Monday Oct. 4th to Wednesday Oct. 6th -- LONDON

Sunday Oct. 3
Another rainy day; feels just like home.  Out for a walk along Kensington High Street to get the feel of London.  Verdict is that London is busy, and that people in Guernsey and Wales and Exmoor are all so cheery because they've banished all the frowners to London.  Tried escaping the downpour under our trusty, small, collapsing umbrella, but after several blocks of V. and I trying to coordinate our strides, gave up and splurged on a second bumbershoot.  Strolled through Hyde Park where we encountered what, from a distance, looked like a lawn covered in plastic, pink flamingos, only these ones were animated.  A closer look and listen revealed a breast cancer fund raising aerobics group splashing around in the rain to Donna Summers--what would the fitness people do without the 80s??--and responding to the headphone-enhanced exhortations of an excited, Rubenesque leader.  Two lessons here: 1. There are cheery people in London.
 2. The UK has not succumbed to the myth that being fit does not necessarily equate with looking like Twiggy.

Breast cancer funding supporters in the rain 

On through lighter rain all the way to the Canada War Memorial nearby.  Strikingly simple homage to the fallen. Out the Canada Gate to Buckingham Palace.  The Queen, at home according to the raised flag, had apparently not been informed of our visit, and failed to materialize on the balcony for a wave. We were disappointed along with the thousands of others who had gathered to sit on Queen Victoria and stare at the Palace gates. Walked the barbwired perimeter of the Palace, most of which looked like a factory wall from the 19th century, with nary a royal in sight. 

Buckingham palace gates and damp Canadian

Determined to catch a bit of the Ryder Cup, stopped into a pub in Belgravia.  Have no idea how we ended up in a former Soviet state.  Probably some time and space continuum thingy created by the Palace.  Informed by the rather snooty bartender that "We don't show sports here."  Curious, I asked what they did show on the several high def, flat screens hanging from the walls.  I expected the answer to be Parliamentary debates, but instead it was "The World Cup."  Was about to point out the contradiction, but thought it might compromise the quality of our lunch.  Our feet were done after walking over 5 miles on the unforgiving pavement, so took the doubledecker back to the apartment. 

Monday Oct. 4
Sleep of the just.  Walked to Shepherd's Bush to catch the bus. Heavy traffic because of Tube strike, but we enjoyed watching and listening to the world go by.  Diversity of the city is amazing.  Couldn't keep track of the number of languages we heard on the bus, but think one of them was English.  Flow of traffic impressive as buses and cars and trucks and scooters and bicycles all merged seamlessly and, amazingly, without people leaning on their horns.  Second bus to

Fleet St

, then a walk towards St. Paul’s Cathedral.  Last day of the Ryder Cup, so V. dropped me at The George pub across from Royal Law Courts. 

Judging--ha ha--from the bevy of barristers crowding every nook and cranny, there wasn't much law being dispensed on Monday.  Interestingly, ended up sitting with a lawyer from Minnesota who’s lived here for ten years.  He was the only one in the place cheering for the U.S.  Of course, the Europeans won, but just barely.  Could have heard a wig drop as the last match played out.  Great Hurrah and mass exodus ensued.

View from inside the George pub

  V. back from her walk to the cathedral and across the Millennium Bridge where she was accosted by a proselytizing Buddhist monk.  Yikes!!  Wouldn't find this in Bossington.  Out for a walk around Holborn.  Found the tiny street and house where Samuel Johnson lived while compiling the first English Dictionary and developing standardized spelling.  “Curse you Dr. Johnson.”  Shook my fist at his attic for good measure. 

Shop window in the legal district

 Wanted to walk around Gray’s

Inn Court

where the first legal proceedings are said to have occurred, but the Master of the Walks forbade it (see sign below) 

“Curse you Master of the Walks.”  Front row seat on the top of a double-decker on the way home.  Great chance to gawk at the procession of humanity to be found on

Oxford Street

in the evening. 

Tuesday Oct. 5
Back on our favourite bus—the 94.  Off at Oxford Circus…good spot to point out for those non-anglophiles amongst our readers that “Circus” in the London vernacular aptly captures the tenor of the location, despite there being a dearth of lions and tigers and bears…but I digress.  A bit of shopping, and a successful search for the home of the world’s best lamb and currant pie.  Sadly, the Black Horse pub had fallen victim to the dread Pubus terminitis, a condition to which many old pubs seem to have succumbed. 

A more recent pub - thought all you West Coast gardeners would appreciate this

On to the British Museum, home to the largest collection of borrowed artifacts on the planet.  Swell lunch at the restaurant, service provided by a tense, tight suited Eastern European.  Spectacular viewing including an exhibit of all the medications taken by two typical Brits during their lifetime, with each pill/capsule sewn into a filament sleeve.  Stretched for dozens of yards, and make one sick to see.  Waded through rooms of Egyptian mummies and jewellery and weapons, each one more grand than the last. 

Surprised by the small size of the Turkish room.  By this point we had both started to glaze over at the immensity of the whole thing.  Soldiered on through Medieval Europe, but we were finally overcome during the 18^th century.  Decided to take in a show, so off to

Leicester Square

—pronounced “lester”.  Dr. Johnson may have become the bane of poor spellers like myself, but he did nothing to bring to heel these damn weird British pronunciations.  Made the mistake of asking an elderly gent with Dickensian teeth where we could find TKTS, the ticket broker.  Still in our British Museum fog, we failed to notice his clipboard.  He turned out to be a broker’s shill and launched into a shouted dissertation about how his prices—indicated by a flapping of pages and thumping the clipboard with thick fingers—were lower than anyone “Just you check.”  When we indicated, by voice and by shuffling ever so discreetly away, that we would do just that, he blocked out path and repeated his pitch.  We finally escaped when we told him we were looking for tickets for some obscure Oscar Wilde play that he had no tickets for.  Managed two 7^th row tickets for Les Miz at TKTS.  With a couple of hours to kill and V. not thrilled with my outfit, we went shirt shopping.  Judging by the availability of 17 ½ X 36,  very few Brits come in my size.  We went from shop to shop, all of which had sales on, with no luck.  Finally, just off Covent Garden, we found an M&S, and I was saved.  Wonderful old pub for supper, packed to overflowing.  On to the Queen’s Theatre where Les Miz has just marked its 25^th year.  Century old, gilded theatre with cozy seating for 1,000.  The performance was stunning.  Voices were magnificent.  Set was an amazing whirligig of rotating scenery where shifts between scenes were accomplished magically and without interrupting the flow of the play.  The staging, where up to 40 performers at a time climbed and danced and fought and picked pockets, was a ballet.  And, apparently, this was the B team.   Hummed “Master of the House” all the way home.

Another West End theatre

Wednesday Oct. 6
Still humming/singing  Master of the house, keeper of the zoo…Tube to Paddington.  Fast train to Oxford where we were met by the daughter of Bill’s oldest friend and her husband.  Warm friendly people who have lived and worked at Oxford for 30 years. 

V and Liz Peretz

Tea at their cottage, then through a secret gate with a key pad, at the end of their street, emerging into the magical world of the University of Oxford and its ancient colleges.  Very fortunate to have extraordinary access to the colleges and grounds thanks to our hosts.  They took us on a perambulating, two hour tour of grassy sports fields, elaborate stone quadrangles, steps worn round by the feet of centuries of scholars, amazing spires and leaded glass, and chapels with towering organs. 

Worcester College

 Standing out in all this, were two experiences.  The first was standing in the Upper Library of Christchurch College.  The room is 150 feet long, with massive gothic windows soaring several stories high at each end.  It contains over 100,000 volumes  printed before 1800, which, according to the pamphlet, “are not here to decorate the room”, but “ are available to scholars by prior appointment.” 

Christchurch college library room

 We were fortunate enough to arrive one day after it had reopened following an extensive restoration, and were given a tour by the curator.   The second treat was, incredibly, even more amazing.  Because of his status as an alumnus, Bill was able to gain entrance to the Christchurch College dining room.  Again, thanks to some fortuitous timing, we were there on the evening when this year’s freshmen were to meet their tutors for the first time, at a formal meal.  The scene and the ambience of the place and moment were stunning.  Imagine a centuries-old, wood panelled room, several stories high, two hundred feet long, with rows of tables stretching the length, each place setting a perfectly coordinated arrangement of glasses and silverware, lit by small, tasteful lamps which cast the whole room in a golden glow.

Dining Hall

The thought that this same ritual has been taking place for well over a century, is awe inspiring.  Left the grounds and returned to the reality of train platforms and Tube announcements.  Back to the apartment, drained.  Master of the house… damned song.