Third Rocker from the Sun

Oh dear: two-day update. Monday: Woke up and got to the PMC for class with Sandy - interesting discussion of our detail assignments, what we'd seen, and what we will see. Then a free afternoon! I went home to Hughes Parry to read (some of) In Celebration for the evening's viewing, ate a cheese and cracker lunch, then promptly fell asleep for two hours. Woke up, got dressed and Cassie, Jenny Mac and I took a bus through the rain to Trafalgar Square, where we fell into a Pizza Express for dinner. In spite of it's name, which sounds cheap and tawdry, Pizza Express is inexplicably the nicest chain of sit-down restaurants I've yet discovered. A good dinner, then the short walk to the theatre to see In Celebration, a revival of David Storey's 1969 play about a coal miner and his sons starring... Orlando Bloom. So the theatre was packed with young women. Thank goodness we weren't confused with fawning groupies... uh. Yes. The play was... er... not good. As in dead boring. And Orlando was an awkward middle school actor with straying hands and out-of-control eyebrows. It was his theatrical debut, and he thankfully didn't demand the biggest part, so I suppose I should have mercy. I'm sure he'll get better if he works at it. We then went to a pub for a bit before walking home to watch the YouTube democratic debate on CNN Online - it was really well put together, and featured some great questions and some great (and not-so-great) answers. Joe Biden kicked butt, and Obama didn't do badly either. It ended at 2 AM our time, so bed was next.

Tuesday: Woke up for class with Professor Roach - interesting discussion of The Pain and the Itch, Betrayal, and In Celebration, featuring the head of the Theatre Department at Warrick Univeristy, an old friend of Joe's. She said some good things. We were released at lunch, and Cassie and I wandered down to Covent Garden, where Joe was to meet us at 2:15 for a tour of the area. Pardon the reference and what it suggests about my degree of coolness: Covent Garden felt like Diagon Alley - full of new and strange and specialized shops ranging from a miniature theatre/doll house shop to a cosmetics store with wooden chests of glitter hanging on the walls. Incredible. We met Joe for his tour, which ended at the "Actor's Church" in Covent Garden, where the likes of Boris Karloff and Vivienne Leigh and Sir Charles Chaplin and Sir Noel Coward are memorialized. I said a little prayer here. We then had a few hours to kill before a talk with a Shaw expert at the National Theatre, so we meandered to Trafalgar Square and sat in the sun under Admiral Lord Nelson. We made it to the talk, which was pithy, and then stopped at a super market for dinner. On the way to said super, Paul and I walked past John Lithgow as he hurried to some performance or other at the National. He made sincere eye contact as though sizing us up and passed quickly on. He is very, very tall in real life. We ate by the Thames before going back to Hughes Parry to regroup. A few of us took the subway out to Camden for some underground rocking: five boys in skinny jeans and long hair performed for some minutes before the DJ came on, playing great tracks that ranged from The Who to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. All tuckered out, Ariel and I struggled to find a bus home, and made it safely, and now bed - a long fieldtrip day tomorrow!

Sun with Jekyl, Burn with Hyde

Woke up just in time to stumble to breakfast in tres chic glasses and track jacket before stumbling back upstairs with the idea of returning to sleep. That was short lived. Paul wanted to go to a park, and as I'd spent ninety percent of yesterday's daylight hours literally in my bed, it seemed a sound idea. We took the underground to the Hyde Park stop, and walked through the park itself along the Serpentine. There were ducks and geese and some gracefully mean swans, and we considered paddle boating but then reconsidered. The grass is lovely in most of England, so we tanned on the lawn near an Italianesque fountain and pavilion. Outside the park, artists were selling their wares, including one man with replicas of real pub/tavern signs. Among them: "The Man with a Load of Mischief Pub" (featuring a man carrying a woman on his shoulders) and "The Silent Woman Pub" (featuring a woman holding her own head in her arms...?). We walked through Kensington Gardens and saw some men and boys practicing archery before making our way to the ostentatious and slightly grotesque Lord Albert memorial. As far as memorials for loved ones goes, it was not as nice as the Taj Mahal. We then proceeded up and around Hyde Park to Portobello Street, famous for its outdoor market... on Saturday. Sunday is quieter, but the antique shops were out and on display: old skeleton keys and tea cups and even an officer's ship telescope in a maritime wooden box. Neato. We finally made our way to a bus stop, and rode in the front seats of the top level of a double decker all the way home to Russell Square. There are few things more nervewracking than riding in the seats we were in. One cannot see the front or sides of the bus accurately, so everything seems to disappear beneath the wheels: cars and birds and small children with their mothers scampering across the street, all indiscriminately run down. Other buses pass by the skin of their teeth, and the whole thing is just a bit too much like a rollercoaster ride and not at all like public transport. So actually, it was great. We met Cassie at Russell Square and searched hungrily for an open super market, a difficult feat on a Sunday night. Some cheese, bread, raspberries and sunflower seeds in Soho Square did the trick, and we walked back to Hughes Parry to start on homework. I feel asleep for two hours, then wrote about some Glasgow architecture, and will now fall asleep instantly attempting to do some reading. But only after I tend to my unexpected and misshapen Hyde Park sunburn.

The Boy Who Lived 2.0

Woke up late to heavy rain, so Cassie and I decided to take advanted of the bad weather to see Harry Potter V. We picked a 1 PM showing, and arrived at the theatre just in time for a half hour of previews. Then... the movie. I actually thought it was great, probably because the book isn't fresh in my mind and I'm not upset about all the things that must have been left out. It was highly entertaining, and did an incredible job getting me in the mood for the release of the book later in the evening. We ate at Pret a Manger, then bought some fruit from a street vender, then went home to get ready for Betrayal by Pinter at the Donmar Warehouse. We walked over to the theatre and found our seats, and as we were sitting there in the tiny balcony of the intimate little space, I watched four women come in and sit together in the second row of the lower orchestra. The third woman in was Meryl Streep. YES. I may or may not have started shaking. Funnily enough, when the play began, I completely forgot about her and was totally taken in by Pinter's infinite pauses and loaded lines. The play was great, and though I did hear Ms. Streep laugh distinctively once, I was otherwise totally engaged in the performance. Afterwards, as we were leaving the theatre, she walked a foot from me to get to the car waiting for her just outside the door. We are about the same height. We walked to The Crown, a nearby pub, and then late in the evening made our way to the Piccadilly Circus to see the Harry Potter mayhem. It did not disappoint, as crowds below were marshalled aside to let double-deckers full of bemused onlookers drive past. The scene was incredible. We walked back to the Waterstones where we'd put our books on hold, waited in a very long queue, bought some provisions at a local super market and locked ourselves in for the long vigil. I only got to page 60 or so before I was out. I woke up at ten and began reading again at ten thirty. And. Er. Did not get out of my room at all until 5:30. When the book was done. So. It's all over. A chapter of my adolescent life closed. I showered and got dressed and we went to dinner and then walked (Cassie and I discussing Senor HP all the way) to a pub that supposedly had live music but did not in fact, and then walked to a cute pub/dance bar called the Backpacker and chilled. One female bartender was beautiful and had incredible blonde dreadlocks. We danced a little, then came home, and... well. It's late, I'm pretty happy, I go to bed.

GlasGow Go Go!

Alright… here we go. We left bright and early for Glasgow – as in downstairs ready to walk to a tube at 6 AM. We took the hour-long underground from Russell Station to Heathrow, and got off the train with many hours to spare before our flight boarded. We made it through check-in and baggage with no problems, then spent some quality sleepy time chatting and eating at the gate. Our flight took off a little late, but no matter - it takes about fifty minutes to pop over to Glasgow. We ate a complete omelet breakfast and saw some lovely cloud formations. We landed, collected our baggage, and took taxis to the Merchant Lodge in downtown Glasgow, but had only a moment there – we left the bags and began our first day’s tour, starting at the “Light House,” a city center of sorts that houses shops and galleries and The Doocot, a charming restaurant on the top floor. Viv Redhead scheduled a controversial semi-mandatory lunch here, which most of us ate, and fortunately it was very, very good. After The Doocot, we walked a little distance to the Glasgow School of Art: the weather was lovely – much nicer than we had expected and certainly much nicer than London. Also, Glasgow is hilly, almost San Franciscan in some parts, so it was a bit hot and we were all warmly dressed... We arrived at the School of Art and Cassie and I spent some time talking about the outside before the whole group was ushered in for a guided tour. The tour was thorough if perfunctory, and it was great to see all the Charles Rennie Mackintosh things we’d read about in three dimensions. We finished with the school tour and talked about the building a bit before walking back downtown for a tea break. A few of us hurried to a working reconstruction of the Willow Tea Rooms (Mackintosh designed the original), and had scones and clotted cream and jam and milk- it was great. After tea, we walked to the great and weird church built by Alexander “The Greek” Thompson. The church is a weird mix of columns and Egyptian symbolism and no Christianity. Very nice. We were led around by a student who apparently lives there as pseudo caretaker – he knew a lot about the church (his dad was at one time the minister) and the sad state it was in, and it was amusing and melancholy to imagine him running about alone on a rainy night, placing the buckets we saw in the gallery. We then finally returned to the hotel, everyone exhausted, for a quick half-hour turn around before going to dinner at Zinc. For some reason, the Paul Mellon Centre had seen fit to treat us to a very nice Glasgow dinner, and none of us were complaining: goat cheese, rocket, and caramelized onion appetizer, “chicken supreme” entrée, and brownie sundae for desert. Mmm. Then the PMC treated us to two types of single malt whisky (one glass of each for each group of seven/eight students), one very peat mossy and smoky, the other pressed under granite. I preferred the granite. All in all it was fun and great, eating and drinking with the whole group and Sandy and Gillon, our PMC chaperone. We made it back to the hotel for some well-earned sleeping. But then got up again, bright and early, to walk to a large medieval cathedral with the remains of St. Mungo in the crypt. Neato. We then walked to a much newer Coia-designed church, with interesting panes of colored glass through wooden cutouts instead of stained glass windows… also neato. The plan had initially been to walk through the city’s Necropolis with all its tombstones and monuments, but a gate was locked – nevermind! We scaled a “wee wall” and made it in for a quick walk through, before returning to the hotel to catch a bus to Culzean Castle. An hour and a half of driving through green fields of sheep and horses before we saw the sea, and then we saw Culzean. Oh. To live in this place. Acres of gardens and fountains and land, the castle itself full of circular rooms with panoramic views of the ocean oh. An utterly beautiful estate that made me wish I was born into it a hundred years ago. We had ice cream from the Arran Islands (a treat from the PMC), then boarded the buses again for the drive back. Arriving back home, we straggled to dinner, then met at Scotia, the oldest pub in Glasgow, before proceeding to a different and swankier piano bar somewhere else. A late-ish evening after a full day and we were knackered. The third day in Glasgow started even earlier – we were up and breakfasted and packed and checked out, with lunches procured, by 8:45. We took a bus out to the Hill House, a stunning private home designed from carpet to parapet by C.R. Mackintosh. It was pretty incredible, with brilliant and memorable little details everywhere. We had biscuits and coffee in their café, and talked about the house, and then got back on the bus to drive back to Glasgow – we stopped at a church designed by Mackintosh (paganesque carvings everywhere!) and then visited the Hunterian Gallery, which had a replica of the house Mackintosh shared with his brilliant artist wife, Margaret MacDonald Mackintosh. Then we moved on to Glasgow’s Museum with more Mackintosh artifacts and a disturbing arctic exhibit, and finally to the bus, and to the airport, and to the terminal. We once again had plenty of time, and shopped and ate and played cards until boarding. Another nice meal on the plane, and small bottles of wine, and Joy, a charming airline stewardess, and we were back in London, collecting bags and tubing home, tired and happy.

Royal Pain in the Itch

Woke up and hurried to the PMC for another great class with Joseph Roach: we talked about Kean and St. Joan, and it was clear that everyone was using what they’d written in their reviews of either show – it all made for some very interesting discussion. After class we had a quick break for lunch (cheese and crackers, mmmm!), then met again at two for our Glasgow briefing: Viv and Sandy gave us an enticing look at what we could expect, and the itinerary features everything from the Glasgow School of Art to Culzean Castle – it should be lots of fun.

After class we meandered home to get ready to travel to Sloane Square for the Royal Court Theatre’s The Pain and the Itch. We somehow took the wrong subway three times, and only very eventually ended up at our destination. But it was well worth it: the Royal Court does a great thing by having the programs, sold for 2 pounds, consist of the script of these new and exciting plays. It was so great to purchase the play with the biographical information, and one leading actor had quite the biography – Matthew Macfadyen played Mr. Darcy in the recent film Pride and Prejudice. He was not quite so sweepingly romantic in this role, but he gave a brilliant performance. The play is American, and is a scathing satire on politics and prejudice and family infidelity, featuring an adorable and precocious five-year-old (the victim of the pain and the itch), a totally hilarious and strikingly beautiful “eurotrash piece of ass,” and a sarcastic plastic surgeon brother and it was just about perfect.

The Royal Court also features an incredible bar in the basement, open all day and conveniently after shows. Their “vegetable root chips with aioli” is one of the top 101 things in London according to one publication of note, and Cassie and I indulged – they were delicious. Matthew “Mr. Darcy” Macfadyan patronized the cafe for a half hour or so after the performance, and some of the girls in our group took a photo with him. The Royal Court Café serves high tea, and it seems like one of the best environments we’ve found so far in London, so we may return soon.

After the chips came the long, long walk home. Six of us walked all the way from the Royal Court past Buckingham Palace past Piccadilly Circus past the West End and all the way home. It was a nice walk until we all realized we’re supposed to meet at 6 AM tomorrow morning to take the tube to Heathrow. Delightful. On that note, they'll be no posting until Thursday night, at which time I hopefully will have a big and bad account of Glasgow, Scotland in all its glory. Bed now!

Late Night London

Today was thoroughly uneventful, I'm sorry this entry is so short:

Cassie and I worked on our architecture report on The Glasgow School of Art, so that's done, which is great. Then I wrote my review of Kean, and the afternoon was punctuated by the loudest thunder I have ever heard: the sky sizzled then CRACKED. We all ran out into the corridor giggling and screaming. When it cleared up much later, six of us took a late night picnic on the Thames, how lovely.

Now my review is finished and I am tired.

Tomorrow will have mas cosas. I promise. G'night!

The Great Globe Itself

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.