A Fortnight of Fun


Politics and Poppies

It's been invigorating the past week, what with everyone running around with poppies and talking about politics. Allow me to explain:

every year, the British Royal Legion sells poppies in the Poppy Appeal, with funds going to help military families. Everyone buys a poppy to wear; I believe it references Armistice Day on Nov. 11, which interestingly enough is a public holiday in Germany. Guess they really took WWI to heart.

there's been a political upheaval this past week, with the Conservative Party replacing Iain Duncan Smith as party leader with Michael Howard.

It certainly took me by surprise, considering just a few weeks ago IDS was trumpeting lines to thunderous applause at the annual Tory meeting. As everyone at the office is Labour, I've seen firsthand what a controversial move this is: Ann Widdecombe, a famous Tory leader, once referred to Michael Howard as 'having something of the night about him.' Oh, how poetic are the Brits! I asked for clarification: basically, according to Jane, he's 'an evil, evil man,' responsible for many unpopular policies under Thatcher. According to James, a staunch Tory, Michael Howard is a 'star,' and the Tories have gained on Labour in the polls. Everyone at the office, however, says that the Conservatives have confused how nice it is to have someone who can hold his own against Tony Blair at Question Time with someone who can appeal to the masses, which they believe he cannot do. In my humble opinion, Labour is so middle-of-the-road that they've ursurped many Conservative policies, thus forcing them far to the right, and far from appealing to most Britons. The next election's not till 2005, so we'll see what happens.

My Life As a Hostess

I came to the sudden and stark realisation this week that I have something going on every single week through the end of February. Shocking! But that's what you get when people visit and you go places. Speaking of visitors, last week I played hostess to not one, but two.

Wednesday my friend Alex was in town visiting colleges. He has the enviable position of having British citizenship thanks to his English father (who is a pianist at Krannert in Champaign, all you Illini). He needed a place to crash for the night before heading to Cambridge, Coventry (to visit his grandparents), and Oxford before heading back to subvert suburbia by teaching tennis lessons in Naperville, a Chicago suburb. It was strange seeing him in London, of all places, and showing him around. In exchange for sleeping on my floor (poor guy), he took me out to dinner at the Belgian restaurant around the corner. Yep, I'm certainly in Europe--there's a Danish restaurant further down the road. We enjoyed scintillating conversation and fabulous food before checking out several pubs and settling on a traditional old-fashioned local. Since pubs close at 11 here, we were back home and Alex was sound asleep by 11.30.

Swiss Miss...ter

I would have loved to have spent more time with him, but it was a whirlwind visit and he was off the next morning. Thursday night I rushed home and waited for my second visitor of the week: my good Swiss friend Stephan, who studied at the UofI over the summer. It's been nice talking to him on the phone and knowing he's in Europe, but it was even nicer to see him again. I played the tour guide and lead him around Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, where we enjoyed dinner at Wagamama, a riotous Japanese restaurant chain. Stephan was besotted with the huge sign showing all of the flags of the Swiss cantons, and we made a special trip back later so he could take a picture of it. I admit to passing by and never noticing it was Swiss, but he has special Swiss radar and immediately notices 'little' things like people speaking Swiss German on the Tube.

London Dies At Night

I felt under pressure to show him around like a true professional Londoner (after all, I've been living here a while), so it was embarrassing to get lost getting to the British Museum. Not so much embarrassing as truly annoying was the fact that when they mean they're 'open late,' they mean 'only certain galleries, and certainly not any exhibitions you've come over to see.' So much for late night openings at museums here! We got to see the Rosetta Stone without queuing, and go through a collection of items owned by a doctor who invented the word 'tabloid,' but that was it. No 'Celtic Britain.' No 'Europe' gallery. And certainly no 'London 1753.' Now that I know I'm leery of going to the V&A or other museums when they have late night 'openings.' It just goes to prove that there's nothing to do in this country after 6 p.m. except drink. Which is why everyone has such a high tolerance.

Hereward the Who?

We didn't need to be out late anyway, since the next morning we hightailed it over to Cambridge. I'd never been to the Southeast before, and was stunned by the chalky fields of the Fens. During the Norman Invasion, the area around Cambridge was swampy and virtually uninhabitable, as were the Broads further east in Norfolk. A Saxon named Hereward the Wake (what a name!) engaged in guerilla warfare, becoming a sort of Saxon Robin Hood of sorts and even to this day featuring in different versions of the same story. I thought of him as we rolled past the low rolling hills of the flattest area of England, which still doesn't hold a candle to Central Illinois for sheer pancake flatness.

Oxford vs Cambridge: The Showdown

I've been to Oxford, so was eager to visit the other half of 'Oxbridge,' as it's known. My coworker Jane (who attended Cambridge) put it rightly when she said that Oxford is a city with a university, whereas Cambridge is a market town dominated by its university. We were visiting Stephan's friend Anja, who's studying there, and Stephan thought it would be a nice place to be a student, but I've been irrepairably spoiled by London. It was such a--well, market town! The high street and market, bustling in the afternoon but empty after 6 p.m....I guess it might be nice to be a student, but I can't imagine myself going back to study at this point in my life.

A Word On Academics

That said, I was still vastly impressed with the town and all the colleges, and am glad I went. To those of you unfamiliar with the British system, I'll attempt to explain: for entities like the University of Wales, it's the same as the U.S., which different branches of the same organisation in different cities. However, a complication arises with bodies like the Universities of Cambridge, Oxford, and London, which are made up of virtually autonomous Colleges (of which King's College is one in the University of London). Each College consists of Schools (which I would call 'Colleges' back home), broken down into Departments. So even though you attend the University of Cambridge, it is to the College, be it Trinity or King's or Christ's or Magdalen (pronounced 'maudlin') or any of the 28 others that you owe your allegience, and it is their colours that you wear in your tie and their crest that you have embroidered on your shirt. Your college arranges your housing, oftentimes in ancient buildings. I wish I'd been a better student, or that the UofI had had an exchange with Cambridge, because students are treated like royalty.

That Silly Prince

Speaking of which, we heard an amusing story when punting down the river: Prince Charles attended Cambridge, where he studied Anthropology. His bodyguards followed him around all day, even attending his lectures. After three years, Charles was ready to sit his exams, and his College did the unprecedented move of asking his bodyguard if he wanted to sit as well. So he did. Prince Charles got a third (just above passing); the bodyguard got a first (the highest, and most difficult, mark to attain). So not only did he get a degree from Cambridge, he got paid to do it!

A Punter Took Us Punting!

Punting was the most enjoyable part of the day: Stephan and I wrapped ourselves in blankets and joined several couples in a large flat-bottomed boat (punt), which a guide polled (punted) down the river, regaling us with history and bits of trivia. Cambridge was founded in the 1284 by a group of scholars fleeing Oxford, who were accused of raping a town girl there. The most famous college, Trinity, the third-richest entity in the nation besides the mysterious Duke of Westminster, and I believe the railroads. The Queen rings in fourth. To put it in perspective, though: Trinity has about 4 billion dollars to its name. Harvard has an endowment of 19 billion. BILLION.

Older Than America

Stephan, Anja and I walked around, enjoying a High Tea after climbing the old castle motte (as in a motte and bailey). We also visted an ancient chapel, St. Peter's, constructed in the 11th century, with a 10th century font carved with bi-tailed mermen. I ran my fingers over the stone after the volunteer guide told us it its history, imagining how many people, pagan and Christian alike, had used it to baptise their babies.

Henry VIII's Palace

After dinner, we headed back to London to rise at an early hour and hightail it out to Hampton Court Palace, which Cardinal Wolsey built and gave to curry favour with Henry VIII (too late--he died of sickness en route to the tour). The official blurb on posters is something along the lines of: 'Hampton Court Palace. So enchanting, Henry VIII spent his honeymoon there. Again and again.' 'Tis true that he lived there with successive wives, one of whom haunts a passageway. His fifth wife, Catherine Howard, was accussed of adultury. At one point, she managed to evade her guards and ran screaming down the corridor towards where the King was. She made it to the end before being caught. She was one of the ones beheaded in the rhyme 'Divorced, beheaded, died; divorced, beheaded, survived.'

Stephan and I walked through that corridor, along with Henry VIII's state rooms, and more boring Georgian rooms of later kings and queens that I find not nearly so interesting. After which, we tried out the maze. I was my first time in a hedge maze, and had we stayed in much longer I might have grown concerned; as it was we made it in and out in 15 minutes, which is the amount of time given merely for reaching the centre. Hah!

'Velly Good Food, Velly Tasty'

After a huge meal at a pub, we came home and whiled away the afternoon doing I-don't-know-what before tubing over to Brick Lane, the most famous street of Indian restaurants in London. (Granted, how many other streets of nothing but Indian restaurants are there?) Stephan and I both felt extremely uncomfortable when we were approached by Indian men urging us to try their restaurants as we tried to read the menus in peace. At last, with us meandering along the street for a while, one guy grew so desperate he offered us 25% off and free poppadams. Well, if that's the way it works... When I take my parents there I'll know to barter with them for the best deal!

Just Call Me Heidi

Stephan met me in a pub for lunch on Monday, and we took the Tube together before he headed back to Switzerland, which I plan to visit for at least two weeks at some point. He has all sorts of things planned, from visiting the Matterhorn, to riding in a cable car, to going to his parents' holiday home and trying out the hot springs in the village nearby. I can't wait! I'll see him in two months, as we're planning on doing New Year's together with some of our French friends who study in Paris. I just hope it comes off--if not, I'll go to Zurich. Oh darn!

Welcome To Paris, 1900, for Halloween

So that was last week and the beginning of this one. I didn't do much else, besides perfect my crocheting, as yet again all of my unreliable male friends kept postponing hanging out. But that just made Halloween all the sweeter! Elizabeth had been invited to a Baz Luhrman-themed party, so she took me, Brenna and Chrissie (Meredith is in France this weekend with her Quebecoise mother). I am still in total awe of how awesome all of the decorations were. Imagine reading a magazine that has an article 'How To Throw a Moulin Rouge Party'. Well, they would definitely use pictures of the flat we went to! From the tissue-paper 'L'amour' on the hallway wall, to the giant moon and stars hanging above the table, to the rose petals streaming down from the ceiling, to the bathroom where 'Truth, Beauty, Love' was written on the mirror--everything contributed to the feeling that, just as the sign said near the front door as you ducked under the red cloth to enter, we were indeed in Paris, 1900. Except for the 'Strictly Ballroom' soundtrack people were dancing to and 'Romeo + Juliet' playing on mute in the background, which completed the Baz Luhrman theme of the evening.

I love hanging out with theatre people, of which the entire party consisted. I did have a funny reaction talking to a guy, who shook my hand in congratulations when he found out I had an actual job. Woo hoo--respect and adulation!

Oh, To Go To the Ball...

As Brenna, Chrissie and I left the party at about 3 a.m., I was a bit tired on Saturday morning when I arose at the crack of dawn (10 a.m.) and rushed over to some vintage clothing stores to look at their 1930s evening gowns for the ball this upcoming Friday. Good news: I found the perfect dress. Bad news: It's £400. So I think I'm not going in a true 1930s dress, unless I can find one to rent... here's wishing me luck!

'Madama Butterfly' for £2

I had to rush around because I met Brenna and her friend Simon at the Royal Opera House for 'Madame Butterfly,' which Brenna had gotten tickets for for £2. Yes, 2 quid! For the opera! And not just any opera, the Royal Opera! The room was magnificent, and I loved being around musicians, as during the interval Simon and Brenna commented on the wonderful 'blade' of the lead tenor. My unmusical ear can't tell the difference between good and bad singing, so I was better able to appreciate the wonderful music, having been told by professionals (Simon's job is as a chorus member at the Royal Opera--he's starting 'Aida' next week).

My Fabulous Existence--And Others'

I'm so lucky to have been there! And tomorrow I'm going to see 'Les Miserables' for FREE, courtesy of Boston University. I've only ever seen one other musical, and that was 'Phantom of the Opera' on Broadway last year. In the second row. For free. What's up with me and my lucky life?

And I keep meeting people with fabulous lives as well! Simon sang backup vocals for the 'Lord of the Rings' soundtrack at Abbey Road Studios last summer. And when I met James for drinks last night, I also met his friend Eric, a film producer from L.A. who was in town for the weekend to record Jeremy Irons giving a commentary for his latest film. Eric's friend, Violetta, was the most beautiful person I have ever had the fortune to meet--a true Helen of Troy with huge blue eyes, black curls, and a fabulous smile. I thought she was American, but no, she's from 'Milano' and lived in the States for four years, which she reasoned was why she doesn't have an accent. Um, no, it doesn't necessarily work that way, honey! She lives in a flat that was once lived in by George Orwell, and is the Notting Hill manager of Agent Provacateur. Anyone fancy any lingerie?

Meaning of Friendship

I love meeting people, but as Violetta pointed out, it's very hard to do so in London unless you have friends. It's different than the States, where everyone is so open and friendly. But with the huge collection of 'friends' that everyone seems to have comes the realisation that not everyone is that good of a 'friend'--and perhaps we use the term too lightly, when all we mean is an acquaintance we're happy to see. The British are much slower to become friends, but once you're in, you're in for life. They don't invite you places unless they really like you, where as in the States it's more of a 'the more the merrier' mentality. So when James suggested watching movies at his place, it goes to show that we really have become good friends.

Spoilt By Kensington

It was fun staying up late and crashing at his place, epecially since this morning we drank tea and sang along to Monty Python songs. (Side note: he met John Cleese, Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam at a gallery opening several years ago and they signed a shirt for him, Cleese even writing 'Cromwell' after his name when James told him 'Oliver Cromwell' was his favourite song.) But when I left, it was through a drizzle falling from a grey sky, and when I waited for the train, it was surrounded by dismal, barren council flats and graffiti-strewn concrete and brick walls. Only a five minutes' journey from Waterloo Station, where I work--a world away from Kensington. I take my flat for granted sometimes, but it's spoiled me. I don't want to have to live in a treeless urban wasteland, across the street from a factory, just because the rent is cheap. I want to live near trees! My country upbringing demands it.

My Upcoming Week

Well, I've certainly written a book, but we're all caught up now. Remember to check out my Halloween pictures (the link's on the right). This week I'm going to 'Les Mis' and finding a dress, shoes, purse and shawl for the ball. Could be worse!

Love, Theresa