As most of you know, I did, in fact, make it home safe and sound. Picked up by my parents at the airport in Boston and then driven all the way home. Wonderful parents that they are, we stopped in Albany for dinner...at "Ye Olde English Pub." (Or something like that, anyway, it was a pub.) It had fish & chips, and steak and mushroom pie, and it was nice. I had bangers & mash and I drank the Strongbow dad ordered. (Shh)
Sunday and Monday, as if apologizing for bringing me home, the parents bought me tickets to see the filmed versions of my current favorite actor (Benedict Cumberbatch) in the play Frankenstein. Two showings because he and the other actor switched roles every night, so one performance he was the Creature and the next he was Victor Frankenstein, the creator. It was wonderful and amazing and incredible and other adjectives like that.
Later today, I am meeting up with Jules, who arrived home a few weeks before I did, and that should be nice. I'll be making the rounds sometime soon, so those of you reading this who are here, I'll be seeing you at some point!
For the moment, though, I have a cup of coffee (real coffee! The English don't understand just a plain cup of coffee and they certainly don't understand having a coffee maker in the house. But that's alright because we don't have electric kettles. I have to wait 10-15 minutes for the kettle to boil properly before I can have my tea!) and the windows are wide open and it smells like summer in the north country. Summer smells different here. It's familiar. Scent memory and all that.
I've been okay. There have been a few moments in the past couple days where I felt--uneasy. Restless. Just right now I was going through the London section on one of my websites which is chock full of picture upon picture of Parliament and the Eye and Tower Bridge and iconic pieces that make me sad. I shouldn't look through the pictures, because I know it'll make me sad and I genuinely like being home, but I'm afraid of becoming too complacent again. This happens when I'm home. I get even lazier. I waste whole days watching tv and never doing anything and I don't want to reverse all the changes that happened to me over there.
I'm different than I was when I arrived in Heathrow in January. I don't want to go back to how I was. Not that how I was was bad or anything, just--I like how I've changed. I like who I've become. I want that to continue and I want the clarity of recognizing my changes and of knowing who I am again.
I still owe you the story of Venice. I'll do that soon. And I'll still be writing here occasionally, either missing London or looking at it from a distance. When it gets farther away (and how much I hate that it will get farther away!), I'll probably do a piece on what I learned and what a wonderful experience it was, now in the context of being home and being different and seeing things in a new way.
But for now, I hope you have enjoyed my blog as I took you around the world with me. ♥
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
"I belong to London. And London belongs to me."*
Nope, actually, today was my goodbye to London. And my goodbye to Bella. And my goodbye to, well, everything.
I met up with Bella at The King's Tun for lunch...with her sister in tow. The two of them are staying in London for a week and then traveling Europe together. I'm so jealous! Her sister is very nice and the three of us had a very nice, leisurely lunch. I even managed to hug and leave Bella without crying! Which is surprising, since she became my best friend here, and I hope to stay friends for a long while. She keeps saying I should go visit her in California (where she lives) or Oregon (where she goes to school), so maybe...who knows...
It was weird leaving Bella, because I felt a bit disconnected. I wasn't super sad and I didn't start to cry and I didn't have the feeling that I was leaving her behind. We were just parting.
It actually didn't hit me until I was walking through Waterloo to get to my train back to Berrylands that I'm leaving. Like, on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again. It's been in my head, I've been packing, I've been sad that I'm leaving, but I hadn't actually thought, "Crap, I'm leaving," until tonight.
Holding back tears on the train as it pulled out of Waterloo aside, it was a nice farewell to London. This morning, I made a reservation at The Criterion Restaurant for dinner, because I wanted to and because I'd already been to all my favorite pubs in the past week and where better for a goodbye dinner than a very famous and very swanky place? And it is, indeed, very swanky. So I dressed accordingly and tried to act accordingly, but I think I failed at being a real lady, even though I looked the part. (I surprised myself with how grown-up I looked, in my little black dress and heels, "pearl" studs and hair swept back in a low ponytail. I looked good. And adult.)
A delicious, English-y dinner: beef pie (but ~fancy~) and a glass of rose (oh, I felt so special ordering a glass of wine by myself!), with Eton Mess and a pot of Earl Gray for dessert. I felt a little out of place amongst all the couples and families and I think I may have weirded people out with my people-watching, but I like having dinner alone. I get to think and observe and eat good food.
After that yummy ending, I walked back down through my route: from Piccadilly Circus (where Criterion is), down Haymarket, over to Trafalgar Square and through it, down Northumberland Avenue, over the bridge there, down the South Bank to my favorite spot, squished between the Eye and Westminster Bridge, with a view of Parliament. I actually ended up in the pub right there, too, with a half pint of Strongbow as I sat out in the cold and watched my city wrap up its evening and prepare for Friday night.
Just as I was writing this, the two girls in the house came to say goodbye and I got hugs from them and I love it. They are so sweet. Lydia, the older one, always has a lot to say and Alice is positively adorable and I really wish the best for them. For this whole family, really. They've been absolutely lovely these past few months and while I'm thinking about it, I should go write a letter to leave for them in the morning.
I might blog when I get up at 5.00 am (UGH), but most likely, you won't be hearing from me until I'm safely ensconced at home in NY.
Goodbye, England. Goodbye, London. Goodbye, Hemmingtons. Farewell, farewell, farewell.
* From the book London Belongs to Me, by Norman Collins. Good book. Best quote.
I met up with Bella at The King's Tun for lunch...with her sister in tow. The two of them are staying in London for a week and then traveling Europe together. I'm so jealous! Her sister is very nice and the three of us had a very nice, leisurely lunch. I even managed to hug and leave Bella without crying! Which is surprising, since she became my best friend here, and I hope to stay friends for a long while. She keeps saying I should go visit her in California (where she lives) or Oregon (where she goes to school), so maybe...who knows...
It was weird leaving Bella, because I felt a bit disconnected. I wasn't super sad and I didn't start to cry and I didn't have the feeling that I was leaving her behind. We were just parting.
It actually didn't hit me until I was walking through Waterloo to get to my train back to Berrylands that I'm leaving. Like, on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again. It's been in my head, I've been packing, I've been sad that I'm leaving, but I hadn't actually thought, "Crap, I'm leaving," until tonight.
Holding back tears on the train as it pulled out of Waterloo aside, it was a nice farewell to London. This morning, I made a reservation at The Criterion Restaurant for dinner, because I wanted to and because I'd already been to all my favorite pubs in the past week and where better for a goodbye dinner than a very famous and very swanky place? And it is, indeed, very swanky. So I dressed accordingly and tried to act accordingly, but I think I failed at being a real lady, even though I looked the part. (I surprised myself with how grown-up I looked, in my little black dress and heels, "pearl" studs and hair swept back in a low ponytail. I looked good. And adult.)
A delicious, English-y dinner: beef pie (but ~fancy~) and a glass of rose (oh, I felt so special ordering a glass of wine by myself!), with Eton Mess and a pot of Earl Gray for dessert. I felt a little out of place amongst all the couples and families and I think I may have weirded people out with my people-watching, but I like having dinner alone. I get to think and observe and eat good food.
After that yummy ending, I walked back down through my route: from Piccadilly Circus (where Criterion is), down Haymarket, over to Trafalgar Square and through it, down Northumberland Avenue, over the bridge there, down the South Bank to my favorite spot, squished between the Eye and Westminster Bridge, with a view of Parliament. I actually ended up in the pub right there, too, with a half pint of Strongbow as I sat out in the cold and watched my city wrap up its evening and prepare for Friday night.
Just as I was writing this, the two girls in the house came to say goodbye and I got hugs from them and I love it. They are so sweet. Lydia, the older one, always has a lot to say and Alice is positively adorable and I really wish the best for them. For this whole family, really. They've been absolutely lovely these past few months and while I'm thinking about it, I should go write a letter to leave for them in the morning.
I might blog when I get up at 5.00 am (UGH), but most likely, you won't be hearing from me until I'm safely ensconced at home in NY.
Goodbye, England. Goodbye, London. Goodbye, Hemmingtons. Farewell, farewell, farewell.
* From the book London Belongs to Me, by Norman Collins. Good book. Best quote.
Don't go without saying: au revoir, a bientot, something in German, goodnight*
It's after midnight and I'm setting my alarm for 7.00 so I can get last minute things done...Oh well, I can sleep when I get back to the Qby.
I spent 12 hours in my city today, and a good, oh, six of them were spent soaking wet. It downpoured from about noon (when I was comfortably ensconced in the Lyceum Tavern having a spectacular Chicken Tikka Masala--man, the Brits really do know how to do a curry!) until around six or so (when I was comfortably ensconced in The Sherlock Holmes Pub). Luckily, I came prepared with my umbrella, but it was still a very wet day.
A very wet day, but a very good and a very emotional day. I said goodbye, in whispers, barely moving my lips, barely a breath, but still a goodbye. I'd prefer to be like What's Up Doc: "Let's not say goodbye. Let's say...au revoir." It's played for laughs, and it is a funny bit, but I'd still quite like to be saying a word other than goodbye.
Farewell. That's the word I want.
Farewell. It's a parting, but well-wishing. Be well, do well, have a good life and fare well in my absence.
I said farewell to the big iconic pieces everyone knows; I said farewell to pubs; I said farewell to that tearoom I like so much; I said farewell to the shops, to the buses, to the people. But most of all, I said farewell to what the city did for me. I've changed and I'll carry that with me, yes, but there are certain feelings I have in the city that I don't have in other places. And I will miss that.
For example, I'll miss the noise. I know you're all thinking I'm crazy, the noise is one of the least attractive things about a city. It's horrendous, all those sirens and all those honking horns and you can't hear yourself think. But that, right there, that last bit is why I love the noise so much.
My father has never understood why I listen to music while I study. He and I would argue; he said it distracted me (and to an extent, it did. Let's be honest, I never needed a good excuse to procrastinate...) But my brain doesn't like to shut off. It's why it routinely takes me an hour, two, more to fall asleep at night, always has. It's why I can't find my center in meditation without a guided audio or music. It's why I listen to punk or heavy metal (Sex Pistols and Judas Priest, are you proud of me, daddy?) when I study for finals and why I put on classical violin pieces to write papers. Music drowns out the inane chatter that has always filled my head since I learned how to string words together in endless chains of useless babble. So does the city.
Standing in the middle of the traffic circle in Trafalgar Square is the closest I will get to chanting om and crossing my legs in ways they don't actually bend. I cease thinking. I let the noise drown out the five year old who goes on babbling day and night in my head. She's still chattering away, but I can't hear her. I can only hear the sound of everyone else's lives.
And that's just one example of what the city has done for me. You know, as much as I loved being at Kingston, I really really wish I could have been in the city proper. It'd be such a different feeling to be there day and night, instead of as many hours as I can stand before making my way to the hushed (disgustingly quiet) suburbs.
I had a point to this post, really I did, but I have spent near on 12 hours on my feet and I am tired, physically and emotionally.
And scene.
* A cute little riff intro to a live version of Melody Gardot's Goodnite. I can't find that version on youtube, but it's the iTunes Live from Soho version, if you want to track it down.
I spent 12 hours in my city today, and a good, oh, six of them were spent soaking wet. It downpoured from about noon (when I was comfortably ensconced in the Lyceum Tavern having a spectacular Chicken Tikka Masala--man, the Brits really do know how to do a curry!) until around six or so (when I was comfortably ensconced in The Sherlock Holmes Pub). Luckily, I came prepared with my umbrella, but it was still a very wet day.
A very wet day, but a very good and a very emotional day. I said goodbye, in whispers, barely moving my lips, barely a breath, but still a goodbye. I'd prefer to be like What's Up Doc: "Let's not say goodbye. Let's say...au revoir." It's played for laughs, and it is a funny bit, but I'd still quite like to be saying a word other than goodbye.
Farewell. That's the word I want.
Farewell. It's a parting, but well-wishing. Be well, do well, have a good life and fare well in my absence.
I said farewell to the big iconic pieces everyone knows; I said farewell to pubs; I said farewell to that tearoom I like so much; I said farewell to the shops, to the buses, to the people. But most of all, I said farewell to what the city did for me. I've changed and I'll carry that with me, yes, but there are certain feelings I have in the city that I don't have in other places. And I will miss that.
For example, I'll miss the noise. I know you're all thinking I'm crazy, the noise is one of the least attractive things about a city. It's horrendous, all those sirens and all those honking horns and you can't hear yourself think. But that, right there, that last bit is why I love the noise so much.
My father has never understood why I listen to music while I study. He and I would argue; he said it distracted me (and to an extent, it did. Let's be honest, I never needed a good excuse to procrastinate...) But my brain doesn't like to shut off. It's why it routinely takes me an hour, two, more to fall asleep at night, always has. It's why I can't find my center in meditation without a guided audio or music. It's why I listen to punk or heavy metal (Sex Pistols and Judas Priest, are you proud of me, daddy?) when I study for finals and why I put on classical violin pieces to write papers. Music drowns out the inane chatter that has always filled my head since I learned how to string words together in endless chains of useless babble. So does the city.
Standing in the middle of the traffic circle in Trafalgar Square is the closest I will get to chanting om and crossing my legs in ways they don't actually bend. I cease thinking. I let the noise drown out the five year old who goes on babbling day and night in my head. She's still chattering away, but I can't hear her. I can only hear the sound of everyone else's lives.
And that's just one example of what the city has done for me. You know, as much as I loved being at Kingston, I really really wish I could have been in the city proper. It'd be such a different feeling to be there day and night, instead of as many hours as I can stand before making my way to the hushed (disgustingly quiet) suburbs.
I had a point to this post, really I did, but I have spent near on 12 hours on my feet and I am tired, physically and emotionally.
And scene.
* A cute little riff intro to a live version of Melody Gardot's Goodnite. I can't find that version on youtube, but it's the iTunes Live from Soho version, if you want to track it down.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Second star on the right and straight on till morning*
So Bella and I made it to Brighton! Luckily, the deluge started after we'd already walked along the water (English Channel) and down the pier and were having lunch (well, "all-day breakies") in a diner/cafe along the boardwalk.
It's been such English weather this week. It's either England's way of making sure I don't miss it as much, or it's England's way of seeing me off properly. It's been about 50, grey and windy for the past few days, and it downpoured for a solid few hours this afternoon. So what did we do? Wandered around the mall and then hung out at Wetherspoons, ha.
Brighton was very nice, though, and I'm very pleased I got to have a look around. We spent about 5 hours there and it was about an hour long train trip (~20 mins to Clapham Junction, where Bella and I met up, and then about 40 to Brighton) and it was a very pleasant day, even with the drenching.
As a result, I arrived home earlier than I had thought, so I made some dinner and set about watching the film Third Star.
This is not a film you want to watch if you want to be happy. But it is an amazing film and one that is very important for me to watch right now, I think. Lately, I've been feeling sorry for myself. My charmed life is coming to a slower point, I'm leaving a place I feel happy and at home in, and I am worrying about the future. Will I ever come back? Will I ever get the chance? There is still so much I want to do. I've checked so much off my bucket list this semester, but the list just keeps going and going.
I want to do everything. I want to be everything. I want to be special. I want the world.
I have the chance.
I'm not going to spoil it for you, but the story is basically a buddy camping trip, with three friends supporting the fourth (Benedict Cumberbatch), who is terminally ill. Cancer. I'm going to warn you, it hurts. It hurts so bad, and there were some places where I had to pause the film because the hysterical crying went so deep I couldn't hear, couldn't focus on the screen, couldn't pay attention. It hurts. But it's so good. Not just because of how it's written, or how it's filmed, or how it's acted. But because it puts my life in perspective.
I have an amazing life. Utterly incredible. I have seen things and done things this semester I believed I never would. And I'm feeling sorry for myself because these amazing things are ending and I have to go back to real life? I'm small and my "problems," such as they are, are small and I have my whole life, the entire world, stretched out in front of me and I feel small in the face of the big, wide world and the possibilities therein.
If I want to come back, I will. I will make it happen, I will find a way. For now, the very fact that I was allowed this opportunity is unbelievable. I am so bloody lucky. And one day, I hope to be this lucky again. It will take hard work and it will probably be harder than I think, but I can do it. And more than that, I will do it. Because my life stretches before me, and it will be a long and happy and fulfilled one. I will make sure of that.
And if, god forbid and knock on wood and spin around widdershins three times while throwing pepper over your left shoulder, it isn't long, it isn't happy, then by god, it will still be mine. I can and will decide what my life is like.
And all of this is because I've grown up while I've been here. What a wonderful four-and-a-half months.
* A quote from Peter Pan and, as far as I can tell, inspiration for the title of the film. James, the main character, makes a barely-heard comment about how he thought it was third star on the right...
It's been such English weather this week. It's either England's way of making sure I don't miss it as much, or it's England's way of seeing me off properly. It's been about 50, grey and windy for the past few days, and it downpoured for a solid few hours this afternoon. So what did we do? Wandered around the mall and then hung out at Wetherspoons, ha.
Brighton was very nice, though, and I'm very pleased I got to have a look around. We spent about 5 hours there and it was about an hour long train trip (~20 mins to Clapham Junction, where Bella and I met up, and then about 40 to Brighton) and it was a very pleasant day, even with the drenching.
As a result, I arrived home earlier than I had thought, so I made some dinner and set about watching the film Third Star.
This is not a film you want to watch if you want to be happy. But it is an amazing film and one that is very important for me to watch right now, I think. Lately, I've been feeling sorry for myself. My charmed life is coming to a slower point, I'm leaving a place I feel happy and at home in, and I am worrying about the future. Will I ever come back? Will I ever get the chance? There is still so much I want to do. I've checked so much off my bucket list this semester, but the list just keeps going and going.
I want to do everything. I want to be everything. I want to be special. I want the world.
I have the chance.
I'm not going to spoil it for you, but the story is basically a buddy camping trip, with three friends supporting the fourth (Benedict Cumberbatch), who is terminally ill. Cancer. I'm going to warn you, it hurts. It hurts so bad, and there were some places where I had to pause the film because the hysterical crying went so deep I couldn't hear, couldn't focus on the screen, couldn't pay attention. It hurts. But it's so good. Not just because of how it's written, or how it's filmed, or how it's acted. But because it puts my life in perspective.
I have an amazing life. Utterly incredible. I have seen things and done things this semester I believed I never would. And I'm feeling sorry for myself because these amazing things are ending and I have to go back to real life? I'm small and my "problems," such as they are, are small and I have my whole life, the entire world, stretched out in front of me and I feel small in the face of the big, wide world and the possibilities therein.
If I want to come back, I will. I will make it happen, I will find a way. For now, the very fact that I was allowed this opportunity is unbelievable. I am so bloody lucky. And one day, I hope to be this lucky again. It will take hard work and it will probably be harder than I think, but I can do it. And more than that, I will do it. Because my life stretches before me, and it will be a long and happy and fulfilled one. I will make sure of that.
And if, god forbid and knock on wood and spin around widdershins three times while throwing pepper over your left shoulder, it isn't long, it isn't happy, then by god, it will still be mine. I can and will decide what my life is like.
And all of this is because I've grown up while I've been here. What a wonderful four-and-a-half months.
* A quote from Peter Pan and, as far as I can tell, inspiration for the title of the film. James, the main character, makes a barely-heard comment about how he thought it was third star on the right...
Monday, June 4, 2012
To think you came here for the treasure?/ But nobody ever came here for the weather*
Yesterday was interesting. Awesome, but cold.
I took the 11.15 into Central, and it's a good thing I did. I got a pasty and got down to the Embankment, by the Eye, by noon and a half hour later, they closed the barricades. And then they opened them again because of the angry mob of people who had just left to get food and whose parents and children and friends were right there. And then they closed them again. And then opened them again.
As for me, I just chilled there for the next 3.5 hours, watching the insanity. It was not terribly well-organized, and it made a lot of people angry. But I had a spot just at the back of a crush of people, directly to the left of the Eye, with a wonderful view of Westminster Bridge and Parliament. A prime spot, actually.
But, when it came time to actually see the flotilla, I couldn't see but for all the people and cameras and umbrellas in the way. It was fine, I didn't really care much about the flotilla itself; I caught a couple glimpses and I cheered with the rest and that was enough. What I really liked was being a part of it all. We were cold and damp (not wet; it didn't start downpouring until I was on the train back home, thankfully) and the people in the front were being jerkfaces and it was a slightly antagonistic feeling the whole way through, but I was part of the crowd for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. The second one to happen in the whole of British monarchical history. (The first was Queen Victoria, and now QEII, and when told that, the girl from Hong Kong I was hanging out with said, "Ah, so the women last longer!" I enjoyed that.)
I was there, in the crowd, in an iconic place, at an historical time. And that was all I really cared about. I was there. In fact, I went onto a website I frequent last night to find a number of pictures of the Jubilee pageant and the only comment I added was "I was there. It was cold. But awesome."
It was actually not as packed as I had assumed it would be. I'd thought it would be packed front-to-back with bodies, no way to move around, no flow, just everyone waiting. It wasn't all that bad. Well, on the Embankment where I was. Waterloo Station itself and what I could see of Westminster Bridge (and later, on the tv footage, Tower and London Bridges) was thick with people. As I put on Facebook, London was absolutely mad and it was glorious. Really, a lot of fun. Dodging people, this way and that, slipping through spaces as I walked confidently down to where I needed to be, where I knew the streets and a back way to get there.
Speaking of my city, since my time is rapidly ticking down, I want to share my city with you. So here it is, from the top of the tallest building in the EU, the Shard: London. Go explore it.
Today, I've been packing. And thinking about going home. And thinking about a lot of things. And later tonight, I will be meeting up with Bella to see them light the Kingston Beacon as part of the Jubilee ceremony. (Think, LotR or 101 Dalmations.)
Until then, I think I'll do some writing and some more thinking.
* City of Gold, Professor Green. Rap. A different side of London than I've ever seen, which reminds me just how little I actually know about my city.
I took the 11.15 into Central, and it's a good thing I did. I got a pasty and got down to the Embankment, by the Eye, by noon and a half hour later, they closed the barricades. And then they opened them again because of the angry mob of people who had just left to get food and whose parents and children and friends were right there. And then they closed them again. And then opened them again.
As for me, I just chilled there for the next 3.5 hours, watching the insanity. It was not terribly well-organized, and it made a lot of people angry. But I had a spot just at the back of a crush of people, directly to the left of the Eye, with a wonderful view of Westminster Bridge and Parliament. A prime spot, actually.
But, when it came time to actually see the flotilla, I couldn't see but for all the people and cameras and umbrellas in the way. It was fine, I didn't really care much about the flotilla itself; I caught a couple glimpses and I cheered with the rest and that was enough. What I really liked was being a part of it all. We were cold and damp (not wet; it didn't start downpouring until I was on the train back home, thankfully) and the people in the front were being jerkfaces and it was a slightly antagonistic feeling the whole way through, but I was part of the crowd for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. The second one to happen in the whole of British monarchical history. (The first was Queen Victoria, and now QEII, and when told that, the girl from Hong Kong I was hanging out with said, "Ah, so the women last longer!" I enjoyed that.)
I was there, in the crowd, in an iconic place, at an historical time. And that was all I really cared about. I was there. In fact, I went onto a website I frequent last night to find a number of pictures of the Jubilee pageant and the only comment I added was "I was there. It was cold. But awesome."
It was actually not as packed as I had assumed it would be. I'd thought it would be packed front-to-back with bodies, no way to move around, no flow, just everyone waiting. It wasn't all that bad. Well, on the Embankment where I was. Waterloo Station itself and what I could see of Westminster Bridge (and later, on the tv footage, Tower and London Bridges) was thick with people. As I put on Facebook, London was absolutely mad and it was glorious. Really, a lot of fun. Dodging people, this way and that, slipping through spaces as I walked confidently down to where I needed to be, where I knew the streets and a back way to get there.
Speaking of my city, since my time is rapidly ticking down, I want to share my city with you. So here it is, from the top of the tallest building in the EU, the Shard: London. Go explore it.
Today, I've been packing. And thinking about going home. And thinking about a lot of things. And later tonight, I will be meeting up with Bella to see them light the Kingston Beacon as part of the Jubilee ceremony. (Think, LotR or 101 Dalmations.)
Until then, I think I'll do some writing and some more thinking.
* City of Gold, Professor Green. Rap. A different side of London than I've ever seen, which reminds me just how little I actually know about my city.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
God Save the Queen!*
Happy Jubilee Weekend! It's the Queen's Diamond Jubilee weekend, and it is a very English day for such an occasion. Grey and rainy and hopefully it'll lighten up before this afternoon for the festivities.
What festivities, you ask? Well, quite a few! I'm only doing one today, though, and that's assuming I can find a place to stand. The Queen's flotilla starts at Battersea Bridge at 2.00 and heads up the Thames to either London Bridge or Tower Bridge, I can't remember. Mrs. H said I should take the District line from Wimbledon and go to Putney, where it starts, and then follow it along the river...but it's not looking like such a good day for that.
My plan, inasmuch as one can call it a plan, is to go in around noon and pick up something for lunch then wait at the Embankment, near the Eye, to watch it go by. I'm a little worried, because the South Bank is completely swamped on a good weekend and this should be intense. But where else should I go? This is my countdown, my goodbye to my city, and where better to feel like London than in the thick of it!
I have tea to fortify me (sadly lacking in milk...) and an umbrella (a nice black one, like a proper Londoner) and a tacky London shirt and my top hat. Let the festivities commence!
* Your choice: the anthem or the Sex Pistols version
What festivities, you ask? Well, quite a few! I'm only doing one today, though, and that's assuming I can find a place to stand. The Queen's flotilla starts at Battersea Bridge at 2.00 and heads up the Thames to either London Bridge or Tower Bridge, I can't remember. Mrs. H said I should take the District line from Wimbledon and go to Putney, where it starts, and then follow it along the river...but it's not looking like such a good day for that.
My plan, inasmuch as one can call it a plan, is to go in around noon and pick up something for lunch then wait at the Embankment, near the Eye, to watch it go by. I'm a little worried, because the South Bank is completely swamped on a good weekend and this should be intense. But where else should I go? This is my countdown, my goodbye to my city, and where better to feel like London than in the thick of it!
I have tea to fortify me (sadly lacking in milk...) and an umbrella (a nice black one, like a proper Londoner) and a tacky London shirt and my top hat. Let the festivities commence!
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| Thank you, Primark! 6 pounds for this shiny, sequiny shirt of London |
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* Your choice: the anthem or the Sex Pistols version
Friday, June 1, 2012
Life is love and understanding, fear is losing all control*
Mm, it's been a good couple of days.
After I posted yesterday, I went to meet up with Bella in London. We wandered around for a few hours, then made our way to The Troubadour, in Earl's Court, for dinner and a gig that started at 8 downstairs. The Troubadour is a very yummy, but very expensive, place, but that's really not what I'm here to talk about.
Background: In sophomore year of high school, I first heard a song (Back Again) by this English band called Boy Kill Boy and I fell in love. I bought their first album and preordered their second so that it was delivered to me on the day of release and I listened to them on repeat (like I do) all the time. About six months after their second album was released, they broke up. I was completely gutted. Especially because, at the time I was just formulating plans to study abroad in England (even in junior year of high school, I knew it would happen) and I'd really, really hoped I could possibly, someday, maybe see them live. That is a dream that will never come true.
Since 2008, I've been searching on and off for what the members have been doing since. The lead singer, Chris Peck, has an absolutely fantastic voice and guitar style and I was particularly keen to see what he was up to. Around December, I found out he's in a new band. I friended them on Facebook and have kept up with their news and gigs and songs. And then, a couple months ago, they announced they'd be playing last night at The Troubadour. I asked Bella if she wanted to come with me and that was that. So last night, at The Troubadour, I got to see one-fourth of BKB live. Actually, that's a little unfair, to just call him one-fourth of BKB. I'm actually really, really fond of Mr. Peck and his musical abilities. Well, a lot fond. He was always my favorite.
So last night, I got to see three and a half bands (we left before Tinlin, the last band's, set ended--they were kind of boring), including Chris Peck & The Family Tree. BKB was a sort of electro-pop-rock-indie band that owed a lot to the 80s. This is a folk-rock band with an accordion and a violin and dark lyrics. I love them both equally, (though I'm more familiar with BKB). Really, I'm just incredibly jazzed to have seen Mr. Peck live. He's even more intense in person, especially his eyes (I'm fairly certain we made eye contact for half a second, maybe even 45 milliseconds, earlier in the evening, but I was too jittery and shy to smile or say hi or anything) and his voice gives me chills. It's not a particularly beautiful voice; it's not trained, it's not classical or smooth, like Michael Buble's, or wild, like Lindsey Buckingham's, but I really, really like it.
Speaking of Lindsey Buckingham, the second act, Marc O'Reilly, reminded me of an Irish Lindsey. He was completely incredible on the guitar and had a look of transcendental bliss during a couple solos. I really liked him. For everyone, but for dad especially, here is Tell Old Joe, a sort of Irish-Western thing about an outlaw.
Before I talk about today, I just want to link you to a couple CP&TFT songs, because I'm really very much in love with them. First is Riversong, the first of theirs I heard, and it's utterly gorgeous.
Then I Walk Alone, which CP described as a love-murder story. It's a classic tale, very Greek, but the music makes uniquely chilling.
Now that I'm done fangirling random English bands, onto today.
Today, I went to The Globe Theatre to see my favorite Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, in French. The past month or so has been Globe-to-Globe, a celebration of Shakespeare and multiculturalism; 33 plays in 33 different languages. How cool is that?
I'm very glad I'm so familiar with MAAN, that it's my favorite and I've memorized bits of it, because my French really is very rusty and was very much not up to that task. However, the Beatrice and Benedick were amazing (easily my favorite Shakespearean characters...) and the actors all made it fairly easy to understand their meanings and motivations, even if you couldn't understand their language.
A very good use of 5 pounds and an afternoon.
This weekend is the jubilee, so I'm not sure quite what I'll be doing, but I'll make sure to keep you informed. Seven days from now, however, will be my last night in London...
* I Walk Alone, Chris Peck & the Family Tree
After I posted yesterday, I went to meet up with Bella in London. We wandered around for a few hours, then made our way to The Troubadour, in Earl's Court, for dinner and a gig that started at 8 downstairs. The Troubadour is a very yummy, but very expensive, place, but that's really not what I'm here to talk about.
Background: In sophomore year of high school, I first heard a song (Back Again) by this English band called Boy Kill Boy and I fell in love. I bought their first album and preordered their second so that it was delivered to me on the day of release and I listened to them on repeat (like I do) all the time. About six months after their second album was released, they broke up. I was completely gutted. Especially because, at the time I was just formulating plans to study abroad in England (even in junior year of high school, I knew it would happen) and I'd really, really hoped I could possibly, someday, maybe see them live. That is a dream that will never come true.
Since 2008, I've been searching on and off for what the members have been doing since. The lead singer, Chris Peck, has an absolutely fantastic voice and guitar style and I was particularly keen to see what he was up to. Around December, I found out he's in a new band. I friended them on Facebook and have kept up with their news and gigs and songs. And then, a couple months ago, they announced they'd be playing last night at The Troubadour. I asked Bella if she wanted to come with me and that was that. So last night, at The Troubadour, I got to see one-fourth of BKB live. Actually, that's a little unfair, to just call him one-fourth of BKB. I'm actually really, really fond of Mr. Peck and his musical abilities. Well, a lot fond. He was always my favorite.
So last night, I got to see three and a half bands (we left before Tinlin, the last band's, set ended--they were kind of boring), including Chris Peck & The Family Tree. BKB was a sort of electro-pop-rock-indie band that owed a lot to the 80s. This is a folk-rock band with an accordion and a violin and dark lyrics. I love them both equally, (though I'm more familiar with BKB). Really, I'm just incredibly jazzed to have seen Mr. Peck live. He's even more intense in person, especially his eyes (I'm fairly certain we made eye contact for half a second, maybe even 45 milliseconds, earlier in the evening, but I was too jittery and shy to smile or say hi or anything) and his voice gives me chills. It's not a particularly beautiful voice; it's not trained, it's not classical or smooth, like Michael Buble's, or wild, like Lindsey Buckingham's, but I really, really like it.
Speaking of Lindsey Buckingham, the second act, Marc O'Reilly, reminded me of an Irish Lindsey. He was completely incredible on the guitar and had a look of transcendental bliss during a couple solos. I really liked him. For everyone, but for dad especially, here is Tell Old Joe, a sort of Irish-Western thing about an outlaw.
Before I talk about today, I just want to link you to a couple CP&TFT songs, because I'm really very much in love with them. First is Riversong, the first of theirs I heard, and it's utterly gorgeous.
Then I Walk Alone, which CP described as a love-murder story. It's a classic tale, very Greek, but the music makes uniquely chilling.
Now that I'm done fangirling random English bands, onto today.
Today, I went to The Globe Theatre to see my favorite Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, in French. The past month or so has been Globe-to-Globe, a celebration of Shakespeare and multiculturalism; 33 plays in 33 different languages. How cool is that?
I'm very glad I'm so familiar with MAAN, that it's my favorite and I've memorized bits of it, because my French really is very rusty and was very much not up to that task. However, the Beatrice and Benedick were amazing (easily my favorite Shakespearean characters...) and the actors all made it fairly easy to understand their meanings and motivations, even if you couldn't understand their language.
A very good use of 5 pounds and an afternoon.
This weekend is the jubilee, so I'm not sure quite what I'll be doing, but I'll make sure to keep you informed. Seven days from now, however, will be my last night in London...
* I Walk Alone, Chris Peck & the Family Tree
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