The Last Few Days, Part 3: (Last) Monday

Well! I've certainly fallen behind on this thing. Part of that is that the new session started last week and there's a new wave of reading to do (but all good -- Dubliners was better this time around), but I've also been putting serious time into Scripps Ranch's field show. The first two tunes are arranged; the opener drill has been written (and re-written and re-re-written), as has the drill for half of the second tune. Also, last Saturday I watched the live streaming webcast of the DCI Southern Regional from Atlanta, which was pretty cool. I had to break down and get the subscription. I'd been hearing so much about how great everyone is this season that I couldn't take it any longer. The whole of Division I was in competition there (apart from Pacific Crest and Pioneer), and I saw almost all of them. Between the afternoon and evening shows, probably 22 or so shows in all. The Cavaliers are amazing this year. If you're reading this and not planning on going to the cinecast at a Regal Cinema near you on August 10th, you should really change your plans and go. Cavies alone are worth the price of admission. They are laugh-out-loud good.

Anyway, I'd better get back to the last few days of the last session here, because this weekend is Stonehenge and Canterbury, and then next week is Dublin, so I'll be plenty busy writing, I'm sure.

Monday (the 24th) was Charles and Lori's last day in the UK before heading back to New York, and since they were spending it with their friend Raffi in London, I decided to head up there and tag along. Previously, they'd said they were seeing "A Comedy of Errors" at the Globe and invited me to join them. "A Comedy of Errors" is my second favorite Shakespeare play (right behind "A Tragedy of Errors"), so naturally I accepted.

Getting from my door to our meeting place, Tower Hill Station, in London only took about two hours, which is really pretty good. I left here at about 1:00, and two trains and two Tube stations later, I'd connected with them. One of the first things Lori told me was that "A Comedy of Errors" was sold out, which wasn't too surprising, but I thought they'd already secured their tickets so I'd never mentioned earlier that it might be something on the order of impossible to get tickets to a Shakespeare play at the Globe the day of the performance.

But whatever. We walked around the Tower of London for a bit (that's "around," not "in" -- the difference in prepositions is a costly one), then found a shady bench where we could plan a replacement activity for the evening. There are always a ton of shows happening in London on any given day, so there was bound to be something we could all agree on. Turns out only one out of dozens of productions got all our votes: "On The Third Day." I wasn't really familiar with it, but it was a comedy that was also being filmed for TV, so it sounded interesting. I didn't want anything heavy; I just wanted to relax and enjoy the break between sessions without having to think too much.

There's a lot of unusual architecture in London. Right up against the very old is the very new. Sparkling new blocks of flats and towering glass office buildings vie for space with centuries-old churches and public houses. The Tate is right next to the Globe; the London Eye is right across from Parliament and Big Ben. Interesting anecdote about Big Ben: the clock itself isn't called "Big Ben." That name actually refers to the series of deafened, anonymous slave laborers inside the clock who've been nicknamed "Ben" for hundreds of years. Also, the slaves are rather large.

At any rate, across the Thames before us was an odd, modern building that resembles, in some ways, the Gherkin, only this is a different sort of relish.


And at our backs was the Tower of London:


The planning for the evening was accompanied by Lori, Charles, and Raffi showing off what they'd bought earlier in the day at an "American" vintage clothing store. Raffi won, I think. His faux-leather bomber jacket from Queen's College only cost him a pound, and as far as ironic clothing goes, a collegiate bomber jacket with a "Women's Studies" patch on one arm is hard to beat. Eventually, it was decided that we'd need to call these theaters to see if we could even get in anywhere, so we started to wander again. I took this picture of Traitors' Gate as we were walking -- that is, I was in motion when I took it -- and I'm surprised at how clearly it came out. What is it with this camera?


After we walked a few minutes in one direction (towards Tower Bridge), it was further decided that we ought to walk in the other direction, back towards the Tower and the Tube station, because we knew there were bound to be phones (and a bathroom) around there. On the way, I got a better picture of the Tower itself.


One of the many cool things about London is its public phone/Internet kiosks. While we sat on hold on one phone (and used up our 30p repeatedly in the process -- thanks, BT!), we were able to use another to check online. Well, in theory, anyway.


Concurrent with those investigations, Raffi and Lori started to wonder just how early the Tube would be running the next morning, as they had to be at Heathrow at some ungodly hour. All of this checking was both fruitless and time-consuming, but eventually we came to the conclusion that we couldn't see a show and reliably get back to Finchley (for them) or Brighton (for me) while the trains were still running, so in the end, we ditched the whole play-seeing idea. Which is kind of a shame, but honestly, I didn't care. I was there to hang out in London with those crazy kids, nothing more. I didn't really care what we did.

This uncaring attitude of mine became my greatest illusory strength when it became clear that we very well might end up doing nothing at all but wander. Talk of dinner rippled through our party, and Raffi led us off into London. Unfortunately, the London he led us into was the Financial District, which is dull.


There was an old building, but it was also more or less an office building, and consequently not especially interesting. I know, I know, it's the British Treasury or something, but come on.


What I did think was interesting as we walked down those great canyons of stone and glass was that there were a number of buildings that paid homage to the sites of the old pubs on which they were built. They'd have a shingle of a grasshopper hanging off the side, or a brass plaque of a cat and fiddle set into the outer wall. It was almost apologetic.

We took a break on some weird benches, and then I wrested control of the group away from Raffi by force. Right after I took this picture.


Once I had a look at the map, I steered us towards something of interest: St. Paul's Cathedral. From there, I knew we'd have easy access to things like Westminster, the Millennium Footbridge, the Tate, the Globe -- really, it's all along the Thames. Veer too far away from that and London gets, in general, a lot less interesting unless you know what you're looking for (e.g., Wren's churches, which I ought to go find again). St. Paul's was being restored, apparently, and they put up this clever curtain to make the process as picturesque as possible.


Imagine you go to London once in your life and St. Paul's is surrounded by scaffolding. This way you at least get the idea. The cathedral has a very interesting history, built as it is on the ruins of an ancient pagan temple, but I won't go into that here because I can't quite remember it. Read From Hell. That has all the details.

It's a straight shot across the footbridge from St. Paul's to the Tate and the Globe, so... that's what we did.


The Tate is a weird looking thing. I would guess that it's a monument to, and a critique of, Industrial Age London. It looks like a factory. I'll get a better picture of it another time. However, if you look left or right off the footbridge, you get a great view of Thames-side London. When the bridge was first built, it nearly collapsed when people tried to use it, prompting its designer to quip that there was nothing wrong with the bridge -- it was the people who were the problem. Fortunately, it seems they've mostly gotten that under control because we were able to make it across with only minor injuries. Looking back towards Tower Bridge, it occurred to me how far we'd meandered.


Just down from the Tate is the Globe Theater and what seems like a few dozen riverside pubs. Shakespeare and his entourage frequented one of them -- the Anchor, I think -- when they weren't crossdressing and prancing around on stage. The wrought-iron gate of the Globe is inset with depictions of, as I understand it, a key character or symbol from each of his plays. I say "symbol" because I counted quite a few plants and animals among them, and although the donkey is likely taken from "Midsummer Night's Dream," I wouldn't exactly call it a character.


We spent some time in the giftshop/sauna, contemplated eating there, and left. Down a back alley is the site of the real Old Globe, which was destroyed in the Great Fire and then destroyed again at some point, I believe. I should do my research on this. Nowadays, the site of the Old Globe is an empty lot in the midst of some prime real estate.


Earlier I'd suggested that we wander around looking for a restaurant until we all got so hungry and irritable that we could barely stand to look at one another. This would enable us to eat quickly and in silence. I was kidding at the time, but the more it became clear that we'd never find that magical, ideal restaurant that'd suit all of our tastes, the more my suggestion started to become reality. Fortunately, there were still some pretty things to distract us, like this replica of the Golden Hind, the ship in which Magellan did his whole circumnavigating thing.


That mythical, idea restaurant had been characterized by a few recurring terms: "cool," "good," "surprising," "Indian," "Thai," and "cheap." This is undoubtedly why we ended up eating at Pizza Express. Pizza Express is a chain of restaurants that is, at most, two of those six things. It's strangely nice for a pizza place, though. For example, there are wine glasses on the tables. I got the American Pizza because I couldn't resist the stereotype. "For those who likes their flavors strong and simple." Strong and simple. Just say it, Pizza Express: we're the Hulk.

All in all, it was a fine meal, and I don't think any of us had anything to complain about. My strong and simple tastes were satiated. On the way to the Tube station, we passed near the London Dungeon, a place I simply have to visit. They have a ride called "Traitor: Boat Ride to Hell." How can you resist that? And part of it involves Sweeney Todd. I'm sold. I've heard it's incredibly lame, but I don't care. I want a piece of that.


I could make any number of D&D jokes here, but I won't. Fill in the blank.

Raffi spends his summers with his dad (from what I could gather) in Finchley, which is a northern suburb of London. We took the Northern Line up there and walked the ten minutes or so to our destination. Nice neighborhood. Charles and Lori were staying the night there, of course, but I was just going along with them to hang out -- I planned to return to Brighton that night, which, judging by Raffi's dad's reaction, was ambitious. However, it was all too relaxing of an environment for me to care all that much. It was really something to go into an actual home -- not a dorm -- and lounge about in the back yard with a glass of wine. Well, I didn't have wine, obviously, and neither did Charles or Lori. Actually, only Raffi had wine. When I declined, his stepsister (I really have no idea if that's who she was; she only made a brief appearance, and at the very least she's the daughter of the woman with whom Raffi's dad is at least figurative, if not literal, "mates") said, "The drinking age is 18 here, you know. It's okay!" I told her I'm 33 and that the novelty of that is gone, but also thanked her for implying that I was 19.


Raffi took what I consider to be the definitive picture of Charles and me. If I ever get it from him, I'll post it. It's priceless.

Too late, I left for the Tube station, and Raffi's very kind father drove me (and "the gang") there. I got to Victoria Station on time, but a 30-minute delay at the platform meant that I missed the last train from Brighton to Falmer, which was very irritating. I got a taxi, though, and made it back home around 12:30.

A fun day out. I'm disappointed that Charles and Lori weren't doing eight weeks of classes here, as I am, but I'm sure we'll keep in touch. Seriously! I know people say that all the time, but I mean it. In the meantime, I'm making new friends. This morning I was invited over to Park Village 15 for pancakes by the only other Spaced fan I've met here. In other words, Charles and Lori, if you're reading this, you are obsolete.

Nah, I kid. You guys are great.