London 2018

Short version: Had a damn good trip.

It started with an interesting flight from Calgary to London. On the bright side, the flight was less than half full, so service was quick, and most people got a bank of seats to themselves. Including me, though it almost didn’t happen. I walked onto the plane and my seat mate tells me that his wife is in the seat behind him, and could I switch seats with her. I ended up in an aisle seat instead of my chosen window seat. My new seat mate needed to go to the bathroom every hour due to ETB, and after two iterations of this, she ended up switching to an empty row. Score!

After dinner I took a sleeping pill and tried to sleep. I don’t know if they just weren’t powerful enough to overwhelm my being such a light sleeper, but my sleep, such as it was, was patchy and not really restful. And for about a half hour before dawn, the plane went through the worst turbulence I’ve ever encountered. The sort where you start wondering if the plane is going to shake apart. Aside: I heard once that turbulence bad enough to damage the plane will be well past the level where it will knock out the passengers, so if you’re still conscious, the plane will be fine. The turbulence ended with just enough zero-G to notice you were falling (resulting in audible gasps from around the plane), and then it ended abruptly. I suspect the pilots dropped below whatever was causing all the hassle.

All the stuff between the plane landing and getting to my hotel was handled smoothly and professionally. The hotel room was small (and from a look at the floor plan/fire exit map, I had the smallest room in the hotel) – just a wee bit larger than the bed itself. That suited me fine since I wasn’t planning on entertaining in bed. Alas.

I met up with Rosie in Leicester square and we went to see The Murder At Haversham Mansion. And as murders go, it was spectacularly funny. It was basically two solid hours of really good slap-stick.

And then I had my one and only major screw up of the trip. I went to bed and failed to set my alarm. Given I went to bed at midnight, and had no where I had to be until two in the afternoon the next day, I didn’t think it was needed. There was no way I was going to sleep for fourteen hours.

Three points:

• 2PM in London is 7AM in Calgary.
• I normally get up between 6AM and 7AM.
• I slept fourteen hours.

So I wake up and my alarm reads 2PM, and I have a tour to go on, with Rosie, at 2PM. Part of my brain was thinking, “you must have set this clock wrong, there is no way it’s actually 2PM”. And another part of my brain was going “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...”. I turned my phone on to get an accurate reading of the time, had a one minute shower, threw my clothing on, and sprinted out the door. My phone had ten thousand texts from Rosie, basically saying she hoped I’d make it to the tour, and that we would be at the first pub (it was a walking tour of four or five historical London pubs, depending on the tour guide’s mood – apparently his record is eleven, on the day his girlfriend left him). I can tell you, you can get from Russell Square to St John’s Cathedral in 25 minutes if you're motivated.

The tour, which I participated in 85% of, was very good, and I highly recommend it. We went to the Cockpit Tavern (named because it was a cock fighting den), The Black Friar, Ye Old Cheshire Cheese, and The Old Bank of England. There was at least one more, but I was getting pretty dizzy by this point. Learned about Fleet Street (newspapers, then bankers, but never Sweeny Todd). Found out our tour guide has been banned from one of the pubs (“Why”, I asked. “For walking in with thirty people on tour”, he said). Found out that the guy who designed a bunch of the big buildings (like St. John’s Cathedral) would always take a job, and build a pub next to the site, so that he could get back all the money he paid in wages. Work smarter, not harder. Also, people nowadays are often shorter than me, and in the past it was even more so. I had a tough time navigating a few of those pub’s hallways.

(A mural next to the London Distillery depicting the evils of gin. Strangely, the evil of its taste is not pictured.)

(This is Dave's dog. As I missed the beginning of the tour, I didn't catch his name and Rosie couldn't remember it. We dubbed him Gary, because Carrie Fisher.)

(The Black Friar)

(Old Tom, at the City of London Distillery)

(Hodge, the cat that owned Samuel Johnson. Also, the Left Hand of Destruction)
 

(This place is stone, goes deep into the ground, and was built for the average height in the 1600s. I felt like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.)

For dinner, we went to Burger & Lobster. Can you guess what's on the menu?  We ate bugs - delicious bugs of the sea.

The next day, I got my British Museum fix on. I find that the lustre has really gone off the British Museum for me. Too much history. Oh, I like history just fine, but the sheer mass of it become oppressive after a while.

(A fresco? Frieze? of Ganesha, from the British Museum's Asian display.)

(I have no idea what this is, I just thought it was pretty. Also from the BM's Asian display, albeit from the China portion.)

(The Lewis Chessmen.)

(Cats have never forgotten that they were once worshipped as gods.)

(Giant Egyptian fist!)

When I realized I wasn't really enjoying the British Museum, I decided to go to the Science Museum. I basically geeked out there until they closed, and only managed the first floor. The first floor was devoted to Steam power and James Watt, as well as space exploration.

(One of the moon rocks brought back by the Apollo astronauts.)

I had an invite from Rosie to join her and some of her UK friends to watch an awful musical, so I hiked up to North London to catch the P. T. Barnum biopic, The Greatest Showman. It was better than I expected. It’s still bad though. However, if you’re like me, and you like cheesy-yet-sincere musicals (you know, like Christina Aguilera’s Burlesque), you’ll like this. It’s deliciously bad.

Did you know you can buy sweet or salty popcorn in London, but not buttered popcorn?  What the hell?

Afterwards, we (Rosie, Emoni, and I) went to a corporation’s idea of what a traditional British pub should be and dissected the movie. This was fun. And when it was over, they went back to Emoni’s house and I went to catch the tube back to Central London. Except we discovered (via Google Maps, and not just by showing up) that the tube stopped running for the night. Thankfully London has extensive night buses, and there was one that would take me, literally, from the pub to the front steps of my hotel. And it was one of those iconic double-decker busses! I got on and immediately went to the front seat of the top level.

You know that scene in The Prisoner of Azkaban, where Harry has to take the Knight Bus, and it careens recklessly through narrow London streets risking death and chaos to everyone onboard and nearby? That scene is not an exaggeration. Oh, I never saw Lenny Henry’s shrunken head, but if I had, I wouldn’t be the least surprised. Let’s just say being above traffic, with an unobstructed view of what the driver was attempting, made for an exhilarating ride.

But that was just the warm up! I also got a show inside the bus! Let me set the stage: I’m in the front seat. No one is terribly close to me, but there are a cluster of people on the top floor, around the middle of the bus. Maybe half a dozen people on this level in total. Two women are quietly chatting with each other. Some old guy (and he might not have been that old, maybe just a little older than me, but somewhat more weatherbeaten) gets on.

“It’s a rather warm night out,” he says.
“I’m actually freezing,” says one of the ladies.
“You think it’s cold? How can you think that?”
“I just do.”
“Well, I’m going to open a window, it’s so warm in here.” “Don’t do that, it’s fucking freezing out!”

Note, it’s a little after midnight, it’s dry out, but the temperature is roughly 5C. Cold to a Londoner, this Canadian hadn’t really noticed, because I had a heavy sweater on. Anyways, the old guy’s demeanour changes to you’re-not-the-boss-of-me.

“You shouldn’t use that kind of language!”
“You’re not my fucking father; you’re not my fucking husband; you’re not my fucking son; My language shouldn’t matter one bit.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Dude, I’m sure you swear a blue streak all the time, you just want somethin to object to with this chick.” I don’t say that though. Violence hasn’t occurred yet, and as long as this stays about the environment, it’s not my problem.

“I don’t care if you’re cold – I want some fresh air so I’m going to open a window.”
“You’re wearing five layers! Just take off your jacket if you’re warm – or go sit by that guy up at the front of the bus with the open window."

Huh, I thought I was the only guy at the front of the bus. Oh look, the window beside me is open. Canadian. Hadn’t noticed. I shut the window, because I don’t want to be rude. Note, I’m pretty much entirely on the women’s side at this point. It’s a full-on shouting match. The driver decides to get involved. He stops the bus and an intercom comes on.

"Is there a problem up there?"
“NO!”, shouts the guy.
“YES!”, shouts the women.

And he comes upstairs.

“We’re cold and he’s trying to open a fucking window!”
“She shouldn’t swear, and I can open a window if I like.”
“Everyone but you thinks it’s cold up here, just leave the window closed”, said the driver.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be, eh?”

This was the first time I actually turned around to really look at everyone. Relevant for later, old guy was white, and the two women were black. Anyway, the old guy makes an appeal to his inalienable right to open windows, but the driver tells him to knock it off, with the “or you’re waiting 30 minutes for the next bus” implied with tone of voice. He goes back down the stairs and we continue on our way. The argument continues, less heated, with the women suggesting that he can still take off his heavy coat, and him objecting to their blue language.

“You shouldn’t swear so much. I can’t swear at you...”

And... I think he was going to continue with something like “I can’t swear at you because people will think I’m racist”, but he caught himself. Just something about his tone, and the suddenness of hm slamming his mouth shut. I think the women knew it too, but they didn’t respond that way.

“Why do I care if you swear – I’m not your mother/wife/daughter. It’s nothing to me if you say ‘fuck’”.

At this point he just piped down, and glowered for the rest of his trip. Without anyone to argue with, the women eventually switched to another topic and talked amongst themselves, and everything went fine. He did flip them the bird when he got off the bus though, to their amusement.

My entertaining north London, post-midnight, double-decker bus ride came to an end right in front of my hotel. Would ride again.

The next day, I went back to the Science museum, spending two hours going through the some, but not all of, the other floors.

The actual Difference Engine #1, made by Charles Babbage

Difference Engine #2. Babbage would be proud. Or more likely he would nit-pick the people who made it and admonish them for not making the Analytical Engine instead.

Apparently Cray used Apples to design the next Cray, and Apple used Crays to model the next Apples.

Prototype for the Clock of the Long Now.

After the Science Museum, I joined Rosie for scones at the Victoria and Albert museum, followed by a few hours of history. Most noteworthy was an exhibit of portraits by Anthony Crickmay, who was apparently the go to guy for photographs of West End productions/cast. It was great for seeing what actings elder statesmen looked like when they were young.

Alec Guinness and Simone Signoret performing Hamlet in 1966. Note, they were both Academy Award winners at this point in their careers.

Derek Jacobi, Diana Rigg and Anthony Hopkins.

A dapper Ian McKellen in 1973.

Afterward, we went to a local Italian restaurant, then joined Emoni and another friend to see Hamilton.

What can I say about Hamilton? It’s a great musical and a great primer about early American history. The singing and dancing was top notch. I cried my eyes out, I contributed willingly to the standing ovation, and I’ve already bought the soundtrack. If you ever have a chance to see it, do so. That’s likely to be difficult though as it’s sold out damn near a year in advance, and the good seats (which we were in) jumped from £90 to over £200. I’m still confused (but grateful) that I was included.

The only distracting thing was that the actor who played Alexander Hamilton (Ash Hunter), was the spitting image of a young Elias Silver.

Another post-show pub discussion ensued, and we all went back to our beds. Mine in Russell Square, their’s in Wood Green.

Tuesday was Laundry day. It was a small load, so I did it by hand.

Since I wasn’t seeing Rosie or Emoni until the evening, I had the afternoon to kill. I took another double-decker bus (same chaotic driving, less colourful locals) to Greenwich to check out the Maritime Museum which I had been informed had a Titanic exhibit. The National Maritime Museum does not currently have a Titanic exhibit. It does have a hard-on for Horatio Nelson though – I would say a third of the exhibits touched on him at least a little bit. I can’t really think of a Canadian example. Are there any Canadian war heroes credited with saving the country? I can think of a few war heroes. Brave though they were, they never saved the country from an existential threat. Maybe all the troops in the world wars in aggregate? A little hard to name though.

The Royal Maritime Museum, from Greenwich Park hill.

A collection of mastheads, because I thought they were neat!

A giant-ass ship in a bottle, on the pedestal where I was expecting James Cook to be. I think, if you're making a ship in a bottle, it's cheating if you can physically enter the bottle and stand up in it.

There was also informative exhibits on the British East Indies company (from a modern, we’re-sorry-we-were-assholes-...-our-bad, perspective), and an exhibit about the Battle of Jutland. Since I was in the neighbourhood, I walked up to the Greenwich observatory. The observatory is on the site of England’s only hill, which is significant.

The Royal Observatory at Greenwich.

A collection of standard intervals. Hopefully replaced by something with 21st century precision.

Also, it’s the point where the prime meridian is. There were signs pointing to an interior tour and a spot where you could actually stand on the meridian and take a selfie with a foot in the eastern hemisphere and a foot in the western hemisphere. Alas, the tour was £20, and I didn’t want to pay that. I figured, I’d just walk around the building once, and that would accomplish the same thing. As luck would have it, I found a walkway that didn’t seem forbidden at all, but none of the throngs of tourists were going down. I walked down the path and crossed a line engraved in the path and the wall beside it. Stopping, I looked up along the wall, to see that the meridian is also marked on the outside of the building, where I was standing. Score! So if you’re ever there, walk along the north side of the building until you find a U-gate, and go thrugh it. In about twenty meters, you’ll find a spot where the prime meridian is marked.

My head at the prime meridian.

Me and my Fluevogs, at the prime meridian.

In the evening we saw Young Frankenstein. The musical is good, but if you’ve seen the movie, there isn’t much that’s new. While I enjoyed it, and think most people I know would also enjoy it, it suffered from having two perfectly adequate actors as Frederick and Igor, whereas the original had two comic geniuses, Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman. It paled a little for that reason. The post-show pub debrief introduced me to Freakshakes, which are alcoholic milkshakes with a ton of candy in them. I’ve had them in Vegas, but didn’t realize they had a name.

Wednesday we went to Camden Market, which is basically a huge street market in Camden. We ate street food, drank some ale, and bought weird-ass tourist shit. I got a nice backpack for £5. It was ten, but I was walking away from the stall because it wasn’t perfect, and the vendor dropped the price. I wonder at how they can charge £5 for a backpack, but then I realize that it was at the I-don’t-want-to-know part of the Venn diagram intersection of cheap materials and exploited workers.

Mornington Crescent Station is near Camden Market, so that's why this is here. Also to point out that I won the game. If you look closely, you can see the Camden Cat Statues to the right.

I also bought some curry from a guy who grew up in Vancouver. We bitched about housing prices, which is also a big deal London.

My final show in London was School of Rock. I never watched the Jack Black movie, though I guessed it involved a Jack Black character pretending to be a teacher, and he and the students all learn valuable life lessons due to his unconventional style. And that’s what I got in the musical, except with Andrew Lloyd Webber and a bunch of kids who are more talented at ten years old, then I have ever been in my life. I probably won’t buy that soundtrack, but I might pick-and-choose a few key songs. One joke of note:

“Can you sing?”
🎶 Memories! All alone the moonlight! 🎶
“STOP – I don’t ever want to hear that song in this building again!”

School of Rock is in the theatre where Cats played basically forever.

Thursday was a hanging-out day with Rosie. We met at London’s tallest building, The Shard, to enjoy high tea (or rather, high high tea) on the 52nd floor (about 2/3 of the way up). It was a pleasant two hours of civilization.

Our view from the GŎNG bar, on the 52nd story of the Shard. This is looking roughly east.

HMS Belfast, the Tower of London, Tower bridge.

The urinals are beside a clear window with a fantastic view of south east London. Naturally, I used the one closest to the window.

The view from the other direction. The Shard, from the River Thames at the Tower of London.

We walked to/over Tower bridge, and then went to The Alchemist, a high-end cocktail bar where they employ SCIENCE to entertain and feed you liquor. £21 for two drinks - worth it though, for the show factor at least. But you really don't want to get more than one drink there before moving on to less expensive climes. The Alchemist is beside the Gherkin, in case you’re looking.

The Mad Hatter's Tea Party, a paired cocktail that includes science as an ingredient.

Finally, we went to the other side of Central London to Earl’s Court, where Rosie introduced me to the coolest bar in the city – Evans & Peel Detective agency. You walk into a noir detective’s office out of the 40’s, tell the secretary why you need a detective, and they lead you behind a secret door in a bookcase to a basement speakeasy.

“How can I help you?”
“My wife has been murdered! And the police are being no help – they claim she’s been poisoned, but the only person with access to the food other than us is my loyal assistant Ms. Jones. And she would never harm anyone.”
“That’s right, I’m COMPLETELY DEVOTED to you, Mr. Smith.”
“You see, perfectly trustworthy”
“I see. Why don’t you and your assistant step this way and have a drink where you can discuss her devotion to you. It might shed some light on your case.”

Evans & Peel is a fantastic venue. Especially if you’re on a date – it’s dark, and candle-lit. It’s not especially loud, so you can have a conversation. Finally, the walls are made of solid rock, so cell-coverage ranges from sucks to nope. You’re going to have to pay attention to your date. Rosie and I spent the evening gossiping. Eventually the night drew to a close and we hopped onto a train back to our abodes.

I had many opportunities to gamble in London (lots of casinos). Never felt the need to. And as I said to Rosie, win, lose, or draw, I don't want my last memory of London being me, by myself, tossing £20 away to get a casino chip.

Friday I got the airport nice and early with no difficulties. Despite being a much more crowded flight, I’m the only person in my section without a seat mate, so I have all the elbow room. I’m writing the first draft of this on the plane, so unlike a few recent trips, it will get posted. And here you are reading it.

Final thoughts: This was a great trip, one I will fondly remember for a long time. I recognized my triggers from the last trip and avoided them. I had awesome company and my time was filled with exactly the right amount of activities I wanted to do. I have officially crossed that line for a place where I don’t get anxious going there. It was wonderful from start to finish. Well, except for the fact that there is only one decent toilet in London (fourth floor of the V&A, in case you're wondering).

Good

• Visiting with one of my best friends.
• Meeting new friends.
• Shows, in order of preference/recommendation: Hamilton, School of Rock, The Play That Goes Wrong, Young Frankenstein.
• Liquid History Tours.
• Camden Market.
• Science Museum.
• High tea at the Shard.
• Drinks at the Alchemist.
• Evans and Peel

Bad

• Sleeping in at exactly the wrong moment.

 Ugly/Meh

• Nothing really.