Tea for (more than) two, or what would you name your twins?

 Last day in London, oh glorious Reader, 

And we had a good day.  I will cheat and start at the end, so the thumbnail pic is of this:

We had high tea after the play; high tea has become a thing I’ve done the last few times (originally on behest of a student 👍).  Because enquiring minds will want to know (from top to bottom) that’s a purportedly apricot macaroon (I was told there was little taste), a chocolate tart with a white chocolate leaf and a drop of citrus stuff on it, a raspberry mousse with a lemon biscuit, and, if you can’t tell, carrot cake.  The 3 I ate were good.  And the design is classy.

My sixsome were not really ready for this.  Only one of them had any idea what tea to order.  Two ended up with chamomile, two ended up with the “fruity house specialty”, and one another fruity “mountain tea” (it was a kind of black tea).  Only the one ordered Breakfast tea. 

The sandwiches were…well, maybe they are picky eaters, maybe not.  No one ate, though a couple took a bite, of the pickled red cabbage one.  There was a veggie one that was heavy on red and green peppers, and there was a smoked salmon one — only one person ate that.  The egg and chicken salad ones disappeared. 

It was a nice spread in a nice room.  It wasn’t easy getting a table for 7 in London on fairly short notice and aiming for 6 PM was the end of the high tea day.  But it was a good sample for them and they seemed to appreciate it — as, in fairness, they are the most appreciative and thankful bunch I think I’ve ever brought. 

Before tea, we went to the Globe for the class trip for the matinee of Comedy of Errors. 

Because it’s kind of funny, about getting there: three of the six left after breakfast (later on here) to look at bridges (I think they were starting at Tower Bridge and working back upriver to the Globe).  They said they’d meet us.  When we got there, none too early (maybe we needed more than an hour to be safer), they were nowhere in sight.  OC.  But it turned out that they were around the other side, not by the riverside entrance. 

As for the play: nothing I can say here can not be seen through the lens of us having terrible seats, which is kind of on me.  It was the only day we could go in the afternoon and due to blah blah blah I was late doing everything for the trip (we didn’t settle housing till March 10), so…I got the only seats available for any “in our budget” price.  The pic below shows you the angle, which would be less worse without the pillar (last week there was one of the beams you can see in the background in the way, but you could see around those).

Next, in the row behind us were a bunch of boys in their school uniforms.  As one of mine said afterwards, “they were about what you’d expect from teenage boys.”  🙄.  They talked during the production, they had some metal thing (I guess a water bottle) that they clanked around several times, and, in the most bizarre behavior of all, two of them thought the “cool” thing to do was to not laugh at the lines, but to fake laugh “as” (you know, like one beat late) everyone else did.  The eye roll I thought about laying on them might have killed.  So, enjoyable. 

Given that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?  Well, I don’t think it was good.  In the classic Globe thing, a la the Nat and RSC, they spent money for no good reason.  There was the prow of a ship sticking out from one of the beams to my left and over the groundlings’ heads (you can see the tip of it top left of the picture).   Why?  I’ll get back to you on that.  Then, for reasons I wasn’t clear on, several times in the play a guy pushed out a boat with people in it for them to make their entrance — you can see the “dock” going off stage right in the picture.  

Maybe the funniest part was that the Duke came out before the play to say hi and to tell us one of the actors was very ill and couldn’t perform and not an understudy but a “superhero” was stepping in as one Dromio, willing to “read the part from a book.”  And he then reminded us (if we didn’t already know) that this would be somewhat problematical because they were playing an identical twin.  Laughter ensued.  (FYI — there are two sets of twins, who, because the original is silly and “Uncle Will” (as he was called in last night’s play repeatedly) kept it, have the same names — two Antipholus’s and two Dromio’s.  Who does that?  But I hope you can see it’s almost inevitably funny)

It was the best gag in the play.  The tall black guy, wearing all black, with the notebook, stumbling (only a little) through his lines and those times where supposedly people are mistaking him for the short blond guy playing his twin brother…then the reveal where they both look at each other and give this look — well, it was the best part of the play. 

It ran 1 hour 50 minutes with no interval.  I got no ice cream and no respite from the Misfits behind me.  There were lots and lots of planes overhead and the pacing seemed a bit slow.  The opening bit where the father tells the tale of the lost twins was painfully slow, which it is supposed to be, but they never really picked up the pace. 

I have no more to say.  It wasn’t the best, or even close, to the best production of one of Shakespeare’s weaker efforts, and we move on.

Before that, the gang asked if I’d join them for breakfast.  I did.  I get a kick out of this group — they have the laser focus of a garden hose.  “Where can we go for a full English breakfast?”  I tell them where, we go there, and only one of them got the full English breakfast!  No one ate the black pudding, John.  Maybe the highlight (🙄students) was the one across from me asking what it was I was having for breakfast.  It was eggs Benedict.  She had never seen it before.  Wow.

But let me say — this is why we do programs like this.  A kid from central PA might not have ever seen eggs Benedict, or a thousand other things seen here in London.  There was talk at tea about both scones and clotted cream (no one seemed to be big fans), which were little known to most of them.  Smoked salmon was an unknown.  And professionals doing Shakespeare…nah.

But, again, they are a nice group.  They insisted on buying me breakfast, in thanks for my bringing them and guiding them around.  A gesture no others have ever done, as I recall. 🥲 

So, it felt good that they got some of this.  I hope it does something for them.  For me, I’ll happy to be home, fingers crossed, tomorrow night.  There’s a run to Fortnum & Mason to start the day, then home, McDuff. 

Alas, adieu 

Cam for Cameron, and the play’s the thing

 Oh, Lord, readership is down! 

I thought it was Gary’s…errr Barney’s jokes, then realized you’d have to have read it to know that so the culprit is ham haters. 😡 😂

I begin today with a scenic picture of the titular river, the Cam, from the bridge at King’ College [Cambridge], one of today’s visits. 

We bounce quickly into today’s action.  It was a 9 o’clock leave (everyone was ready on time) and we were off to Liverpool Street and one of the ways to get a train to Cambridge. We were early enough that everyone was able to hit a place for a gnosh; there was a strange conversation about “I didn’t think I could go across the street or I’d get in trouble” and we were off. 

We grabbed taxis and headed for the punting stand on the river.  We had two taxis and I gave their taxi driver the same information I gave mine.  Mine went straight there without question.  Theirs, not so much.  A series of texts about which end of the street (the river end? Duh) and which punter stand (🤷) and our guy did a maneuver around traffic through an alley and we were there several minutes ahead of them despite leaving the train station afterwards.  It was like a 10-minute ride. 

I hired a boat from an American, who it turns out is there to start grad school at Darwin College in the fall.  Her partner is there for 3 years (she didn’t say doing what), so she’s here and doing this.  She called in Cameron, a local lad who does this for a living, as they say.  Cameron was quite good.  IF you don’t know, this is known as “the back tour” because cruising down the river takes you along the backside of 7 (of the 31) colleges, most of the oldest, that make up the university.  A series of tourist level shots, including this one of the back of King’s College. 

Okay, now for one of the 🙄student moments: one asked Cameron what the name of the river was and he said it was the river Cam.  She said, “But really!” And he assures her, saying, “that IS why it is called Cambridge.”  She whispers, “I thought he was teasing since his name is Cameron.”  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After the ride, one of the six wanted food, so we stopped at a shop that advertised Chelsea buns.  Here you go (this will be today’s food porn, you can look forward to tomorrow, though). 

I am not so sure — the dark things are dried currants.  Not as sweet as one might hope. 

After much searching, we found a tour of King’s College.  Founded by Henry VIII, who has proved large (jk) during the trip, it has some impressive buildings, including the chapel, which has the oldest full set of stained glass in the world.  It is also the secondest largest chapel in the world.  The docent told me so. :)

It reminds me, and the architect (it was in one of the informational posters), of the St. Chappelle in Paris, which, if you are wondering how/why I know I saw it because it appeared prominently in Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code.

There was a street market and everyone grabbed food and there was an “ooo” and ‘lululemons” and two of them bolted for the shop.  You know, that famed English company.  One came out with a purse that she said she’d been wanting AND they gave her a discount!  I think I’m supposed to say it was cute.  It was cute. 🤨

The ride back was furiously fast — no stops! Into King’s Cross, right next to Platform 9 3/4 and the Hogwarts shop there, where many of us spent some time and money.  Nuff said. 

The play (i.e. if he hasn’t already, John can stop reading 😂 [that he’s never said anything about these teases indicates I’ve over judged how far he reads 😂])

Important part one: for some reason tonight, of all nights, I broke the code for getting from Waterloo station to the National Theatre in what Google Maps claims should be 7 minutes.  I did it, coming and going.  Only coming home in the dark did I fear for my life in a dark tunnel, but that’s not about getting the path right. 😁

Also, if I haven’t mentioned it enough, I had trouble getting a ticket to this play — The Motive and the Cue (it’s from Hamlet’s Act 3 soliloquy) — I wanted to go Friday night, or Saturday night (I went to the horrible Irish thing instead), or last night…yesterday morning I looked again for tickets and instead of “sold out” for tonight, it was “book tickets.” I clicked.  The only available ones were in the stalls.  I clicked.  The map of the stalls had ONE, yes, ONE blue dot.  I got it to work and I had a ticket. 

It was an aisle seat (saints be praised!) and there were 3 women to my left.  As they returned to their seats after intermission, (ready for it Nicole? 😂) the oldest said “when did you get that seat?”  I told her.  She said that she was the one who had sold it! (Makes sense).  And that it was supposed to be her husband’s seat, thus the aisle and the legroom.  I told her thank you and he was missing a good play.  She said yes, you’re enjoying it then and I said “except Jonny Flynn is horrible.”  The younger woman (20s?) next to me said “I thought he was great.”  I said he’s no Burton.  The woman in front of us turned around and agreed with me that he was horrible.  I asked the YW if she’d ever seen Richard Burton in anything and she said no (in the postscript it says Burton was dead in 1984, long before she was born) and I said he had this deep voice and Flynn squeaked.  The woman ahead added “and he mumbles his lines.”

The play is about the 1964 Broadway production of Hamlet that starred Burton, then just married to Liz Taylor, and directed by Sir John Gielgud.  Burton throws the sir at him several times in disrespect.  The playwright, Jack Thorne (famous for adapting Harry Potter to stage? Writing episodes of the Dark Materials for TV?) works through the rehearsal (25 days) and there’s a short scene of the first night. He interweaves the biography — Burton and Taylor have a couple scenes together, Gielgud and a prostitute and Gielgud and his assistant have scenes — with the rehearsals.  Burton is stretching to do Hamlet for the first time; he’s picked Gielgud to get the most out of him, but the two constantly struggle (the programme says Gielgud was infamous for changing his mind about how he wanted things acted, even minute to minute).  Burton comes in drunk for one rehearsal and is totally obnoxious, demeaning Gielgud and calling the actor playing Gertrude a C**T.  It’s quite a fascinating mix, with the days on the screen above as scenes start with a line from the play…the opening scene, OC, is “the play’s the thing…”

Flynn is the star.  The YW next to me, and probably the whole audience, knows who he is.  He was pretty unbearable — he doesn’t have the voice to do Burton and he tried to be gravelly AND have a Welsh accent.  It was tough.  OTOH, Mark Gattis (famed, OC, as Mycroft Holmes in Sherlock) was great as Gielgud, but, as demonstrated by another actor in the play, imitating Gielgud isn’t that hard.  Tuppence Middleton, of Downtown Abbey fame (I guess), played Taylor.  She’s no Liz Taylor (as the programme says, for many years named the Most Beautiful Woman in the World) but gave the role a lot of enthusiasm.   The guy playing William Redfield, Luke Harris (the doctor on Poldark) was good. 

It is #5 of 6 I’m seeing.  It was doubtless the best, no matter what the Globe does tomorrow with Comeday of Errors. 

It does make one want to go back and watch something like Cleopatra or Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf again. 

Big day tomorrow, a play, food porn…last day in London.  See you then. 

Off with their heads, and bad ‘Merican jokes

 Dear Reader (it’s Monday…blah…), 

Another day, another 10 million steps around London. 

FYI I think today is clearly the worst weather day of the week — very overcast, a bit of a sea breeze, and didn’t feel as warm as the 62 (16ish for you sticklers) it claimed to be.  I was freezing.

Today’s first official activity was a trip to the Tower. I got this shot from the scenic view point across the street. 

(Got to get the thumbnail pic in first — it can’t be eggs everyday)

Speaking of eggs, back to Bill’s for brekkie.  I looked for alternatives, but there really aren’t any.  “Back in the day…” (we actually lived a few blocks away as early as ‘04) there were several cafe/diners along this street where you could get a cooked breakfast for a small price (like $5 [I have no pound sign option).  In fact, in ‘04 when we got to the flats, they sent us across the street to the one for brekkie because the flat wasn’t done.  But, alas, they’re gone now.  I guess Covid killed ‘‘em. ☹️

Anyway,  eggs.  I sit down and the host/waitstaff says “we don’t have cooked eggs except poached because the gas is out.”  What does one say?  Does one inquire how one gets poached eggs without a cooker?  Does one say “how do you cook the pancakes?”…

In my experience, no, one does not. 😂. I ordered the basic breakfast and my eggs, as I like them, hard (wondering how that was going to happen).  Fortunately, she came back before my plate came and said the gas was back on and they could do my eggs however I wanted.  What a relief!!! Poached eggs with traditional breakfast?!?!?!

We (the 2 R’s and me) met at 10 and took the Circle Line to Tower Hill (I hope some of you are taking notes). 

We were just there last year.  But they’ve changed things around enough to confuse me just enough. 

At the new “corral” where the tours with the Yeoman Warder (aka Beefeater) begin, we stood and waited. I insisted they take the tour.  I find the Warder schtick worth hearing.  I will not repeat all his jokes (like I could remember them).  This is Gary, or, as he said, if you don’t like his schtick, Barney. 😂

One thing I noticed about Gary’s gear is that it already has the “CR” on it for Charles.  It’s rather odd being here and seeing stuff (the sign above the door to the Crown Jewels had the full CR III) with CR after my whole life it being ER.  I guess the emergency is over (that one is mine, unless you don’t like it, and then it is Barney’s). 

There is, of course, so much to tell about the history of the place.  Started by William the Bastard (Gary wanted us to know he had a nickname here before he won at Hastings and got to be king) in 1078 to show the Anglos he was planning on staying, it has been the scene of much Rigamarole.  Gary leaned heavily into the Anne Boleyn stuff, as he thought his audience was here for the beheadings but wanted to point out other women were beheaded inside the castle grounds who got less notoriety.  Divorced-beheaded-died-divorced-beheaded…

Gary finished by telling the joke that they were no longer allowed to tell because an American complained.  “You could still have had all this if you had just paid your taxes.”  😂 He told it in the “we can’t tell this joke anymore” format.  I wonder if someone writes the stuff for them. 

Oh! The title! Gary wanted to know how many of us were from “‘Merica.”  He said it was okay, they had forgiven the traitors.  He said in his “what they did after a beheading spiel” that the crowd said “rah”, not that ‘merican thing “yee haw.”  In fairness, about William he said “we didn’t like those from the Continent telling us what to do even then…too soon?” 😂

So, to continue with my 🙄students theme of these blogs (it’s been a few days, you may have forgotten), I said to R&R (there were just the two of them, you will recall, since you memorize these, that 4 went to Harry Potter World, a 7-hour extravaganza, purportedly 4 on the bus to and fro) to go get into the queue for the Crown Jewels.  It is the thing to do.  Maybe more so this year, having just seen Charles try to keep his head up with all that stuff laid on his neck and head. I said I had gone through last year and I’d wait for them. 

Here they came about 20 minutes later.  And pretty quickly admitted they hadn’t gone through. 🙄 “The line is so long — it’d be like an hour — and we didn’t think it was worth it.”  🤦🏻🙄. Come to London, get a ticket to the Tower and NOT see the Crown Jewels.  I wonder if they stand in line at Disney World? 🤷

Eventually we made our way out and they wanted lunch.  There’s a Wagamama’s right there and they agreed.  I *did not* have the katsu curry!  Here’s what I had (it’s ramen, in case you don’t recognize them)

And then off to Portobello Road Market, which both I wanted to take the group to and they (R&R) said they wanted to go to.  The one R in particular said she was looking for stuff in second-hand clothing stores. 

I will now use this 🙄students again.  I said I would get them there, but if they were shopping (should it be in quotes?) I wasn’t standing around with them as they…shopped.  That’d I’d make sure they knew how to get back and move on.  They were like “oh, don’t worry…”

Right.  We aren’t 50 feet out of the Tube station and up the street that leads to Portobello Road when R pipes up “I want to go in that shop” — a 2nd hand clothing store — ACROSS THE STREET!  Okay, back across at the crosswalk.  There was a Starbucks next door.  After getting my drink, I sat in the entry to the flats on the other side of the door and waited.  They came out (I could exaggerate how long it took, but it was maybe 15 minutes) and THE OTHER R! Had a bag!!! “Too expensive,” R1 said.  

Cross the road, walk five storefronts, “Oh, we have to go in here!” Another second hand clothing store.  I went in next door and bought a solar-powered dancing King Charles.  They were done fairly shortly.

THEN we got to the top end of Portobello Road.  Again, six store fronts down, “gotta go in.”  

Sigh.  

After about 10 minutes I decided to go on.  I never saw them again. I texted that I was heading down the road (notable point: it is DOWN from that end, you at times can look down the road and see the stuff setup), to where the real market started (another two blocks from where they were) and would circle back if…

They texted back that they were done.  In fact, had circled back to an earlier stop!  And didn’t want to come on down the street.  And could find their way back.  This last I found good. 

So, like the Tower, come to one of the most famous shopping markets in the world and…nope, don’t need to walk that far…

So, like so much in life, they never really saw what makes Portobello Road famous — the closed road, the pop up awnings and tables, the stuff, most of it pretty kitschy.  And, of course, the travel book shop from Notting Hill, which appears on everything there. 

Though I stood a long time at a stand that sold reusable bags.  There were some great sayings on them.  One was something like “Try as I might I will never satisfy everyone like coffee” 😂. And “this bag contains a bomb, a gun, and a big knife and a shitload of drugs” laughing 😂😂😂 and something like “I’m too polite to tell you to fuck off”  I’d have gotten one, but I didn’t think much of the size (no way it would have held all that stuff in 😂) and I’m already wondering if I’m getting all my stuff home. 

And that was my day.  Dinner?  Something not worth writing home about. (Get the hint)

Tomorrow we are going to Cambridge.  I am sure there will be a punt ride, Michael, and I’m sure to send someone the picture.  😁 (for those who don’t know, which isn’t many of you, Michael and I were photographed on one in ‘12 and our “friend” Ken thought it was so funny he had a poster made of it and hung it in my office.  Oddly, he had a poster of it made for himself, too, which maybe Michael can explain 😂).  I think it’s good that they see a traditional English university town, or rather one of the two, though I wonder if they realize that this is kind of sort of like their university.  Funny, there aren’t punt rides down the Susquehanna with tours about the history of the colleges, their patrons, and the architecture. 🤔. 

And then we’ll hustle back because 4 (is it the same 4? It might be) have tickets to see Hamilton.  I have a ticket to the National to see…Jonny Flynn as Richard Burton (can that actually work? 🤔). Everyone in it and the director (Sam Mendez) are pretty well known.  Might be why it is sold out for most of the next month. 

And, till then…

Go Hammers!

 So today, wayward Reader, you’re gonna learn things —

Today’s “thing” was attending a football (back in America, OC, called “soccer” because, unlike the rest of the world, we play the game in our socks) match in London.  This has been a “to do” thing for years, but schedules, etc, haven’t aligned.  This year it did, as I found this match being played on Sunday, giving me Saturday to do things (there are places closed here on Sunday, if you can believe that), and I had a double rooting interest (more later). 

Where? The game was in Stratford — remember, I told you there was more than one here — which, for those of you who understand this, is one the EAST end of the Jubilee Line.  It is 6 miles east of the center of London. 

I have a friend, an historian (and I use the “an” just to annoy people like him), who claims most Americans don’t see the real London because they tend to stay in the tourist area, which is roughly between the Bank (in the old City) and Harrod’s in Knightsbridge.  Going to Stratford is going to “real London.”

Except…when I got there I was surprised to see all this stuff built up.  How’s this for touristy kitzch? 

The walk from the Tube station to the stadium was an arc through a mall, with a lot of eateries (Mexican Street Food?  Dessert Heaven?) and a lot of retail shops, though not the high end kind you see on Oxford Street or Regent’s Street in central London.  There were a lot of people and they weren’t all there for the footie. 

I admit it did feel more “real” than central London, which is wall-to-wall tourists and tourist stuff. 

The stadium — here’s the picture — 

You may or may not remember London Stadium: it was originally built for the 2012 Olympics (that the “London Olympics” were centered here was only a minor controversy…it’s the burbs), it was home of the opening and closing ceremonies and the track and field events.  it held 80,000 then.  It has a controversial architectural design pedigree — they did interesting things to build it and it is supposedly the most carbon neutral of its kind and time.  

After the Olympics, they took 3 years to reconfigure it for the multipurpose use it has today, taking off at least one level (it was designed so you could do that) and now seats 60+K for footie.  It was pretty full today.  

That’s your design history lesson. 

The home team is West Ham.  I looked it up (you’d know I didn’t know anyway) but Ham has nothing to do with a pig — it comes from the Anglo Saxon word for home.  Or, specifically, a home in the flatlands between two rivers.  West Ham dates back to the Anglo Saxons, with the first mention of the name in the 9th c.  So don’t going making porcine jokes on it. 😁

But West Ham is most famous to us Americans due to Ted Lasso, as it was bought at the end of Season 2 by our nemesis Rupert, who hired Nate away from Ted to be their manager.  Almost every episode in Season 3 has had scenes from London Stadium, and there has been much flashing of the Hammers (get it?) colors of maroon and light blue.  Here’s Rupert at today’s match:

My other rooting interest was that the Hamlets were playing Leeds.  You’d wonder why I cared, but “somehow” a month ago I put a bet on them to get relegated (I’m not explaining what that means).  As this is the penultimate game of the regular season, seeing Leeds lose would make me happy (they are currently in position to “go down” — again, not explaining, Sean!).  

Okay.  I want you people to know that this was a workout.  There are NO escalators in this stadium.  OC I have tickets where a nose will bleed (in fact, I searched for tickets all week and they were sold out — familiar story? — and there was ONE Thursday night…).  First there are like 40 steps up to the 2nd level.  I know I’m in trouble when I realize I’m in row 62.  Fortunately, it was ONLY 27 rows up from the tunnel.  Only.  I promised myself I’d not go down again till the end of the match (OC, I lied).  

When I finally got the blood to stop pumping like a jack hammer, I went to my seat.  Someone was sitting in it!  A woman.  I said “I’m in 297” (no, I’m not making the number up) and the guy next to her said, “yes, that’s your seat, but do you mind sitting in the other one? 297 is my brother’s seat and he sold it.”  Sure, what do I care?  I made some point about maybe they needed me in the middle to referee but HE said “no, we’re good…at least for now” Hahaha.  So I sat next to her.  I will continue this narrative no more here than to say that we talked some during the match. 🙂

The effin’ Leeds Leaders led early on, like 15 minutes in with an ugly goal that saw the ball go into a cluster of people right in front of the goal and someone (good or bad) knocked it past the goalie.  The crowd was quiet. 

It was a very nice crowd.  For reasons no one explained and I didn’t want to ask, they sang at various moments, including after goals, “Tiny Bubbles…”. And from somewhere bubbles appeared. 

There was what I thought was a lot of security.  You will OF COURSE know that this may have been due to the fact their was an incident at their game Thursday night in Holland — the Dutch fans attacked the players’ families area after game.  Players are on video fighting back. 

So, there was a certain air of tension. 

But everyone seemed happy, especially after tying goal in the 31st minute (play “Tiny Bubbles”) and then taking the lead in the 72nd.  There was another goal in extra time to finish 3-1. 

It was great fun.  Everyone was much more sedate than I had heard English football fans tend to be — maybe it was the right day and right spot.  The place was festive.  I think the stadium setup is different from American ones; it was like the tailgate was inside security but before you showed your ticket.  There were food vendors galore on the outside.  There was a big stadium shop, which had a long, long line in and then a long, long line to the registers, the latter of which moved quickly.  

I kind of wanted a t-shirt for their championship match in Prague — having won Thursday in Holland, they play in the Europa League final against a team from Italy there on June 7.  The shirts were in their maroon, with the country of the Czech Republic in blue and the crossed hammers (their symbol, duh) in the middle of the map.  

It was a great time and a good thing to check off my list.  And they won!!!! 

Before going, for those of you who are here for the food porn, I had brunch again at Bill’s (what can I say, it is on the way to the Tube station and pretty good, usually).  Today was eggs Benedict.   It came with a side of beans, just to gross some of you out. 

It looks better than it was, since a) they got my egg order wrong, b) (related to the first?) it was pretty cold.  🥲

Tomorrow 4 of the students are off to the Harry Potter thing, which I think is a 7-hour round trip.  It’s a day killer.  I told them to go, if that’s what they wanted to do.  The other 2 have asked to do things with me and we have a plan.  It involves rooks and shopping.  Look forward to it, y’all.  

Dresses, Coaches, Gnoshes and…an odd play

 Once more into the breech, Gentle Reader, 

And, of course, the breech thing is a reference to my first visit today, to the Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace (we are here at an odd time, kind of interregnum [look that one up], because, like shouldn’t it be the King’s Gallery now?  and in the gift shops you can still get merch with Lizzie’s profile all over, and none of Charles’s (the nose would take the whole thing), but you can get everything from clothing to toilet paper with “Charles III Coronation” on it with the seal), where the Queen let us look at her collection of gear from her Georgian ancestors. 

There were no pictures allowed.

I’ll repeat what I told RR on the phone: it was odd that the signs next to paintings didn’t talk about the painter or the subject but rather their clothes.  And the Georgian period was actually interesting as men’s fashion went from heavy brocaded coats, to the innovation of the 3-piece “suit” (the waistcoat in the early days was highly decorated), to eventually more casual wear that was only worn “in the country” in the beginning of the period.  The women…well, I didn’t really nail that down.  There was a lot of discussion of fabrics, as the 18th brings the innovation of cotton and silk, and much is done with it.  And the hair…darling!!  

Then I went next door to the Mews, which was built by George II (coincidence?).  Here’s the picture of the big-ass gold carriage:

The mews show few horses (one named Meg was the highlight; she was eating :)), but many carriages, which I guess have been out a bit lately for all the formal occasions.  There was also an automobile, a Bentley, in the official maroon and black colors.  Who thinks that’s a good idea?  I guess it beats some of the other alternatives…

I circled around to the front of the palace and knocked off a couple pictures. 

I’m sure the pictures do not do justice to the crowds.  There are a lot of people in London.  And, just so you know, there are still signs of the coronation (you can see the fencing in the bottom picture that would have kept the crowd back 2 weeks ago). 

Yes, London’s a polyglot place.  You wonder how people do it.  I’m sitting at breakfast (next photo) and the wait staff clearly is not a native English speaker: she and I had a little trouble communicating and I didn’t order anything weird.  OTOH, the family across from me spoke German and listening to them talk her, in their German accented English, and her respond (I think she was Eastern European), you wouldn’t know they were actually speaking the same language.  😂 But there are people here from everywhere; the group in front of me in line to the restaurant were French; the pair in front of me on the bus to the Queen’s place was Middle Eastern and there are hordes of Asians and south Asians.  Most are trying to speak English, which I find fascinating when you’d think they’d have a common first language to use. 

I went home and grabbed a power nap and my blazer and fought a huge crowd across Westminster Bridge to the old county hall building, which now is mostly a Marriott.  This is it from the bridge.

I only got one picture from the inside (we were across the room from the windows, obviously) but you can see the Houses of Parliament through it. Nice place. 

The food?  Eh.  I have had much better teas, though I post the picture here of their sweets — all in shapes mindful of the building across the river.  The Big Ben (in the middle if you’re missing it) was mousse with hazelnut; the bell was rosewater and the Coronation Cake was cheesecake with basil flavoring.  There was a discussion both of how to pronounce (it’s definitely baa-zel in Switzerland, though we all were American enough to drop bay-zel in there too) and whether it was too much bay-zel or not (I didn’t notice it). 

I”m sure there was something fascinating about the finger sandwiches, but I’m not sure what (there was a cheddar, an egg, a smoked salmon and a bacon) and there were savory (see cheese) and sweet (it had raisins in it) scones.  The scones really went all out in the play on the word stones.  Very hard, very crumbly. 

There was the usual discussion about whether clotted cream was really butter (it was that color) or something else and a whole series of discussions about TV and not so much about books, though we had a brief foray into HIgh Fidelity (we disagreed about the best scene in the movie 🙄). 

Then to the play. 

You might all find this amusing: we got to the play with about 15 minutes before showtime, so I went to my seat, which I only got yesterday, the last one they had.  Literally.  Literally literally last one on the website. I get to my seat and the 7 seats to my left are empty; the woman to my right was alone.  She was Irish (you can see where this is going).  She was delighted to be there on her own, as she was supposed to be there with her sister, who at intermission she told me was just like the one sister in the play, the one described as a sanctimonious bitch (and at a later point she actually says as some words come out of her mouth “I am a sanctimonious bitch!” 😂). Mary and I got to be buddies in 15 minutes.  We wondered about the 7 empty seats.  They all came in together at 7:29 with drinks in their hands.  Say no more. 

The group to my left laughed A LOT more than I did; make of that what you will.  I’ll say that the language at times had me half beat behind, and sometimes I thought it was smirky but not laughy.  

The play, Dancing at Lughansa, is supposedly a semi autobiographical memoir by the author of his family life in County Donegal, the year 1936 (repeated multiple times).  His mother had him without being married, they live with her 3 sisters, and now Uncle Jack, who’s a priest who’s been in Africa for 25 years and has come home (we’re told repeatedly) to die.  

I got a picture of the set because Michael will want to see it and say “oh, my” (I can hear) because as I told Mary I’m sure many companies have done the play with just a bare kitchen set with a table and maybe a sideboard for the radio.  

Because the National has more money than they know what to do with, there’s several winding paths, and a whole wave of grass on the hillside that seems superfluous, if pretty. 

And that was my day.  Oh, I should mention two of the actors are in Derry Girls — which Eva, Heidi and Mary all told me — which would matter more to me if I had ever watched it (RR has).

Now for today’s note: the students made it to Paris.  I know because I was copied on like 30 WhatsApp messages this morning.  Eventually I helped them out by sending them directions as they were struggling to find their way around Paris.  C’est la Vie.  One told me I might just be the tour guide, but I was more than that in their hearts.  BS, but it was nice of her to say. 

and on that note, I go to rest up for the footie tomorrow. 

Windsor

 Ah, Gentle Reader, 

We have come to the end of our first week of activities as a group in London.  The sixsome, which is trickier to say than it is to type, are off to Paris in the morning.  In what seems to be the way they roll, they are going in two separate groups, though they think they are all in the same hotel in Paris. The early group is on the 640 to Paris — Michael remembers it, or not, well, as the last time we went it wasn’t clear he was going to make it. 

Speaking of which: this morning’s trip to Windsor was crazy tight.  Via Trainline (an app), and Google maps, we were on the 822 train out of Paddington.  I was impatient to roll; I was told that if I said 800 I wasn’t allowed to buzz at 758. 😂 No?  

As we got on the escalator, on the wrong side of the turnstile, one said “Dr. Hicks, is there a bathroom close by?”  I said (curtly? Nah…) “No” and she said “I think I might throw up.”  I said “not on me, please”…After a moment came this huge belch and she pronounced she felt better. 🤦🏻 KMN. (Footnote: there are NO toilets inside the turnstiles in the Tube, and not even in the station)

We took the Bakerloo line and arrived at Paddington (tickets on phones) at 817.  There was no time for grabbing “Starbucks.”  Then another one wanted to know if there was a toilet on the train!!!  FFS. 

We changed at Slough (a far, far suburb of London) and had 4 minutes between trains.  There was no notice of where to go and I was about to look on my phone when a German fellow helped saying trains to Windsor left from platform 1.  We made it, sprinkled in seats amongst a horde of tourists. 

There was time to get a gnosh (they chose Caffe Nero, yet none of them took my tip from Tuesday and got a lemon curd muffin 🤷) and we were nicely early for our 10 o’clock queue. 

I’ll tell you so you know, Windsor has as much security as the airport.  They are nicer about it, but they check everything. 

We padded up the path (it’s quite steep) to the “back” side (I use quotes because back in the day, it would have been the important side, as it overlooks the Thames valley there) where we lined in another queue to get inside. 

There is a lot of impressive shit inside.  And you’re not supposed to take pictures 😕. The first big thing is Queen Mary’s doll house.  It is a replica of sorts of Buckingham Palace and is 1:12 scale.  It has running water, electricity and working cars.  The accoutrements were made by companies in Britain to show off their handiwork.  It is impressively stocked, with the state dining table set up, multiple cars pulled halfway out of the basement garage, and all sorts of utensils.  It’s no Barbie playhouse, but what the hey. 

Then up the stairs through the grand entry, with two armored men on horseback, and a lot of guns and swords displayed, into a series of state rooms.  

Memorably, the St. George Room, the great hall where the Knights of the Garter (not the snake) meet, was destroyed in a fire in ‘92.  It was restored by ‘97; we were there not long after and on that day the wife of the president of France was in the china room when we were and they broke a set of priceless china after showing it to her. 

There’s a lot of paintings, a lot of gold, and, this day, a lot of people.  The Waterloo Room (named, obviously, for the ABBA song) has portraits, mostly by Lawrence, of all the major figures on the victorious side (shockingly, there’s no Napoleon there).  It’s a lot of portraits. 

They did some minimal shopping in the shops (be it known, one has been told to bring home a coronation souvenir but it CAN”T have Camilla on it!  Tough task there). Interestingly, the shops were still selling stuff with Elizabeth on them.  I guess they haven’t had time to turn it all over. 

They explored St. George Chapel, which has recently become a thing, with Harry and Meghan’s (and some cousins) weddings and Philip’s funeral, and declared themselves ready to go. 

The trip back was less eventful and we parted ways as they went into McDonald’s for what I heard them say was a “cheap lunch” until Tuesday morning for the majority of them.  Adieu! 

After an afternoon of napping and wrestling with Zoom to find a file, I went to Zizzi’s, which is across the street from last night’s Wagamama’s, for dinner.  I described Zizi to people on the street as Olive Garden but better.  Chain Italian.  I give you some modest food porn, their bread board with sauces (the one on the left is inedible garlic butter) and spaghetti pomodoro.   I think there’s only one orange spot on my white pullover. 😂 It’s why god made Tide sticks. 

And now some additional stuff. 

(In part to see if brother John reads this far 😂)  I try to be helpful when I’m here, as it seems to be a country of strangers (or lost souls), and I’ve been here enough to be knowledgeable.  But I’m confessing here to 3 cockups! 🥲

• In Stratford yesterday we were standing there talking about them going to eat and me going to get the tickets and a man asked me where Shakespeare’s birthplace was.  I thought I knew.  I told him “a block down there, and a right and a little up that parallel road.”  I looked later.  I was right except the parallel road was the opposite way. 😀
• Today in Windsor RR station, as we were walking onto train platform a woman asked me (one wonders why they ask, but I’ll let you figure it out) where the coach was.  It was awhile before I (duh) understood “coach” meant “bus.”  One of the students pointed her toward the high street. Thankfully. (I was still making it a train coach…)
• On the way back from dinner, stopped at a light, three women were studying a phone and talking.  I asked if they were American (I heard one speak) and one said she was and I asked if I could help.  They were wondering about dinner.  I said to go toward OXford Street, which you could see about 3 blocks down Baker Street.  And asked what they wanted and when they didn’t know told them about both Wagamama’s and Zizzis.  As I walked away, I realized they maybe were looking more high end…they were here for work.  Ah, well…

And, finally, if you wonder why not more pictures, well, I left that to the sixsome.  Who seem to take a lot of pictures.  We have a shared album. They have now added some, so here's two of the castle and one silly one. 

I have a big day tomorrow, with full cooked breakfast (a la John), two museums, tea, and then a play (what should be a heart-breaking Irish dark comedy).  And Sunday there’s footie tickets.  Until then…

And we did.

Anne Hathaway did what; or, where in the world is Dorridge?

 Hi, dear Reader,

Well, I clearly did something wrong with the opening post bc readership was only half what it was on day 1 on day 2. 🤔

And I told John he could stop reading at the beginning of the play stuff! (FYI, there’ll be more play stuff today and I’ll again put it at the end). 

Today we went to Stratford-upon-Avon (if you’re wondering, yes, there are other Stratfords here, one of which is at the end of the Jubilee Line, so an outer ‘burb of London). 

Before going on, the funny of the day: we’re walking back to the train station in SuA and there was a sign pointing to “Anne Hathaway’s cottage” … and the one next to me said, “I didn’t know the actress had a place near here.”  ROFL.  Well, uh, she doesn’t (that we know of)…

The day begins with an oh, f***! Story.  Years ago we left a student on this day at the train station bc at the magic moment we bolted for the train platform, she was off looking at Paddington Bears and missed it. 

Today we got there, with 17 minutes till the train left.  I told them they could go grab something while I hit the kiosk for the tickets.  I slid to the kiosk next to the ticket kiosks that did coffee, looking over my shoulder at the spot I said we’d meet at.  No one.  I got my coffee, then proceeded to spill it all over myself and the station tiles.  Nope, they weren’t there to see it. 

With 5 minutes till leaving, still not there, still not in sight.  With 3 minutes to go here they all came, Starbucks in hand.  No problem.

The train was mildly crowded so I grabbed a seat at a 4-person table occupied by a woman on each side.  I didn’t know they were together.  Two of the students were across the aisle, so a brief conversation ensued as we pulled out. 

Not long into the journey the woman across from me (let’s call her Heidi) said, “so you’re going to Stratford, too”. A lengthy conversation ensued.  I felt like “someone” as we shared back-and-forth on our way to Dorridge.

I don’t know.  They didn’t know.  Dorridge is practically all the way to Birmingham (more on that briefly later), which seems too far in the wrong direction.  There was a train that ran direct from there.  I have changed in Oxford, Leamington Spa and Warwick, but never here.  As Heidi and Eva (let’s call her that) said, you’d think there’d be enough tourists for direct routes.  But who knows. 

Heidi and Eva work at an English school in Switzerland; Heidi has Swiss nationality but is an American, who went to Denison and has “half a masters in England” from San Diego St (which is where she’s originally from). Eva is South African and less talkative. 

Heidi revealed that she, like the minions across the aisle, had done a May term as a student at Denison.  In 2000.  The first year Michael Collins and I went.  She remembered a bunch of the plays she saw: Blue/Orange with Bill Nighy, The Tempest at the Globe with Vanessa Redgrave and (they spent one of the weeks in Stratford) both Henry 4’s and Richard II.  We also so those, except the last which Michael saw on a Saturday while I was in a bigger theater seeing something else (I think it was Restoration comedy). We ended up having a good chat, they had read multiple Nick Hornby books and Evelyn Waugh books (favorites of mine, too) and we exchanged numbers as they asked me to join them for high tea and/or the play at the National Saturday evening. 

Okay.  We (the 6 students and I) got to the middle of Stratford, which is full of eateries, and I told them if they wanted to eat they had an hour plus (70 minutes?) and the playhouse was at the bottom of the hill, which you could see, make a right before the river and you can’t miss the huge effin’ building.  And the theater cafe is quite good (which might have been a stretch).  Again I had to collect tickets.

I collected, ate in the cafe, and walked outside where I could see the corner at the bottom of the hill they had to come through…at least I thought they did (I began to doubt this).  Fifteen minutes before the play began, I begin to wonder and text them.  NA.  They ring the bell to say to get to your seats, still not there.  Finally, with less than 5 minutes to go, I see them at the corner!  We were literally the last ones in our seats. 

It was 3 hours and 15 minutes long.  Two intermissions, though they were sure to remind us the second was only 5 minutes.  One student admitted to sleeping through half of it.  I asked, theoretically, what an assignment that asked for a plot description would look like and I was told I wouldn’t want to read them.  One said “I think I got the plot, but I got no one’s name, so it’d be like ‘this guy went up to the girl” …

😂😂😂

I found out that the culprit was Thai food, which they decided on after I left.  It was two blocks BACK toward the train station, but they said they asked about being done in time and were assured, oh yes.  They said they gulped their food (I never heard anyone comment on how good it was) and were rushed.  Which added to their lethargy during the play. 

On the trip home, we went through Birmingham, the real deal. It is the wrong way, in case your English geography is broken.  I almost lost one on a crosswalk.  My fault, I was in a hurry (our train was 10 minutes late) and crossed without the light…number six got the bus to honk at her. 😱. I leave out the guy who told us twice about making sure we were on the right platform in Stratford because they “do it differently on Mondays and Wednesdays.”  G2K. 

When we got back to London, I made a rookie mistake.  We came into Euston RR station and I took us down to the Tube station and was about to punch in when…I realized none of the lines I wanted were listed. Backed out and backed them all out and looked at a map — I knew what I had done. 

There are two Euston’s, across the street from each other.  Euston Square and Euston Station.  We found the other and away we went.  

I had Wagamama’s, which some of you will recognize as a Steve favorite.  In case you don’t know, I was put on to it by my friend Rey, who recommended the chicken katsu curry, which I almost always order.  It is good.  Not as hot as most Indian curries.  Here’s the pic for you with the food porn addiction.

AND NOW FOR THE PLAY

It was Cymbeline, which RR reminded me when I booked it we had seen before.  In DC about 15 years ago.  I remembered neither seeing it nor the play.

The play might not be awful.  But it is long and with multiple disguise routines and fake deaths, I think convoluted is accurate.  It opens with a woman (I am not sure we know who she is) giving lengthy exposition with the characters on stage: you are supposed to remember the genealogical details of them all.   It is titled “The Tragedy of Cymbeline,” yet only a couple shits die, and the main characters do all kinds of happy-ending stuff.  (I want someone to tell me how many times Shakespeare used the girl as a man thing).  

The actors were fine; as you expect from the RSC they delivered their lines fairly well, though twice I thought they forgot them or stumbled.  NBD. 

But it was disappointly bare, which may be the thing with the “new” stage (it was there in ‘18, but I think closed for renovation in ‘15, so I’ve only seen one other play there) — one reason for going to the big theater there is the spectacle of money spent on shit you can’t imagine.

OTOH, see picture above.  Yes, they lowered a gold person down from the ceiling for the deus ex machine scene, which we didn’t really understand anyway.  And I’m sure the spirits of Michael and Michael would have come away talking about “do you know what bespoke Roman armor costs?” Which they used for one short fight scene.  

There was a straw gate.  BFD.  And that was about it for set stuff to look at.  So, for the purposes of attending there, it was a bit of a bust. 

Final funny: one of them actually asked why the play was called Cymbeline. 🤦🏻 He’s the king and has several significant speeches — the whole plot revolves around his daughter and stepson? And his two sons who were taken away as infants.  A rather big miss. 

Tomorrow we have to be up “early” — we have tickets at Windsor at 10, so we have to be on the 833 out of Waterloo (key ABBA song)…they aren’t happy.  I’m cutting into their party time.  We get back “early” tomorrow, but they are all going to Paris Saturday morning, some on the 640 train.  Not a big party night it looks like. 

What’s the Beef, Wellington?

Day 2, dear reader,

It was a pretty good one. 

To Hampton Court Palace. 

We will begin with the title.  It doesn’t take much stream of consciousness to get there: in London, to get anywhere in the “southwest” — e.g. Hampton Court — you go through Waterloo station.

After yesterday I had no hope.  And I was right.  One had the insight to google Waterloo and found out George’s name — you know, the first Duke of Wellington.  They were not up on his innovations in either boots or food. :) 

As we came back to Waterloo (for the Tube) from lunch, we passed The Wellington, a pub across the street.  I asked “what was his first name again?”  Kat (I will name her for this gem} piped right up with “beef!” Barrel roll on the drums.

The trip, other than that, to and from Hampton Court was fine, though a couple of them cannot stop talking!!! 😡 KMN!  At the palace we split up, them heading toward Henry’s kitchen and me to the Restoration restoration.  There are free digital guides, so they were good.  I told them to make sure they saw the gardens, which are quite well done.  INterestingly, they only date from WW1 because William and Mary’s successors didn’t want the expenditure to keep up the of the manicured garden.  There was some lengthy note about replacing box bushes (which purportedly smell) with yew trees, but I don’t know.  Here’s the palace from the big south garden — this is the George the 3rd side (you all recognize that name). 

Have I mentioned herding cats?  OC this is true (in my experience) of most groups.  No one wants to make a decision.  As we left the palace, around 1230, I asked if they wanted lunch before we got on the train: there were several options across the street from the station (pizza? Pasta? Mediterranean ?). Uh uh uh.  We went on.  They stopped at the ice cream truck near the exit, but said “nah, we’re going to eat lunch.”

Then we stood in the middle of Waterloo RR station trying to figure out where we were going. I pointed out there were lots of options there — and restaurants circling the station.  One suggested Mediterranean and crickets.  I said someone was going to have to make a choice and was told by the suggester that clearly Mediterranean was out, since no one said yes.  I guess that’s a way to take it and no one disagreed. I suggested Nando’s, which has been much talked about.  They jumped on that.  There was one .2 miles from where we stood, according to the lying f***ers at Google maps.  

But we got there.  And everyone ordered their own.  And probably rightly.  Funny thing (almost all of you will LFAO at this) *I* was the one with the most heat on their chicken!!!  All but one went for the “less than mild” lemon herb!!!! The one matched me with medium.  Usually someone tries at least the hot.  Wimpy bunch.  Here’s your Nando’s porn (for those of you who don’t know, it is Portuguese peri peri chicken — usually has a kick) and you get some unusual sides. 

And now for today’s play: Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Globe. 

As some of you will recognize, I have seen this play quadzillion times (without exaggeration) because it is not only a summer rep staple, but we used to go annually to the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park (they are running something now…which is earlier than they usually start) and they did it almost every year.  They had a great mechanical donkey head. 

I wanted to see it again both at the Globe, where things are always interesting, and to see one of Shakespeare’s less superficial comedies. 

They did a nice job on it.  It’s in preview, so there’ve been no reviews.  They didn’t do anything to extraordinary (the Open Air for b2b seasons put the couples in Victorian dress), unless you think that the stock modern costuming is extra.  The guys were combat style pantaloons and the women wore…pants and something that was puffy.  

The big thing was a hammock that came out of the trapdoor and was hauled up to the rafters above the orchestra — it was a big, colorful fish net.   Titania slept through some scenes there.  

Probably worth noting was the casting of a little person as Hermia, which got a gasp out of the crowd in act 4(ish) when Lysander calls her a dwarf. 😱  It worked also because, obviously, the text makes her out as shorter than Helena and they had them as dark and blonde, as per the play.  

They did a good job with the mechanicals, though I think we needed the donkey’s head — the party ears weren’t enough (hee haw).  

But they played it pretty straight, with a few gags to enhance the comedy, and they got a good reception from what was an enormous crowd (the pit was near full and there were no visible empty seats). 

Story of the night: a couple is in front of me getting their tickets scanned; it’s not working, it’s not working.  The docent is perplexed and I guess looked…I didn’t hear the exchange, but the woman said “what a fool I am” and the docent said “maybe try the ticket office to exchange for tonight.”  Whoops!  😁

So I end day with this: the drama from the minions (okay, just a couple of them) is palpable and artificial. I’ve already heard “I just don’t like to block people, ever” three times; that blah blah just won’t stop texting; that such and such a person met on such and such an app is maybe not it.  Many times.  It’s good to be an old. 

We go to Stratford-upon-Avon tomorrow to see a play and maybe Shakespear’s homestead (if we have time).  I have already been told the “early mornings” (tomorrow is an 840 call) are impinging on their party plans (that you have to hunt to find a place open beyond 11 doesn’t seem to be the point).  I feel appropriately chastened. :) 

There’s No Reading Here! (London, Day 1)

 So, Obviously Bored Readers, 

Here we are again. 

I am once again on the road, this time back to London.  This time with 6 students.  They are all young women, which may come into to play any given moment.  Although I am about to tease them, they have so far been very good.  Now whether that is some self-selection, or having just 6…or other things, someone else can figure out. 

Today was day 1.  We met at 930 and everyone said they got a decent night’s rest.  As details came out, some were out hunting for snipe until late hours, but we’ll ignore that. 

I gave them breakfast choices and they chose Joe & the Juice.  It was not clear if that was due to preference or the fact it was the first place they saw.  If you don’t know, J&J is an American franchise and it doesn’t really do food…so while four of the six juiced up…the other two were left struggling.  Oh the sign out front said “I’m ready to drink juice and kick ass and I just finished my juice…”. Huh.  I never saw any of the kick ass. 🙂

I made the now standard run to Westminster, where we looked at the river and the bridge, I did a short tour guide thing about the poetic value of the bridge (Wordsworth ca. 1814), and then we headed toward the Abbey.  One of them decided to jump the light, bringing my first gasp of the day. (Later, be ready for it)

As we crossed Parliament Square, the one looked at the statue of Nelson Mandela and read aloud “Nelson…” I don’t know how she pronounced his surname, but I only recognized it from the statue.  Then she got it! “Oh, Man-dell-uh, I’ve heard of him…”. OMG.  #1

I took no pictures of the abbey, so the marker is the one of the horse guard…something a bit different, I hope. 

There was a long, long line to get into the Abbey.  No one was interested, it seemed, especially a la a certain someone when they found out it wasn’t free! 😂 I did the tour guide thing, and they decided to go into the gift shop.  I ended up holding two J&J cups and two reusable water bottles.  A woman walked by and said “you need more hands.”  NS! 

We then circled the Houses of Parliament, which included these gems: “I see his name on the statue and I still have no idea who he is” (him being Oliver Cromwell, who not only has a statue but the commons there named after him) and then at the statue of Richard I, crickets.  “Was he important? What did he do?” 🙄 Let me just insert here: 5 of the 6 are English majors, one with a history minor.  

We walked up the hill to Trafalgar Square, stopping for photo ops at 10 Downing Street and the Horse Guards.  There was a discussion of what to do about horse plop in your way.

  AT some point, one of them said about the current king, “I know nothing about politics.”  Shortly thereafter it was “You know I can’t read.  Or I don’t.”  🤦🏻

There was a brief discussion of why there were “Fuck Biden” signs across from the entrance to Downing Street (I told them it meant something different here 😂).  I needn’t tell you what they knew of the guy on top of the column in the square or why it was called that. 

I sent them into the national gallery and told them I’d be in Caffe Nero, which you could see from where we were standing.  I took that as a signal that I could wait awhile, they took it that seeing 4 paintings and coming after me was the thing to do.  My bad.  

Then to Leicester Square, where, after a quick perusal of the tickets available, we were entertained (I use the word loosely) by a rendition of one of them’s “jazz hands” dance routine.  She was hoping to be discovered by a talent scout.  It turns out that this may be a trip where it is dance steps every possible time…instead of the trips with the musical numbers constantly ringing in my ears.  (No names mentioned)

Piccadily Circus, where I got them to take pictures of the supposedly famous statue, but they wanted to go into the thrift store.  They did.  No one bought anything.  One said it was amazingly expensive. I may have said something about being on Piccadilly Circus, but I’m not like that. :)

The walk to Carnaby Street and lunch was full of “I don’t know what that is.”  Burberry?  I don’t know all the others.  They knew Zara.  

Lunch at Dishoom, one of our favorites was a bit of a bust.  The waiter, Stuart 448 according to the receipt, started well, but forgot us.  He actually said “I should have spent more time with you” as we left.  I took one pic, of their black daal specialty and their “greens” — which are good, for greens.  I actually got none of the one order of their famous ruby chicken, because…well, we’ll blame it on Stuart. 

It had been decided to take a bus back to the flat, so they could sit on top and look out.  Okay. 

We walked over to Regent’s Street, which some readers will recognize as very busy, and we crossed with the green man to the median.  We stood there a moment and then — five of them decided nothing was coming so they were crossing. 

A bus was coming!!! 

Years of my life disappeared.  

It wasn’t really all that close, but…

The bus stopped in front of me and the driver was like 3 feet from me; he looked at me, smiled, tipped his cap, and eye rolled.  We both shook our heads.  

Geez.  

But, we made it back. 

But then comes highlight number two.   We are at the top front of the bus for this: we turn onto Marylebone Road, which is wider and busier, and cruising until…a guy on a bike got in the way. The driver honked at him and the rider, a rough looking middle-aged gent in a sock cap, turned and flipped him off.  The minions roared approval — and the bus driver rode right up his arse!!!  

This made things better, of course, bc this led to another universal obscene gesture, with another bird to boot, then…

There was a road maintenance truck blinking and stopped in our lane! We stopped but the biker slid around the truck, turning to our driver and giving him an exaggerated stroke off gesture and another bird and away he went. 

We were much impressed by his bravado. 

We went after the play to dinner; this is today’s food porn — my risotto al fungi.  It was a main-stream Italian place near the theatre, on the Strand (so a bit overpriced, if convenient), so decent, but nothing to write more blog about. 

The play (I arranged it this way so SOME of you could stop reading 😂): I blame Michael at least partially for this.  😁. He did recommend it.  To give him credit (okay, not really) they all liked it, or said they did (further discussion found a lot of kinks in that wall of like), and it was energetic and all kinds of possibly positive things.  It’s a new musical called Six and the six are the wives of Henry VIII (who fortunately never appears) all telling their story.  

First, I sat there, as we were 20 minutes early, wondering why I bought these tickets that were so high (how high were you?) that we couldn’t see inside the domed ceiling in front of us.  I remembered because this huge group came in and took up all six rows in front of us — yes, all the way across.  They were a Belgian school group (I was told that at least we spelled London right on OUR gear 😁).  The place was packed. 

The post-play discussion at dinner was mildly interesting — they tried to explain the “modern” (they used a term I don’t know that means modern and gay) outfits (they opposed it to Hamilton’s period costumes), but we struggled make the feminist message (of beheaded empowerment — ironic as that is) work with some of what was being sung.  It was ALL song.  The songs were okay, made better by some of the voices.  Anne Boelyn’s was the best, with repeated plays on the word head (I’ve not gone in order, the opening song’s repeated line, each bit sung by the appropriate queen — “divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived”), which she “milked” for all it was worth. 

And I hate to complain about brevity, but it was a no interval 85 minutes.  We discussed at dinner how we thought they were going to stretch it out and the answer was : they didn’t!  Felt a bit like a bust, but they liked it and it got their toes into the theatre.  At dinner, several made plans (they bought the tickets) to see Hamilton next Tuesday night.  They paid #63 for the tickets.  

And that, many pages later is day one.

Day 2 we have tickets to Hampton Court Palace (divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived) which we are going to in the morning.  4 of us are going in the evening to the Globe to see Midsummer Night’s Dream.  I figured I might as well do one more London trip seeing the ass’s head. 

Good night.  Or good afternoon.   Sweet dreams. 

Today’s research question: what’s in a hookah?  There are 3 places on our street with people outside partaking.