that he was recommending such a over abundance of food, but we reminded him we had reservations elsewhere. 

The place is called Baraza.  It was excellent.  Here’s your food porn. 

Caesar salad.

Scallops with bacon and apple purée.

Mac and cheese.

Irish sirloin. 

Then a stop for gelato on the walk back (having determined it wasn’t worth it to take the bus or tram).  We made a quick detour on Henry St. To take this picture of James Joyce.  

I shot the rubbish around him (from the noodle shop to the right) as those pigeons were being harassed by a seagull for the food.  A guy was chasing the seagull away and it was talking to him about it. 😂 

Gino’s gelato shop was mildly busy.  RR took a pic. 

She had the peach sorbet.  Which she approved of.  

And then back to the hotel to rest up for a maybe uneventful day (though airports are always tricky these days) and a direct flight back home. 

Rah. 

It’s been a great trip.  Wonderful time in London.  Great time in Ireland.  Great golf courses.  Great company.  And some really good housing (not always true when using flats or houses).  A fun, successful trip.  Now, to get home. 

Next trip?  Cape Cod? Fenway Park.  Thanks for reading, Dear Readers. 

A Day in Dublin Learning Irish Folksongs

 Oh soon-to-be Delighted Reader,

Today was spent in the Irish capitol, aka Dub-linh — Irish for “black pool.”  If you think of that black pool as Guinness (though we learned today it is NOT black), then it is appropriate for much of our day. 

As to the title.  We ended up in a pub like a block from our hotel (and there are several that would fit that description) in pursuit of the illusive Irish traditional dish, shepherd’s pie.  Due to a Gaelic Football match (more on the next Obvious Brothers podcast, I’m told), they were on a reduced menu, so, no.  But…they had live music.  To finish the first set we heard, the guy sang John Denver’s “Country Roads.”  Much of the table (not me, shockingly) sang along.  The waiter wanted to know how we knew the song.  What do you mean?  It’s an Irish folk song.  DBrolaw laughed and laughed.  As we pointed out, the lyrics talk about West Virginia.  And there ain’t one in Ireland that we know of.  😂😂

The day began in pursuit of that traditional Irish plate, the full Irish breakfast.  I didn’t get a picture of Dbrolaw’s (he and Bitch were the only ones who got one), but Murphy’s had it and it was good, with two kinds of pudding.  DBrolaw cleaned his plate, beans and puddings and all.  There was a donut shop between us and the bus stop — DBrolaw was salespitched into THREE donuts…”I can’t make my mind up about my second one.”  “I’ll make it easier, you buy two and I give you a third for 8.50.”  “Sold!”  So he wolfed down a Bailey’s, a Dub (cream and chocolate filled) and a coffee on the bus (14 minutes) to the Guinness brewery.

RR’s eggs Benedict.

TK’s Turkish breakfast. 

Guinness is a big deal.  Acc to the sign, they buy 2/3 of the malt barley grown in Ireland.  IF you don’t know, the brewery goes back to 1759 when Arthur signed a 9,000 year lease (he saw the long view) for the site the plant sits on.  The rent is awfully good at this point.  The tour is blah…it’s all self-guided, with no clever tour guide or anything.  The highlight was the tasting room, where you got to smell four aromas before tasting Guinness out of a tiny glass shaped like their icon glass (kinda the shape, though more fulsome, of the Coke bottle).  

The other highlight, which is why you pay the $, is the drinking room on the top floor, which is still, for awhile, the highest point in Dublin.  I’ll give you the one shot back toward the center of town.  It’s a good view.  Guinness also gives you a free pint with your ticket.  Which appeals to some. 

From there we took the bus back to College Green, where we split up, with TK taking the group to the National Gallery of Ireland, on the recommendation of some people outside last night’s pub (promoted in part because it was free — the Guinness factory wasn’t), while RR and I went into Trinity College and bought souvenirs.  There were no tickets available to go through the library to see the Book of Kells or the great hall, etc.  

There was a wedding commencing as we passed through the quad.  This guy brought a distinctive look to it. 

After meeting up and dropping into the nearest pub (there are a surprising number of pubs here, though, to be fair, there are a large number of spires, too), for a drink and a plate of appetizers.  TK declared he was done with Guinness for awhile, having had it from the best place, the originator.  That lasted about two hours, if that. 

While the other three guys did a pub crawl, and learned something about Gaelic football (or maybe not; go Galway!), the rest of us “rested.”  

Then to the pub for shepherd’s pie they didn’t have and live music with the speaker right over our head.  The yelling led to a series of miscommunications, including the number of apple tarts ordered or not ordered, or reordered — the waiter thinking RR said “water,” when she said “order” and an extra Guinness brought to TK. (Hee hee). 

This is the “deconstructed” shepherd’s pie he got for his dinner. 

Deconstruction seemed to be a thing we did this trip.

I got an email from the owners of the last house, saying they were taking it off the rental market at the end of the year and they considered us friends, which seemed to indicate we could come back.  😊🥲

And then there was the endless concern about getting home.  Mrs DBrolaw doesn’t think their hour+ connection in Heathrow is enough.  We’ve been told our Monday flight out of Copenhagen is likely cancelled due to their pilot’s strike, which started last Monday.  Spent hours today looking for alternatives.  There may be extra blogs late Monday and beyond about the delights of Denmark.  I will report on whether something is rotten in Denmark.  Or not. 

And on that ludicrous joke, I bid you goodbye till…

The Billygoat trumps Doonbeg and the capital

 Patient, patient Reader, 

It’s been two days.  I have forgotten where we were (Doolin? That cottage?).  I’m only barely cognizant of where I am now.  The answer is “back in Dublin”.  In fact, in the very same hotel we stayed in last Tuesday night here. 

It’s been a long…two days.  

We started yesterday morning with a trip into Doolin, a little fishing village north of our cottage (there was a clamor that we just keep it).  A cute one. 

Picture of house and village. 

I don’t know how many shops in a town of almost nill are needed to sell woolen goods, but it seems like “a lot” is the answer.  And there were literally bus loads of people getting out there to…to…

Okay, Doolin is the beginning of the cliff path, but still.

Side note:  Dbrolaw’s car had a tire that kept going flat.  He decided in Doolin to finally do something about it.  No help from the roadside assistance numbers from the car rental agency (Europacar, if you want to avoid them, like he will forevermore) but he goes into the ticket agent for sightseeing right by our cars and asks and the woman says, “I’ve got a guy.”  Then says, “actually two guys.”  One who would give a receipt and one who wouldn’t.  So, the guy comes and in a few minutes he finds a puncture, fixes it, and moves on.  DBrolaw says, what do you think he charged?  I”m thinking backwoods Ireland, it’ll be cheap.  I go 5 euros.  He laughs and says 153!!! 110 just for the call out.  Well, he’ll get reimbursed.  Right?

Then off to golf.  Thursday was somewhat controversial (not really) as we were playing Doonbeg, which is (not subtly) “owned” by Mr. Trump.  Trump International is on everything.  You could buy a hat in the pro shop that just said “Trump”.  NO mention of golf. 

Away we went, with the weather again cooperating.  Here’s a picture of the clubhouse from the fairway.  It’s not exactly a design that says much, though admittedly he bought it from people after it went bust.  Greg Norman’s name is all over the original idea and he designed the golf course. 

We liked the course. 

In terms of first world struggles, I was beat.  We all were.  It was a long day, fighting light winds, some 

rain, and the tough Irish golf courses (lots of thick rough, deep bunkers) and we didn’t finish till almost 8 o’clock after almost 5 hours on the golf course. 

We stopped in Lahinch to have a drink in the pub popularized by the Tourist Sauce gang (I won’t put a link to their golf travel videos on YouTube, but you can find them yourself).  After texting to and fro, we brought home Chinese food from the place next door to the pub.  It was not worthy of a food porn pic.

We were out of the house at 610 this morning (a good 5 hours sleep) for the second tee time at Lahinch.  It  fights with Ballybunion (which we played Monday) for the best/most prestigious course in this part of the world.  WE think Lahinch wins.  

First, there’s their logo.   Picture.

Then there’s the fact that they have these two little goats grazing on the course.   Here you can see them working the snack bar for…well, probably almost anything.  :)

Then there’s the beauty of the golf course. 

Not that it’s the first course this week with ocean views, but there were some pretty nice ones.  

TK played his best golf of the week, looking like the 0 handicap he is.  And he wound up with the birdie money and a bunch of match money.  

We had some good caddies and some bad ones.  Today DBrolaw and TK shared one, Jon, who they liked. Jimmy, who was rushed in to serve me, I thought made some mistakes, but he was quite the cheerleader.  Rah fucking rah. 

We rushed back to the house (sort of), finishing packing, packed the two cars, and gave up the house (reluctantly) and headed to Lahinch for lunch. 

We ate at Vaughan’s on the Prom, which overlooked the bay.  Somewhere there are more water pics. :)

But here’s food porn: the fish and chips (today it was hake) and the lobster and langoustino roll. 

And then it was across country to Dublin.

But first we were low on gas.  I completely misread the data on the dashboard, which I thought said we were averaging 5.9 l/km.  Instead it was 5.9/100km.  🤦🏻. We were about 280 km from Dublin, so needed either 60 liters of gasoline or a lot less. 🙄

It took us 15 minutes to get into the gas tank and start pumping.  We couldn’t open the gas door!  We looked everywhere for a little handle.  I tried the 1000 page owners manual from the glovebox, which had no help under “gas,” “fuel,” or “door.”  TK finally found a YouTube that said just pull the outside middle of the door.  I finally decided we needed to pull out the keys and shut the driver’s door.  Wah-la! The door opened.  Then we couldn’t figure out why the nozzle wouldn’t go in the hole.  Finally I realized we had the unleaded nozzle in our hand when it took diesel. 🙄

There were many jokes about ruining underwear on the tiny roads back to a real highway — there was at least once we almost hit a car coming to fast around a blind corner.  Nothing like Wednesday, but still. We were happy to be out of those…until we hit the streets of Dublin.   But I no longer have a car, so I’m good. :)

And now for the joke.  Told to us by our caddy yesterday, a lad named Johnny (he was in his forties, probably).

A Scotsman, and Englishman, and an Irishman are walking along the shore when they come across a mermaid.  She asks if they can help her learn about life.  The Englishman says “Have you ever been hugged?”  She says no and he gives her a hug.  He does and she says “that’s nice.”  The Scotsman says,  “Have you ever been kissed?”  She says no and he gives her a hug.  He does and she says “that’s nice.”  The Irishman says “have you ever been fooked?” And she says no.  He says “well, you are now because the tide’s gone out.”  😂

Tomorrow we start with Irish breakfast, then a Guinness tour.  We’ll see about when the next blog is.  Erin go Bragh. 

Catchup on 2 Days in Ireland

 Oh Patient Reader,

I’ll start with “I’ve been busy.”  And finish with…this could be War and Peace.  But I’ll cutdown A LOT. 

Monday evening we had gnoshes for dinner, then breakfast “in” Tuesday.  While TK and DBrolaw went off to play golf (they raved about the course at Tralee, which I guess has 14 holes on the water), the rest of us went to see the local sites.  The most impressive was Carrifagoyle Castle, which dates to before the English Civil War, and was big in a battle with the Spanish in the 1580s.  

I’ll go with this photo. 

For cardio purposes, you could climb to the top of the tower.  Though it was rainy and there was a goodly amount of bird poop. 

We thought our next stop was the “Cliffs of Donblah”, but Google (this could be recurring) went wrong and we were supposed to turn into a gated path.  We went around in a circle, with Butch navigating from a different angle, but we were as much as blocked when we stopped for a guy with a wheelbarrow.  We asked where we could see the cliffs and he gave us “go back to the road, turn right, then turn right, not at the first road, but the second one, then you pass the barn and get to the top of the road…”. In the end, we found it. 

Back to the house. Dressed.  To the golf course.

We will not talk about yesterday’s golf.  The second course at Ballybunion, the Cashen, is the “member’s course”, with an uneven reputation.  It tore us up like we were chumps.  Lots of shots you didn’t know where to hit; they had a white rock sitting on the line you were supposed to aim at.  The discussion on the way back to the house was how many balls did you lose and how many shots I hit gripping up the shaft on my club (the answer is “a lot”).  

Dinner was ready when we got back, late (like 9),  boulagnese.  For jarred, it tasted pretty good. 

Then we hit pub #3 in Ballylongford.  No one is automatic yet on the Guinness challenge.  The bartender at the O’Connor was nice enough (we were the only ones in there), but we ended up with our final drink back in Kennelly’s, Monday’s joint.  Butch told multiple jokes, non safe for work, and we went home. 

Margaret, our estate manager, was by both before sundown and then again this morning.  Margaret was very chatty and very funny.  This morning we negotiated on her review. 😁

Then off to Limerick, which was on the way, if you went the long way (there’s a ferry near Ballylongford that would cut over an hour off the trip).  First we stopped at King John’s Castle (built obviously in the 13th c), the cathedral, which was built in the 1860s but has the highest spire in Ireland.  Pics. 

 From Limerick, all the guides say to stop at Bunratty Castle.  (We had lunch at a chain pub in front of the complex)  It’s a rebuilt medieval village, thatch roofs and all.  The tower dates to the 15th c. 

No matter how touristy, it was a fun experience.  

Then on the road to Doolin (north of  Lahinch, where golf will be played Friday). 

Your first driving in Ireland story.  I misread Google maps and made left hand turn so sharp, I jumped over the curb with my back wheels.  !!! To get back, Google took me down a road…when I made the turn I knew it wasn’t going to be good. It was a tiny road.  Barely one car wide.  

At one point we got stuck in a layby with a car in front of me and a car came up behind me, but the two cars coming at us were stuck.  Here’s a video by Mrs DBrolaw. 

This house is the bomb.  It is a converted cottage with flagstones on the floor, a loft, four rooms with en suite bathrooms (unusual) a double sided fireplace with peat supplied for fires…I could go on and on. 

And it sits where you can almost see the Cliff of Mohar, the biggest tour sight in this part of Ireland.  If you wonder what they are about…here you go. 

If you’re reading for jokes, here’s the one Butch told last night that the bartender said was a keeper. 

Sally was famous in the nursing home for being inappropriate.   One day she went out without any underwear and then went through the dining room flashing everyone with her skirt up and down (Butch did it standing with visual effects) saying “Super pussy, super pussy, super pussy.”   The one guy said to the aide, “I’ll take the soup.”  

Three more days.  

Oh and for food porn: 

This was one of the desserts at our potpourri Monday.  It was decided it was deconstructed Irish apple crumble. 

Tuesday night we had Irish spaghetti.  Don’t ask me why. 

 

Isn’t Ireland Greener?

Dear Reader,

Where were we? 

I’m pretty lost in terms of time and place.  No, place is easy: we’re in a lovely AirBnB (the actual thing, not Vrbo, which is where the next place came from, or Booking.com where the great apartment in London came from) in Ballylongford. 

Chronologically: despite all the wrinkles, in the end we amazingly ended up in the passport control line in Dublin airport from three different flights.  The Kid (TK) got in first, direct from Dallas.  Then the 4 of us from London. Then, moments later, DBrolaw and Mrs from Dulles. 👍

Then things got sketchy.  TK’s golf clubs didn’t show up.  Then Dbrolaw’s didn’t show up.  Which isn’t good when you’re on a golf vacation, with an early Monday tee time.  The person in charge of finding luggage said they were there, they’d just be awhile.  We were terminal 2.  I walked over and got my car.  It was supposed to be a Tiguan (which is what we drive at home); it turned into a Hyundai Tucson.  Ryan at the desk said “that’s bigger.”  It isn’t. 

The bill was 1000€.  Yikes.  Even after taking off two days for next weekend in Dublin. 

Oh, yes, did I mention that it’s a manual shift?  Ryan wanted another 90€ for an automatic.  It’s been a struggle, including lurching forward into a shrubbery the first time I needed reverse (every car’s is different, if you don’t know).  I’ve survived that.

But the airport thing was wild.  I saw the sign for Terminal 2, departures, but never arrivals, so I went out of the airport, around and back to see if I missed something.  As I got through what I thought was departures for the second time, I recognized RR’s checked blazer and whipped (no signal, no warning) up to the curb next to her.  She was looking the wrong way, as was Peggy.  We got loaded (wondering how we got all the golf clubs in there when the time came), then were off to the west.  Meanwhile, DBrolaw and TK got their clubs and got into car #2, which is a Peugeot “Seat,” which is so small…you can’t turn around without getting out. 

It was 3 hours from the airport.  The last hour was on a road that wasn’t really wide enough for two Tucsons.  Maybe two Seats, but not two Tucsons.  But that gets better. 

The AirBnB gave us a vague address, but the property manager and I talked and she told me she couldn’t meet me but she’d put the key out for me.  I didn’t ask for exact directions. So we both ended up sitting in the middle of the road with it saying “you’ve reached your destination” without knowing what it was.  There was a house on the right with someone coming out of it and one through the trees to the left.  

In the end, I drove up the driveway to the place on the left.  As I got to the top of the drive, there were three women sitting outside.  I went to get out and…the car rolled away.  I put it in gear, but with the clutch engaged, so we rolled down the hill.  One of the women jumped up to help.  I eventually just turned it off in gear and got out.  

Patricia was very helpful.  Though that wasn’t our house.  She and her sisters worked together with one who was on FaceTime as I pulled up and helped me with where I should be.  “Oh, it must be The Orchard.” (Funnily enough they didn’t recognize the street name [there was no number])  WE got directions to the Orchard.

And there was a locked gate!!!

But I had just looked at the picture of the place with Patricia and sisters so I recognized that the place across the street was it.  And it had the landmark for the key.  Joy. 

But everyone was happy with the place.  It has 3 bathrooms, 6 bedrooms.  

I missed the woman (Margaret is the name for the week — I keep reciting “Margaret are you grieving over golden grove unleaving) and I guess their were tips for where to go in town.  Which wasn’t much. 

There was only one place to eat in town.  We went there and they ran out of food as we stood there.  And it was terrible. 

Then to the pub next door, which…

Well, this goes in the blog as local color.  It was literally someone’s living room.  Dark and dank.  

A round of Guinness was drank.  There are pictures of failed attempts at the first-drink. 

Ok.  What I think was our host (remember, I missed the visit that generated the pub) was drunk.  He took us upstairs to see the shrine to the local Rebellion hero — he did on that Easter Monday in ‘16.  But we couldn’t understand him.  We found this out at lunch today when we tried to discuss what he said and DBrolaw said “the only thing I understood was ‘black and tan’” and he thought it was a drink, not the British occupying army. 😂

Then HE gets a guy who’s older (very old, which means older than me) who is the REAL historian and he begins to tell the LONG version of local hero’s story.  And he’s trying to do so a) pretty lit, b) with a chew in his jaw c) with bad teeth.  I knew most of what he was saying.  But I was the only one.  😂

We were home early bc we had an early tee time.  

The golf part.  First, the weather could have been terrible. It poured at 650, half hour before our tee time.  It led to this rainbow. 

But we ended up getting rained on for just about one hole.  The wind blew all day about 20 mph. 

Here’s a shot back from the clubhouse on 18 to the ocean.  It IS on the coast, if you don’t know. 

TK loved the course.  The other 3 thought it was excellent; in great shape, a good sound challenge, and worth the trip.  

We all 7 went out to lunch, looking down at the beach at Ballybunion (people were on it though the beach though it was cloudy and 58). 

Pictures.  The chowder was excellent.  DBrolaw got the “Eton mess”.  Mispronouncing Eton, of course. 😂

And now…I have to go back to the market because we are out of toilet paper. :)

And today’s joke:  NSFW.  A couple goes to Australia for their honeymoon.  The hotel manager tells them  all the local sites and gives them directions.  They get to the first place and they see something stuck in the fence.  They wonder what it is.  Well, it turns out to be a kangaroo.  “Let’s go help it.”  Well, they get out and find there’s a guy there.  “He must be helping.”  Then they look closer and see the guy “helping” is actually doing the ‘roo.   They are offended.  They go to the second site and they see the same thing (this is very much the short version).  Offended further they come back to the hotel and find a guy on the front porch with a peg leg pleasuring himself.  They go to the manager and say, what is this, what’s wrong here?  The manager says, “you expect a crippled man to catch a kangaroo?”  

Rim shot. 

Gay Pride, Plays, and Shopping

 Reader,

I’m writing this from Heathrow, waiting on the plane to Dublin.  Our last day in London was a trip.

The plan was to go down to Picadilly and walk through some shoe shops.  At least I thought that was the goal. 

When we got to Picadilly circus, there were lots of people with rainbow gear.  We were finally told that the London gay Pride parade was at noon.  Little did we know what that meant. 

There were a MILLION, literally, people there!!!

We putzed through shops, Butch buying a polo, then we strolled into Fortnum and Masons for a Gnosh.  Karen had seen sparkling tea downstairs and they had it on the menu.  She had it. 

In the street below, Picadilly St, the parade began, starting with Dikes on Bikes, then Dikes on Trikes.  I got one decent photo from that vantage point.

Then the fun began.  The goal was the National Gallery, which is usually an easy walk across Picadilly, Leicester Square and southeast out of Leicester Square to the gallery.  Couldn’t get across the street to do that.  

Eventually we found a crosswalk and after two attempts, got through.  The first attempt we all swarmed the barrier and the head of security pushed the fence in to stop us before we filled the street.  The guy behind me yelled at him, worried about people crushed into his baby carriage.  There was some shouting back and forth.  Good times.

But we made it to the gallery and roamed through.  Butch wanted to see the Impressionists, which are, of course, at the end of the route.

Then back out into the crowd.  Did I mention a million people?  I tried to get a picture of the crowd.

We went across the Golden Jubilee foot bridge, where Karen took this picture. My phone was dead by now. Long day. 

We had dinner in a pub near the theatre, with the ham and chicken here. 
  

Then to the National to see a play.  This was the only thing on there, though I concede that the premise, a remake of Sheridan’s The Rivals, looked worth seeing.  It was the first night of previews.  It was a full house. 

WARNING short play review. Typically, the Nat turned the play into an extravaganza of sets. Including a dance club scene. Not in Sheridan. 😁 they turned the late 18th c into WW2 Britain, acc to the notes to commemorate 80 years since the Blitz. 

Mrs malaprop was funny, ending with a classic about the anals of history, and there were some fun bits, like the dance scene. But the airplane stuff was distracting, both intermission and the end had film of dogfights. With two apparent deaths. Not exactly the stuff of comedy.  And the main couple, Jack and Lydia, don’t get together at the end. 

But we had fun and Butch and Peggy saw a play at one of the standard venues in London. 

And that’s it for London. 

Next blog from somewhere in Ireland. 

Heading to the Tower

 Patient Reader,

I have had complaints about the lack of photos.  Thanks for the input. 

Today, which is sort of day 3, but sort of day 2 (and none of us know what day it REALLY is), the thing (to quote Peggy) was the Tower of London.  We made 1230 reservations, which seems late enough (we have begun to sleep in, which isn’t good given Sunday and Monday), but…

We took the Tube to Embankment and I said maybe there was a place to eat there and we got lucky and found a cafe in the park there.  We had eggs Benedict and breakfast food and fish and not chips (Peggy!). 

The tour guide was chastised (are you counting how many times?) for not knowing all the eating opportunities around the Tower. 

Into the Tower.  We went and grabbed the first tour with a Yeoman Warder (a person who works there — it used to be an actual soldier).  His name was Dan.  Or, if you didn’t like the tour, “John” 😂  There will be more of those.

Quick facts: the Tower was started by William, aka “The Conqueror”, in 1078, so it’s heading toward a grand years old.  It was built (in case you missed it) to guard London from his possible enemies.  It was much expanded in the 13th c.  Currently, the famous moat is now a flower garden.  We discussed how scary it would be as one.  Butch pointed out that they might not attack for fear of ticks in the flower beds.  LoL.

Dan pointed out the Yeoman Warders live in the Tower and pointed out his own residence just up the way; he said this wasn’t an invitation to visit.  :). There will be more of these. 

The big deal these days about the Tower is how people were beheaded who were imprisoned there.  Dan told about the big crowds that would view the executions on the hill outside the Tower.  (30k). He also told the story of James Scott, who was executed in 1685.  The guy muffed it.  He was allegedly very drunk.  It took FiVE wacks to get his head off and kill him.  He was alive after wack number 4.  

But, to add insult to injury, which is hard in this case, they realized they had no portrait of him (he was the king’s son) and grabbed the head, tried to sew it back on, put a scarf around his next and the painter whipped out a portrait.  It hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. 

Now Dan’s line: “And if you go there looking for it, just ask the warder for the painting of the guy with the detached look on his face.”  Groan.

“Now, we’ll be heading…ar ar…around the corner.”

This is the barracks that now houses the Crown Jewels (above).  There are no pictures allowed in this building. 

This is the White Tower — the original part from 1078. 

After Dan we went through the White Tower, now an armaments exhibition.  

Then we went through the Crown Jewels, which had a line that took like 45 minutes to get into the building.  There’s a lot of priceless stuff in there.  Including a wine “vat” that was gold-plated and held 128 bottles of wine.  Right.  Karen said it sounded good.  

Pictures were taken with Tower Bridge (Dan made fun of us thinking it was London Bridge) in the background.  

Then we jumped on a bus and got off at the base of the hill of Covent Garden. 

There we looked at shops, stood and listened to an excellent opera singer, then watched a street performer who underwhelmed us.  “Get on with it…” we still don’t know what his gig really was. 

We then had “drinks,” pregaming dinner. 

Dishoom, our restaurant, was across the street and as Butch and I tried to cross in the middle, Butch tried to die from a bicycler cutting through traffic.  He’s missing hair on one leg. 

Dishoom is a small plates Indian place.  Below are 4 of the 8 things we got.  The tour guide already has heart burn. ):

Their “bowl of greens”

Gunpowder potatoes

House favorite, Ruby Chicken (a sweet curry)

Another big fav, Black Daal.

After stuffing ourselves, we decided to nix the gelato place back across the street (and dying via biker on that street — we went and crossed at the corner) and took the Tube which went with no changes from Leicester Square back to our main stop, Camden Town.

There we found a gelato place, Amorino, a block from the station.  Butch got this, which is famously their gelato flower.

The gelato could also come the a macaron, which Peggy has already eaten by the time the picture was taken.

Back to the flat, where the good guys won both Euchre games (in fairness the one was 9-9). 

We sobbed a bit about it being the last day here tomorrow.  WE got to “the theatre” (you are saying it with the snotty accent,  right?) tomorrow night.  It is the first night of previews of a re-write of one of my favorites, Sheridan’s The Rivals.  At the National.  Fingers crossed.

Now, for the joke, which I have saved for today:  a trio of golfers die and come to heaven.  At St Peter’s gate they are told they are on 6 month probation, so be careful.  They ask to play golf and the ARchangel Michael says “go ahead, but beware of the ducks. YOu kill a duck and you’re punished for eternity.”  A week in and the one guy skulls a shot and kills a duck.  Here comes Michael with an ugly woman in tow in handcuffs.  “Here, you are locked to her for eternity.”   It’s a week later and number two is out playing and does the same thing.  Michael appears with ugly woman.  Handcuffs, eternity, etc.  The third guy is to the end of probation on the golf course, thinking all is good, when Michael appears out of nowhere with a beautiful woman in handcuffs.  He thinks “wow, I’ve hit the jackpot.”  Michael turns to the woman and says “you know what I told you about killing the ducks.” 

Rim shot.  Good night.