DAY NINE

 

Didn’t do much of anything yesterday, Day 8, as it was raining, so I didn’t see fit to waste my time and your’s on an entry about nothing.  I can sum it up in one sentence: we saw the new X-Men movie.  And I swore I wasn’t going to go see a movie in England.  Pathetic.  I needed a little bit of break from being a foreigner though; to find something familiar.  Well the cinema experience is far different here, I can assure you.

Right, so that was yesterday.  Today, we were meant to wake up bright and early and meet the group for a tour of Westminster Abbey at 9:45.  It was damp and rainy still, and despite the fact that Jason, Chris, and I left the flat at 9 sharp we still managed to show up at the Abbey 10 minutes late.  Bollocks.  We were going literally five stops and it took us the better part of an hour.  Luckily, the tour guide was running late or something and Jane told us we had shown up “just on time.”  I think she was being nice.  Small mercies.

The Abbey itself, I hope you’ll forgive me, was underwhelming.  I know there are some people out there (Brent) who will want to throttle me for saying so, but I just don’t think I was in the Abbey-ing mood.  Being in a rush always leaves me in something of a foul mood, and ducking and weaving through a sea of Asian tourists babbling on in front of the Abbey didn’t help improve things.

Our tour guide, ironically enough, was named Abbey, and she was worse than Warren (our walking guide from days previous).  If I haven’t told you about Warren, here are the highlights.  He took us through the City of London (see the Great Fire monument post) and later through St. Paul’s.  It was there that he told us Americans that the Russian cosmonauts beat us to the Moon and practically forced us to buy his book (which I did, foolishly).  He signed it for what it’s worth.  Anyway, Abbey was more informed, but about as charismatic as an old cardboard box that I saw a homeless man use as a toilet in Piccadilly Circus.  I popped a picture of her up top as the cover for you.  The Abbey was crowded today, so she informed us to follow the chicken.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that what she held in her hand was actually a cock.

Anywho, the Abbey was as one expected.  There were some pretty impressive burial mounds and sarcophogi, and I got to tell an interesting bit about the statue of Handel, the composer.  The sculptor of the statue didn’t like Handel’s ears, so he used the ears of his wife (or assistant or something) as the model for the ears.  So Handel has a lady’s ears.  And now you know.  We also saw the oldest door in Britain.  Check the fb out for pictures.

After the Abbey, we checked out Hamley’s, which is the English equivalent to F.A.O. Schwartz, except about 1000 times older.  Actually, I made that fact up, I don’t know which is older.  Jason was all excited about Hamley’s and made a bee-line for the 5th floor where there was a huge wall of Doctor Who action figures/paraphernalia.  He debated whether or not to buy a 30 pound (currency) working model of a Dalek, but decided against it.  It was tempting, but I also resisted the charms of a battery operated Sonic Screwdriver.  He’s converted me, I’m afraid, though so far I’m solidly in the Matt Smith camp.  I haven’t seen any David Tennant.

We met at the Apollo Theatre (not the Michael Jackson one) to see Blithe Spirit at 7:30, but we were fashionably early at 6:45.  Only Jane was there.  We were lucky enough to get our tickets changed from the circle to the orchestra pit (from the balcony to the floor) where we had a much better view.  The seating was cramped and the crazy lunatics must’ve had the heating on to about 300 C.  I believe I started to sweat.  Jason had a harder time of it, being about 6’4″.  No leg room at all.  He looked like a weird piece of origami.

The play was very good, about a man who dabbled in the paranormal and brought about the spirit of his dead wife.  It was pretty funny, and just validated what I and Chip Coffey have been telling everyone all along:  DON’T MESS WITH GHOSTS AND STUFF.  If you don’t know who Chip Coffey is, Google him.  I’m not doing all the work, here.

Right, well there it is.  Tomorrow we have a walking tour of Bloomsbury, a neighborhood where we have our classes.  From various forays into getting lost around there I feel I already know it pretty well and am nervous that it will be kind of Virginia Woolfe-heavy.  I can’t stand her (shoot me again, I know).  Anyway, we’ll see.  Our third instructor, Peter Graham, showed up today from America and he’s to be the mentor to my splinter-group, “The Landwards.”  I have yet to form an opinion on him, though he tried to instruct me on symbology today at Westminster.  Please.  The forecasts thus far are dire.  At least there’s a comic shop in Bloomsbury and tandoori chicken in the fridge.

Cheers for not messing with ghosts and stuff.

— Henry