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.