Landing in London

“[W]hen a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” –Samuel Johnson

 If ever there was a weekend to prove this wrong, it would have been this weekend. My Saturday began with many, many problems. I lost my train ticket. My cab was late. Any tube station within two miles of my hostel was closed. My more informed readers might say: Of course it was closed. A lot of tube stations are closed while they revamp for the 2012 Olympics. My only complaint is that I did check the updates, and supposedly only the District Line was down.

 I’m starting to think the District Line is a lie someone made up. It hasn’t been open since I arrived--but my line was supposed to be open. It stopped running a mere two stops early from where I needed it to go.

I attempted to walk to my hostel, but I got lost pretty quickly, and there were no taxis in sight. Rather than get mugged at midnight when I planned to get back from the theatre, I decided to try to find a new hotel. Sixty pounds later at a booking service in the Tube station, I had one. My directions to get there?

 “Go north at Oxford Circus and turn right at the church.”

Thank god the Church was obvious.

After that things started to go better. Wandered around Piccadilly Circus until it was time to see Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theatre.

(Piccadilly Circus is considered a little like Times Square, only totally different.)

 
Did I mention Phantom's been playing there for 25 years? They’ve gotten rather good at it.

 I was overwhelmed. I’ve always wanted to see Phantom on stage and it was just so incredibly good. A few scenes were changed or added, but I still loved it all, and it was mostly used to give some of the characters an actual…character. And Christine Daae had a Swedish accent! Which was quite an innovation, from what I can tell—despite the fact that she is supposed to be Swedish.

 After that, I strolled through St. James’ Park, and temporarily got lost until I realized the sun was setting in my eyes, and that meant west.

I ended up at my next theatre an hour and a half early, so I broke down and bought a book at Victoria Station. Then, finally, to the Apollo and Victoria for Wicked.

 It was also amazing, but I haven’t been wanting to see it for six years and I was still so amazed at Phantom that it was harder to take in. I really enjoyed it though.

Hop the tube, turn right at the church, up three very tall, narrow flights of stairs, and I was back at my room.

I finished my book that night.

The next morning I woke up early and walked to Westminster to eat my breakfast on the Thames. I only forgot that it was Sunday and that’s kind of important for churches, so I still haven’t been inside Westminster. Pretty pictures though.

Last I took the tube up to King’s Cross, got a Costa (Costa Mocha Coolers are better than Starbucks Frappuccinos any day) and waited for the British Library to open. That was really cool. No photos to show you, because of course none are allowed.

Except this one.

Among the things I saw are an original Canterbury Tales, an original Marlowe, a bunch of random scraps of paper that Paul McCartney and John Lennon wrote lyrics on (even one from George Harrison), some original Magna Cartas (there were several), and a few tattered pages of a Greek copy of the Gospel of John from the 200s.  

 The English teacher inside of me was skipping.

 Then to King’s Cross again, and home to Grantham. Overall, when combined with finishing the first draft of my term paper, this was a fantastic weekend.