Woke up, struggled more successfully through a shower, went to breakfast, then took a long and meandering walk down to the Southbank Area. Cassie, Paul and I crossed the River Thames, and strolled past some waterfront and the Tate Modern before arriving at… THE GLOBE THEATRE. Also known to my soul as Mecca and Jerusalem and all promised lands rolled into one. I just… yes. We went inside and stood in line to purchase tickets, only to watch the matinee of Love’s Labour’s Lost get crossed out in white chalk before our eyes, signifying a sold-out performance. Disheartened, we learned we could come back at one to wait in line for returned tickets, so we trudged George Michael-style to the Tate Modern lawn and tried to relax on the grass. It was too cold and windy, seeing as how it was 11:30 and the climate had another six hours before it would warm up. We bought ourselves some Cadbury chocolate to raise spirits (I had a delicious Cadbury Double Decker bar – nougat and cereal in chocolate) and sat near the theatre on the Thames in the sun. Around 12:45 we joined a queue, and waited about a half hour before securing three 5-pound groundling tickets ECSTASY!!!!!!! We proceeded to wait outside the theatre itself before magical doorway number 4 (the earliest opener) let us into “the great Globe itself.” Words cannot describe. I just… yes yes yes all of it was right. We found ourselves in a small triangle (only 25 people allowed into this area) directly in front of the stage. I could not speak. Musicians appeared about ten minutes before the start of the show, and played flutes and lutes and tambourines and bagpipes and a hurdygurdy… incredible incredible. THEN THE PLAY. Love’s Labour’s is perhaps slightly ridiculous in its subplots and devices, but the costumes were brilliant, the acting generally great, and the blocking terrific: actors literally leapt over my head and joined me in the triangle and delivered lines to me and threw torn up bits of clandestine letter at me (I have a piece of one such letter as a souvenir ). At intermission some of the actresses offered food from their royal picnic to the audience – our section got a jam tart. Yes yes yes.
We left three hours later and I was overwhelmingly happy. Just really happy. Evening was lovely, and we walked across the Millennium Bridge, stopping at a Marks and Spencer for some bread and cheese and raspberries and tomatoes, and had a picnic on the steps of St. Paul’s in the late afternoon sun. Meandered home by byways, accidentally stumbling upon the house and cat statue of Dr. Johnson of dictionary fame. Made it home for some reading and catching up, then went out briefly to a pub, then back home again for social hour and now bed.
One of the largest items on my List of All Things has been marked today, and as it was not in any way disappointing, everything seems sort of perfect. The end.