Now, it only takes about 70 minutes from Leicester to London by train and we were at our B&B in Covent Garden by 9:00. The Seven Dials Hotel is on Monmouth Street, right by Shaftsbury Avenue. It's not fancy, but it offered a tv and shower in each room, with coffee/tea making facilities, and English breakfast each morning. Our room was on the second floor and it was everything offered on the website ... in miniature! The TV couldn't have been any bigger than it was, because it would have engulfed the room! The bed was only about 2 feet from it and my sweetie described the bed as a shoe lacking laces. Still, the location was perfect and the landlords very nice.
Thursday morning, we took a taxi to the Embassy. We were sent round to a side door for Canadian citizens conducting business. You have to queue outside until a guard lets you in, and they only let in one person/couple/family at a time. It's a good thing we were in a heat wave, because I would not like to have to queue there in mid-winter! The security is like going into an airport, by the way. The upshot was that we were done in half an hour, which meant we had two full days to explore London.
The coffee at the hotel was horrendous, so the first thing we did was walk to Berkley Square to get me real coffee. Or at the very least a Cafe Americano (espresso with hot water added). From there, we wandered down to Pall Mall and across to St. James Palace. As we walked toward the Mall from there, we saw a crowd of people and mounted police. In the courtyard of the Palace were some of the famous Buckingham Palace Guard in formation, with a band. We'd arrived at the very beginning of the changing of the guard and it was really neat. We followed them to the Mall and then wandered closer to the Buckingham. There were a ton of people there, but we figured that they were there to watch the changing of the guard. I got talking to a woman standing near us and she said that there aren't normally that many people, but she understood from the news that the Queen was out shopping that morning. The crowd was bigger because people wanted to see her.
Slowly, we edged our way up to the wrought iron fencing surrounding the palace. Right up to the gate, we went. My sweetie took my picture and as I posed, I heard the machine-gun-toting police officers telling everyone to clear the way, "Get back! Get back!" I got a picture of the two vehicles that entered then, one of which was a Royal Mail van that we doubt was actually the Royal Mail, because postal workers aren't generally armed. The next two vehicles to come through were captured on my camera and on the video function of my sweetie's phone. His video showed that the vehicles were empty. My photo, however, captured a young blonde woman behind the driver of the first vehicle, but you couldn't see if there was anyone beside her. Hmmmm. We're still trying to figure out who she is.
From there we wandered through St. James Gardens, past blossom laden trees and Londoners all out to enjoy the uncharacteristic March warmth. Up to Picadilly, which seems lacking without the iconic Coca Cola sign. It's all digital now. We had lunch at the St. James Tavern, where Charles Dickens used to sip port while he wrote. Interestingly, it`s right up the street from the Windmill Theatre, famous during WWII for remaining open despite the bombs, and for it`s burlesque shows. Today, it features table dancers. If you ever get the opportunity, watch a marvellous movie called Mrs. Henderson Presents, starring Judi Dench. It tells the story of the Windmill and we absolutely loved it.
After that, we went shopping on Carnaby Street, then back to the hotel to have dinner. But not before we`d stopped in another pub near Picadilly to have a pint and rest our extremely weary feet. We must have walked 15 miles!! So, we're sitting in the pub next to an older couple, enjoying our pint and talking about our day. The woman at that table was striking and looked very familiar. I glanced at her several times because I was certain I recognized her. Just as we stood up to leave, she flashed me an astounding smile and I knew who it was. At least I'm pretty darned certain I know who it was. Judi Dench herself!! Honest to Pete. I'm sure it was her!
We had dinner that night at the Trattoria da Aldo, on Greek Street in Soho. Lovely sea bass (the whole darned fish) and wine, with coffee on the sidewalk afterward. What a joyous thing it was listening to the clamour of voices on the street, as people celebrated the end of the day and seeing friends. Then walking back to Covent Garden, past theatres and lights, into the relative darkness of the Seven Dials neighbourhood. Seven Dials is characterized by a large sundial monument from which five or six streets spoke out toward the rest of the city. The Crown pub is at the bottom of Monmouth, where it meets the monument circle, and the crowds spilled out over the sidewalk onto the street, making it very interesting for all the taxis trying to get through.
Friday morning after breakfast, the first thing we did was find the Birkenstock Shop on Neal St., around the corner from the hotel. Thank god!! If I'd had to do another day of walking on the shoes I'd worn the day before I think my legs would have dropped off. Good god, Birkenstocks are inexpensive here!!! Might be cheaper to buy new ones than to fix the old ones. All six pairs of them.
Then out to Trafalgar Square, which seemed oddly empty. Of course, Easter Break hadn't begun so there weren`t many tourists, but it was the lack of pigeons that struck me most. When I was there in 1988, I bought a cup of seed from a vendor at the Square with the romantic notion that I was going to feed the pigeons. They dive bombed me. Honest to god there were so many that I wound up tossing the entire cup into the air yelling, "Take it; take it all!" They've since outlawed feeding the pigeons at Trafalgar Square and I must say, I do not disagree. It was much more peaceful to enjoy this monument to Horatio Nelson without them.
From there, we hopped aboard one of those double decker bus tours. It was one of those ones where you can get on and off as you please, at various points in the city. So, we took it from Trafalger and up Fleet Street, past St. Bride's Church, with its famous wedding cake inspiring steeple, to St. Paul's, where we had lunch at a pub before going into the cathedral. It really is too bad that you aren't allowed to take photographs there, but I do understand that it would be disrespectful to those who are there to worship. But really, it is too bad. How do you describe the glory that is St. Paul's, the ceiling, the bosses, the architecture. They beggar words and the imagination to describe. We just sat under the dome, looking up in awe for I don't know how long.
What, did you really think my sweetie and I would go to London and not see theatre? Of course we did. I'd bought tickets for us at the half price ticket booth on Monmouth Street that morning to The Madness of George III, which was in its closing week at the Apollo. We had dinner at Amalfi, a great Italian place in Soho, where we met some lovely couples with whom we chatted all through dinner. Then, to the Apollo.
OH. MY. GOD!!! THIS IS WHY I LOVE LIVING HERE!
There is good theatre in Canada. I have seen some wonderful shows there. But what we saw that Friday night was ... transporting. The set was so beautiful in its simplicity, the lighting perfect, the blocking inspiring, the costumes gorgeous, the accoustics - well, now I remember why we had voice training in theatre school; they actually use that training here - and the acting. As we watched George progress through the various stages of porphyria, gradually losing his ability to function physically and mentally for pain, it broke our hearts. His struggles to regain his sanity, his control over himself and his emotions, despite the pain, moved us. And as the curtain came down we jumped to our feet. As the cast came out (in small groups or individuals, giving each actor his or her full due - none of this full cast call that is supposed to denote the ensemble nature of theatre - bullshit, give the stars their due!!), more and more audience stood up. By the time David Haig had his bow, the entire audience was on its feet, yelling and shouting, cheering and calling for more. It thundered through the packed theatre as the cast came out for a second bow. I had tears in my eyes as we left the theatre and went back to Amalfi for desert.
The Tower of London the next morning was almost anti-climactic as a follow up. Really. But we loved it. We did the wall walk for part of the way, through various rooms and towers, then on to the White Tower. Only saw about a quarter of it, if that, and I got some delightful shots of one of the ravens, but it was fascinating and we live here now, so we can go back any time.
Suffice to say, a very bone-weary and exhausted, but happy couple boarded the train at St. Pancras Station for home. The moment we'd dropped our bags in the house, we hopped in the car and drove to the kennel. Aleksandra almost did back flips when she saw me. I croutched down to say hellow and her paws landed on my shoulders as she licked my whole face and crowed her delight. When she saw my sweetie at the reception area, the performance was repeated. Now, at least, we know we can leave her in a kennel for a few nights and she'll be fine. And so will we.
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