Kate Danley's Blog, page 12

Just a reminder...

Tonight... it all happens tonight...

Building Madness Play Reading

London - 8/10/14

Sooooo... there was a hurricane. You know.  As happens.  
In the middle of the night, the heavens opened up and the gods decided to do their best to drown the entire city in our beds.  I mean, buckets.  Cats.  Dogs.  Sheets.  You name the metaphor, it was falling out of the sky.  Upon waking, it was still going without an interval in sight.
There was a moment of truth as I sat there in my teeny little kitchen that morning.  I had groundling tickets at The Globe to go see a sold out show of Anthony and Cleopatra with my classmates.  We had been planning this for weeks.  THIS was supposed to be The Big Field Trip with this gang of people I loved so much.  And the weather was the pits.  I sat there, watching the skies... waiting... just waiting for some sign.  But as the drop dead deadline for when I needed to catch the train came and went and the water was still falling, I had to come to terms with the fact I am old.  And standing in the rain for three-and-a-half hours to watch theater, no matter how much I wanted to watch the show with people I wanted to hang out with, was just not in the cards.  The Fates were against me.  How Shakespearean.
And of course, a 1/2 hour later, the rain absolutely stopped.  *shakes fist at sky*
So, I decided to make the best of the situation and ride my train one stop north to the Camden Locks to see what all the fuss was about.  Figured if this was merely the eye of the storm (and surprise!  It was!) I could at least swim back to my dorm.
I emerged from the Tube station and I swear to god, it was like the 2000s never happened.  Here was the Land of the Late-90's that time forgot!  This was my home in the East Village!  This was Friday nights in NYC!  THIS!  And I had to go to London to find it.

I wandered down the street, peering in at all the cheap (and not so cheap) street fashion, the slimy jewelry tables, the music shops, the... well, every shop that you might want at 2AM when you've had one pint too many and find yourself deciding now would be the perfect time to buy matching rose colored sunglasses and a $60 "sterling silver" rings with your BFFs (I still have those rose colored glasses).  It was freedom and fashion statements and grit!  And I loved it.
The locks were in full swing with several boats traveling upriver.  If only they came about 1/2 hour later, the water would have risen that river itself.  But it was great fun watching the locks raise and lower, bringing the barges on their way.

I crossed the bridge and started browsing the stalls.  Like Stockholm-syndrome, suddenly I NEEDED that crocheted lace overshirt!  I NEEDED that bad smelling veggie dyed wall blanket with the fairies and trees on it.  It all made sense!  It was so right!  What was I doing with these meaningless bits of paper in my pocket when I could exchange them for street crap!  FILL ME UP WITH THE CRAP!

The rain started coming back and I stepped into one of the covered shopping halls where there was a beautifully carved staircase.


The entire place whispered seductively, "You need these bad bootleg CDs... these touristy iPhone covers... this leather purse shaped like a hedgehog with metal spikes..."  A small Asian woman was able to talk me into buying a rolling suitcase with Big Ben and a badly printed rose on it.  You know.  Because what I needed in my life was something which really screamed, "I'm a tourist!"
So, I found myself now walking around Camden Locks with a suitcase.  And two fairy themed wall blankets, because there was a sale, and I justified that I'd use them on my table at a booksigning (note: I will not be putting these things anywhere near any of my books at any booksigning every in the history of mankind).  And a crocheted overshirt that I've worn way too many times for someone my age.  But there was water all over the ground, so now I had to carry this suitcase with all these items inside.  But I was really hungry and all I had back at  my dorm room was some cheese, so I decided it would be a great time to get some curry.

Which was INCREDIBLE.  OH. MY. GAWD! the food there was great.  I don't even want to know what they put in it.  It was amazing.  Every food you could ever want in your entire life was being cooked up in the completely hygienic, totally sanitary great outdoors of Camden Locks.

But now I'm eating this metal tray full of curry with a suitcase balanced on my feet with a purse over my arm and it is just getting to the point of, "Not fun."  So, I decide it is time to get moseying.  Except the rain comes POURING down again, and I have to hightail it into another sweltering, sticky indoor market and suddenly decide it makes PERFECT SENSE for me to purchase some "sterling silver" street jewelry with "real" mother of pearl and marquisette.


I don't even care what you say.  I freakin' love this ring.  It cost me a bajillion dollars and I will wear it TO MY GRAVE!  Or until the metal causes an allergic reaction and my finger falls off from the gangrene.
As I was talking to the girl at the booth, she asked me where I was from and I said, "Seattle" and she said, "Oh!  Nirvana!  And like... grunge!"  And was like, "Pearl Jam!"  And she cocks her head and looks at me all confused and asks, "You like grunge, too?"  Child, I was there when grunge was born.  Get off my damn lawn!  And leave that flannel shirt you're wearing "ironically".
So, the rain FINALLY stopped.  Again.  And I made another mad dash towards the Tube station, and happened across this alleyway with this INCREDIBLE graffiti art.


Mine you, I am not a fan of the graffiti.  I lived through the 80s already.  I shouldn't have to do it again.  Graffiti, to me, is like musical theater people in high school who felt the need to sing in your face in the hopes you'd smile and say, "Wow!  You're so talented!" as opposed to, "I just need to get to my locker..."  Get yourself an art gallery and stop trying to force your crappy talent on people.  But this graffiti?  I'm down with this.
I continued on and discovered the red-headed stepchild of Camden Locks.  The Locks that no one talks about.  The locks that they pretend aren't there.  The REAL locks.

Not really.  I'm just making stuff up.  But it amused me that there were people lined three deep to look at those other locks and this one?  I was all by myself.
I kept going... and discovered the closest Tube station was closed and I had a six minute walk upstream in front of me.  So, I'm walking along, and suddenly I happen up this shoe shop.  I don't think I can begin to describe this shoe shop.  It was just... well.  You should click through.  You think you've seen everything, and then you walk into a place like Irregular Choice and realize that you have not, indeed, seen everything.
And you want to know the best part about being a grown up?  The best part about leaving those days in the 90s behind and growing in to the woman I am today?  I can buy whatever the heck I want.  Even if it is shoes with a four-inch plastic deer holding up the heel.


THIS, my friends, is what it is all about.
And so I took my deer-heels and, with an elegant ringed hand, pulled my rolling suitcase behind me as I waded my way through a hurricane onwards to my little dorm room and all the cheese that waited for me. 

Building Madness

As some of you may (...or may not...) know, I have been involved with theatre for over 25-years.  I've been working on a project and Monday, September 8th marks the first step in what I'm sure will be a very long, but exciting, journey.

I have written a full-length, 1930s screwball comedy called Building Madness.  The kind people at the Eclectic Theater in Seattle are lending their time and talents to read it out loud and I would love to have you there!  Come for a free night out!  The play is about an hour and a half long.  And then stay afterwards for a brief Q&A with yours truly where I'll be picking your brain to find out what YOU thought.  Your feedback and input will help to shape the next stage (pun intended) of this new play.

1214 10th Ave Seattle, WA 98122
7:30PMMonday, September 8, 2014
Staged Reading ofBuilding Madnessby Kate Danley
Entry is FREE!

London - 8/9/14

I woke up Saturday morning with the whole weekend spread before me.  I spent a bit of time looking at my calendar, realizing that my days here in London are drawing to a close.  Two weeks more.  Funny how when I first began traveling here, I had three days, and those seemed like they contained a lifetime.  Now, three weeks have passed, and the remaining two weeks already seem to be flying past my eyes.

One of those funny adjustments I have to make here, akin to dodging left instead of right, is that the calendar goes from Monday to Sunday, instead of Sunday to Saturday.  I realized... once again... I had written down the wrong item on the wrong day of the week.  There was a tour of the Brunel Tunnel led by London Walks that I was fascinated with.  And it was on Saturday, not Sunday.  So, I threw on some clothes and dashed out the door to make the 10:45AM departure.

Seems I wasn't the only one out and about Saturday morning.  As part of a really cool event, London shut down several of their major roads and opened them up to bicyclists.  Seemed like the entire town was out to view the city at a slower pace on such a bright, blue day.



Despite the peopled frenzy, I found the tour group, we managed to cross the street, and board the boat for a cruise down the Thames.


 Brunel was this brilliant engineer who built several of the bridges in London, including a rather famous one you've probably seen in a picture or two.

(picture from a previous visit.  I was so busy listening, I forgot to take pictures)
Tower Bridge was considered quite the eyesore by the Victorians.  It was both masonry and ironwork, which was just not the way things were done.  But his design was so brilliant, this little drawbridge has been raising and lowering its bridge over 1000 times a year since it was built and it still works.  We were informed that it costs nothing to have the bridge raised, you just have to let the quartermaster know your boat will be coming through and he'll put you on the schedule.
We continued on down the Thames past the Tower proper and got a fish eye view of the Traitors Gate, where Anne Boleyn herself was rowed through so as not to make a spectacle on the street, before she was imprisoned and then became about a head shorter.


We disembarked down by this innocuous stack of logs tucked back on a quiet street by some flats.  Not a car driving on the streets.  A single jogger ran by.  Otherwise, the neighborhood was completely deserted as our tourguide took the stage.



This was where Brunel's Leviathan was built.  The very first ocean liner.  Bigger than any ship ever built before.  Capable of sailing all the way to Australia without refueling.  And it was an utter disaster.

  

 A massive launch party was organized with press and celebrities, and the boat wouldn't budge from the launch.  It was touted in the papers as the first Waterphobic Ship.  A few days later, it was finally pushed off its skids, but one of the braces broke and impaled one of the workers.  A boiler exploded on the maiden voyage, killing the crew.  But this was an important boat.  It was the boat which laid the transatlantic cable.  But Brunel would never know of this success. He died shortly after her disastrous launch, thinking himself and this last project a complete failure.

We continued walking along the Thames towards Greenwich.



This was the territory of pirates and privateers and the men and women who controlled them.  We saw the steps where Sir Francis Drake threw down his cloak for Queen Elizabeth so that she wouldn't step in a puddle of muck.  We saw where pirates were placed into cages and left to drown as the tide came in.  We were also directed towards the original "Shit's Creek", a tributary of the Thames where all of the public toilets deposited their *cough* deposits and a spot you most definitely did not want to be without a paddle.


But where we were headed was below ground to Brunel's crowning glory...


 Brunel built a tunnel.  A tunnel beneath the Thames.



Brunel's methods building this tunnel paved the way, so to speak, for every subway system on the globe.  At first this tunnel was a pedestrian walk-thru.  People could pay a penny to walk across a bridge or a penny to walk through the tunnel to get across the Thames.  To entice people to the tunnel, little shops were placed in arched doorways, so you could walk and shop.  It was quite the tourist attraction and Brunel tunnel souvenirs were all the rage.

  

Unfortunately, some of the more unsavory types started moving in, so in order to combat this invading force, the tunnels became carnival centers and party central.  They brought in sword swallowers and tightrope walkers and jugglers.  Everyone was headed down into the tunnels!  Eventually, though, it was purchased by the rail system and VOILA!  The birth of the Underground!

We headed topside and made our way towards the Brunel Museum, pausing for a moment to admire a dismissable mural on one of the walls.


A mural of a train, right?  No big deal?  But this is Brunel's train.  He engineered his trains so that the cars fit between the wheels (as opposed to what we have now, which is trains sitting on top of the wheels).  It was a wide gauge track and provided greater stability and smoothness of ride.  Unfortunately, he had a rival who managed to lay the narrow gauge track across England, and upon Brunel's death, tore up the wide gauge track, destroying Brunel's train system.
(a picture of Brunel and some other passengers)
We continued our walk on down to the Brunel Museum.



We paused by a small brick outcropping.  To the unknown eye, it looked like just some utility access, perhaps to a water meter or a fuse box or a backed up sewer.  But this was not so.


This was the entrance to Brunel's sunken theater.  We had to climb up the stairs, and then around a few metal toe-holds in the wall.  Then crouch through a tiny 4 meter opening...

 Before we emerged into the theater...



Accessible by catwalk.




This was Brunel's first project.  He created this gigantic concrete, circular theater (1/2 the circumference of the the Globe) and then gradually sunk it into the ground.  This was where the engineering technology was developed to build a structure above ground and then sink it below, technology still being used today.   It served as a theater until it the steam trains started running underground.

That sort of slanted mark around the edge was where the wooden stairs used to be.  With a steam train running below this theater, the wooden stairs didn't seem like such a good idea and were torn out.
This space has been closed for over 150 years.  As the Underground changed its trains over to clean technology, the danger of being burned alive by the steam was eliminated and the Brunel Museum was able to reclaim this theater.  It was opened this year and is now a space for dance parties and lively fun.  We were some of the first people to have access to this space in 150 years.
What is sort of remarkable (aside from being an engineering feat) about this sunken theater was that it flooded several times during the process, killing six workers.  But during one of the floods, while four men died, one man was saved.  The man who was saved was Brunel.  If he had drowned that day, we would not have Tower Bridge, the transatlantic cable, or subways.  It all came down to one guy.
I stayed for a little while longer to tour the museum, and then hopped onto the The Overground (it is like the Underground... except above ground...) when I noticed that one of the places on my "Must See" list was just a few stops away.


Hoxton Street Monster Supplies and the Ministry of Stories
The Ministry of Stories is an organization which supports young writers.  They run this fun storefront filled with canned "Chills" and "Night Terrors".  But behind the walls is a hidden writers room, where kids can come for classes and guidance, a cause which is dear to  my heart.

(it reads "Only One Giant in the Shop at a Time", "Beans: Magic or Otherwise are not accepted as Payment", "Angry Mobs Please Douse your Torches before Entering the Shop")
("Customers are Politely Requested to Refrain from Eating the Staff"  "Nocturnal Opening by Appointment for Vampire Customers Only")
As I went in, I was informed that all of the objects on the top shelf were for monsters only, but all other items were available for purchase.  I settled on two cans of Escalating Panic and the Collywobbles.


I had a lovely chat with the shop keepers, letting them know how much I appreciated their mission and how my own writing journey began when I was in the 4th grade, before I headed out and discovered there was a street fair going on.

I paused at several of the tables.  Most of them were filled with Dollar Store merchandise and sweatshop clothes.  But then I happened upon this little table filled with random antiques.  Most of the items were just the junk you'd find left over at an estate sale.  But then I spotted a book.  It was a second edition of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens with all of the original plates drawn by Arthur Rackham.


The book itself was worn.  It was kept in the house of a heavy smoker and the pages are stained with tobacco spots.  But the illustrations were pristine and gorgeous.  I hemmed and hawed, and then the book opened up to a picture of Queen Mab...


...and I knew it had to come hope with me.
So me and my new book boarded the Overground (and then the Underground) back to the dorm room, my brain overflowing with all of the images of the day.  But the day wasn't over yet!  Oh no!  Because I had tickets for the Open Air Theater production of Porgy and Bess.
I stepped out of my dorm and walked the few short blocks to Regent's Park.  What a gorgeous place is Regent's Park.


I am constantly struck during my time in England by the kindness which is infused into the culture.  After having centuries of brutality (heads on spikes and workhouses), it is as if society has made a conscious choice to try and ease the suffering of its people however possible, even if it is to put out some beautiful chairs, free for use, for anyone in the park who might want to use them.

Can you imagine chairs like these in NYC's Central Park?  They would be vandalized and stolen within twenty minutes, covered in graffiti, slashed with razors for fun, stolen and sold out of the back of a van.  Or at least only available for rent and profit under the unwatchful eye of some bored teenager.  England seems a land of grown-ups, people who can be trusted to take care of free chairs.  Is it that the poor are taken care of as part of national policy and so desperation to steal is not a part of the underlying culture?  Is it the lack of youth worship and idolization of the 18-year-old fratboy brain and its destructiveness?  I don't know.  But whatever the root cause, these chairs this night seemed a profound statement of British society, a kindness that I wish we had more of in America.  Why is it that we can't have nice things?

My brain ruminating over all these thoughts, I made my way to the Open Air Theater, a gorgeous outdoor theater in one corner of the park.  There were twinkle lights and tasty treats to enjoy before the show.



And don't tell anyone, but I snuck a picture of the stage from a side aisle.


The production of Porgy and Bess was astounding.  Porgy and Bess is one of those shows that I always thought that I saw, but it turns out I never did.  The songs are such a part of our culture: Summertime and the livin's eeeeaaaasy...  But this musical is a masterwork.  The rhythm changes.  The musical jumps.  It is a monster of a score.  I would imagine a singer's voice being absolutely wrecked by the demands.  But this crew sang and danced their way up this Mt. Everest of notes.  It was a cold night, so I bought a woolen blanket to wrap myself in at the interval.  Upon getting home, I learned an unfortunate truth that one should not purchase tartan in the dark.  It is literally the ugliest blanket I have ever seen in my life.  Who thought lime green threads should go with navy blue?   But I love it.  Because it reminds me of sitting there in the cold, eating my clotted cream fudge, astounded by the talent in front of me to that delicious final note, and the crisp night air as I walked home through the busy streets of a city wide awake.

London - 8/7/14

After a spirited day at class, I decided it was time to continue the mood and get into some high spirits... and I don't mean the emotional kind.  My favorite tour group, London Walks, was at it again with a ghost tour of the West End!


It all started over by the Embankment Tube station, which, color me a tourist, I had never stepped above ground to see.  Look!  Thriving city!  People!  We met up with our tour guide who was an absolute doll.  This guy KNEW. HIS. GHOSTS.  No "wink-wink" nudges.  No "let me give you a historical tour that happens to mention some ghosts".  This was a GHOST. TOUR. and he was ON. IT.  He knew dates.  He knew names.  He had eye witness accounts.  Just the kind of guy you want leading you into the night.

It started with a stroll down the Thames to our first stop.



And where was our very first stop?  Cleopatra's Needle!

You're probably not as excited as I am.  Listen, when we were learning about acid rain in elementary school, it was all about how Cleopatra's Needle was being destroyed.  We learned all about this thing and how important it was.  And it is still here!  And I saw it!  So melt away all you want now, you historical rock dug up from the Egyptian desert, you!  I have seen you!

 
The views were also really nice.





What's that you ask?  Is that a swing set 1/2 the size of a building?  Yes, my friends.  Yes, it is.



So, we learned that when a person gets a wild hare to throw themselves into the Thames, they tend to do it off of Cleopatra's Needle.  EGYPTIAN CURSE YOU ASK!?  Now you're just talking crazy.  But speaking of crazy, there was a police report from the early 1800s that a bobby was walking the bridge and a woman came running up to him saying someone was about to jump and he needed to go stop her.  Well, he hightailed it over and sure enough, there was a woman standing on the platform.  He grabbed her and saved her, but when he turned her around, SHE HAD THE SAME FACE AS THE WOMAN WHO GAVE HIM THE WARNING!  OoooooOOOOOOooooo!
We then headed up to the Savoy to learn about an old superstition.  Evidently, one night, thirteen people were seated around a table and one of the women became concerned.  She was a superstitious sort and said the first person to get up would die unnaturally.  Well, one of the fellows said that was a lot of rot, got up, and wouldn't you know, a few weeks later he was found shot dead in South Africa.  OOoooooOOO!  So, Savoy, not wanting the bad press, constructed a statue of a black cat.  They named him Caspar, and if you ever have dinner for thirteen, they will always seat Caspar at your table so you have a 14th.  Rumor has it that Winston Churchill really liked that cat and would book dinner there all the time.  The restaurant is called Caspar and that's why the topiaries in front are of cats.

One of the hotel rooms is also supposedly haunted by an opera singer and she'll try singing you to sleep if you aren't careful.

We then headed up this alleyway which flanks one of the oldest theaters on the West End.  There was a theater owner who was stabbed in the back by one of his actors.  Unfortunately, this time it was literal.  He went indoors and died in the arms of his leading lady.  There are old reports of his ghost walking through the bricked up stage door, women using that dressing room have heard him knocking, seats have flipped up one by one in the theater, and other spooky goings on.

We then headed over to Covent Garden which, believe it or not, originally was a convent garden.  A young Bob Hoskins (yes, of Who Framed Roger Rabbit fame) used to work here in one of the vegetable stalls.  According to his biography, he was down in the basement when the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on appeared.  He was overwhelmed with a  sense of peace and tranquility.  He went upstairs to tell his boss there was some bird hanging out in the storeroom and his boss said, "Oh!  You saw one of the nuns!  They say if you see one, you're marked to have a lucky life."
While not haunted, we snuck down a back alley and discovered THIS adorable alley.  Evidently, it was an inspirational spot for JK Rowlings as she came up with Diagon Alley.

We turned the corner and heard stories about the strangling jacket which choked all the actress who tried to wear it.  We heard about those who perished in WWI who came back for a final goodbye.

We paused in Trafalgar Square to hear about a headless king who likes to show up from time to time, as well as pause for a moment to enjoy a gorgeous night.

We also paused by the Royal Haymarket where Patrick Stewart himself saw a ghost standing in the wings during one performance of Waiting for Godot.


And then continued on into the schwankiest neighborhood in town where all of the ol' boys clubs used to be.  There was a little ghost dog haunting the old German embassy, and we paused to pay our respects at his grave.

This place was an old hangout for Charles Dickens and a whole club devoted to studying the spirit world (which one can still join today).


We made our way to St. James Park and had a fabulous view of Buckingham Palace at night.  We saw some ramparts where Anne Boleyn is said to walk around, although she is one of the most frequently spotted ghosts in London.  The girl gets around, if you know what I mean. 

And finally, we ended up on a street where every August 1st, it is said that the ghost of Queen Anne makes an appearance.

It was an absolutely wonderful night with a great tour guide, fabulous stories, and inspiring sights.  If you ever are in London, DEFINITELY check out London Walks.  This tour was a winner.  There was a metric ton more stories, but must leave you with some surprises in case you go.
BOO!

London - 8/5/14

Every morning I rise and look out my window to see this older couple busily at work in their shop.



I often wonder about their lives.  What are they sewing?  Who are they sewing it for?  Are they tailors?  Costumers?  Fashionistas?  Every morning, though, they are up before the dawn like Cinderella's mice.

Sometimes, on a Tuesday, you decide not to eat in the cafeteria with your classmates and just stroll around the neighborhood to find a nice sandwich.

And then you realize you are about four blocks from the British Museum and so you spend your lunch hour with the Rosetta Stone, eating lamb & mint hot dogs in front of the building.



You share your lunch a bit with the pigeons, even though the sign says not to.  They are such well mannered pigeons, hanging back until you are done.

And sometimes you decide to go stand in line for two hours to see if you can get a returned ticket to a sold out production of Streetcar Named Desire starring two of your favorite actors, Gillian Anderson and Ben Foster.  And five minutes before the show, there is a ticket someone didn't want and it is for one of the best seats in the house.  And the show is glorious, and the actors are better than you thought they could ever be, and you sit next to a Broadway producer who is watching to see if he'd like to bring the show across the pond.


Sometimes you have a Tuesday like that.

London - 8/3/14

Sundays are sleepy in London.  Half the city seems to abide by the "and on the seventh day you rest" school of thought and the other half seems determined to rest when they are dead.  Many of the theatres are dark (as opposed to America where they tend to take Monday nights off), so it seemed the perfect day for an outing.  The sun was shining.  The birds were chirping.  And so I looked through the list of London Walks and picked a tour of the canals of London and a stroll through Little Venice.

Blinking, I stepped out of the Tube station into the sunshine.  Oh where was the gloom and rain promised on this fair isle?  My fair skin was really hoping for a break in all this gorgeous weather.  There were a mess of people gathered round waiting for our guide, who soon showed up.

Unbeknownst to me, this part of town is where the rich and famous hang out.  Originally, though, it was where all of the high class gents kept their mistresses tucked away.


There is a requirement that all your houses be kept white stucco (which must be restuccoed every five to seven years), and your doors and railings painted black.  The going price for an average townhouse in this neighborhood is £14M.  Let me scrounge around my sofa and get some spare change from the cushions.
This unassuming little house was the home to Paddington Bear's creator.  During WWII, when the children were being evacuated into the country, they would often be seen sitting at a railway station with a sign hanging around their neck with their name, waiting for the appointed family to take them in.  It was said that these children were the inspiration for Paddington.  I must say, I got a little misty eyed and will never look at those books the same.
We then wandered down to Regent's Canal, a series of waterways running throughout England.

Back in the day, they figured out a horse could pull a much bigger load by water than by land.  So, they would load up the barge and the horse would walk along that side path bringing goods up and down the canal.  The canal itself is not very deep, because they didn't need to be.  Dug by a group of strapping bruisers from Ireland, they are just deep enough for a flatbottomed boat (about 5ft).  They were also shallow because horses frequently fell in.  There are ramps at regular intervals specifically for any unfortunate equine.

Then came the dawn of the railroad, rendering the canals useless... almost.  The railroads refused to carry gunpowder, so all munitions were carried throughout England via these canals, until one fateful day when a load exploded sending a boat sky high.  It crashed into a building and cut its way through four stories into the basement.  It blew up the bridge near the zoo, which fell into several of the cages setting the animals free.  Not a good day.

Today, you can rent a barge and float up and down, seeing the English countryside at a leisurely 4mph (speed set by the speed of the horses).


The canals were just a few decades ago the "rough" parts of town.  Many communities filled them in with concrete.  But it came to light that people enjoy living by water.  After the success of the Camden Locks neighborhood, many other cities tried to replicate their model and now some of the most picturesque areas are along these canals.

We left the waterways and headed off to St. Mary's.  This specific iteration has been around since 1791, but we were told that a church has been standing on this ground since the 12th century.
Just around the corner was a statue of a woman in a chair.  
(not my picture)
We were informed that this was the very first statue of a non-royal/non-goddess woman in all of London.  The statue was of actress Sarah Siddeons.  The outpouring over her death was so great, they built the statue in her honor.  She is buried at St. Mary's.

We returned back to the canals and stood on the banks of where three of the canals meet up.



Robert Browning lived on the banks of the canal and is rumored to have planted all the trees on that little island to the right.



We continued along the tow path and headed back up to the street.

To have pineapple shaped statuary in front of your house was to indicate great wealth.  Pineapples were so rare and so expensive, you could actually rent them back in the day for your table.  You would not be allowed to eat it, but would often invite your friends over to gaze upon the wonder of this glorious fruit.
This pub is on my "get back and check out" list.  The interior is original carved oak and features "snob screens".  You can close yourself into your booth so as not to have any lookers-on.  I thought the curved etched glass was absolutely exquisite.
We finally ended up at this lovely hotel.  It was, at one point, a maternity ward where Alan Turing was born.

Alan Turing was the man responsible for cracking the Enigma code and he and his team at Bletchly Circle were credited by Winston Churchill for winning the war.  Sadly, in the years that followed, his apartment was burgled by a male ex-lover.  When he reported it to the police, they did not pursue the burglar, they turned on Alan for his homosexuality, and forced him to endure chemical castration.  It drove him mad and he died at age 42.  Just recently, the criminal charges against him were dropped and an official apology issued for the treatment of this international hero.

London - 8/2/14

Saturday dawned and the Day 'o Weekend Fun got off to a slower start than I would have liked.  There, unfortunately, is no rest for the wicked... or the self-employed...  But around about 1:00, I was able to tear myself away from my laptop in good conscience and head on out to the great big world to see what adventures were in store.

I caught the train from Waterloo and headed out to Hampton Court, which some of you may be familiar with if you wanted that documentary about Henry VIII's Looooooove Palace.


Henry and Anne, sitting in a tree... k.i.s.s.i.n.g.... until, you know you, he chopped her head off.  Awkward.

It was originally built by Cardinal Wolsey (who was lifting some funds from the collection plate, if you get what I'm saying), but Henry saw it and said, "Wait a sec.  How comes you gets a nicer house then me?  Git out!  Mine!  Mine!  Mine!"  And that's exactly what happened.

I had an afterhours tour all scheduled, so I spent the day wandering some of the rooms that I was pretty sure I wouldn't have a chance to see during the tour.  They had a weekend full of interactive events.  Tourists could don fancy robes to walk around the castle and we were handed handy dandy little audiotours, which made for interesting listening.  They had the kitchens all fired up and demonstrators were showing us how to make a fancy feast.


(Little on the job training in the ovens)

Roasted peacock was evidently a big thing back then.  Guess someone got sick of being woken up at crack of the dawn every morning by their noise.
The location of the king's chocolate room was also recently discovered and opened up for the public to look at. (I had been hoping for some free samples)
Hampton Court was built as a palace for the Tudors, but then King George showed up and said, "Ugh.  This mid-century Renaissance is SO last century.  Gut the place.  What an eyesore."  But tragedy struck before he could tear everything down, so half the palace is Tudor.  Half the palace is Georgian.

I took a left turn at the fountain and found myself out in the royal's backyard.

The gardens were gorgeous (although I began to understand why the aristocracy used to keep the unwashed masses out.  Jeez, people can be jerks.  The sign says don't climb in the planters, lady who just deposited her child inside of a flowerbed crushing all the blooms beneath his padded bottom just to take a picture.  Yes, he was here.  As told by the destruction left in your wake.)  But enough of my snobbery.  The gardens were gorgeous.

(there was an annoying tourist I had to keep shifting around to block him with this statue)





(and a guy who literally stepped right in front of me to take a picture with his camera on a tripod.  Queue up, sir!  We are in England!  Barbarians...)

I turned the corner and discovered I was right next to King Henry's tennis court.  If you watch The Tudors, yes, the court is really a real thing and is still in operation.  There were actually two guys catching a mid-afternoon game.



I continued my stroll and came upon the oldest hedge maze still in existence.  I decided to give it a go.  Just keep turning right...

...and right... and right...  You could almost hear the courtiers giggling and laughing as the snuck through the maze for a midnight assignation.  Just keep turning right... And FINALLY you end up in the center of the maze.

After all this fun, I decided to pop out the Lion's Gate (not the movie studio, my Los Angeles friends) to see what lay across the road.

Well, across the street was a big, golden statue in a pond covered in green.

And some deer.  You know.  Just hanging out in the park.  Right next to the path.  Something about passing a creature, no matter how gentle he seems, with five foot antlers to make one decide perhaps that is enough adventure.  One dumb American tourist was thinking three feet away was the perfect distance for a selfie.  I kind of was hoping the deer would decide enough was enough and chase him around like a bull in Spain.  Alas, they were gentle British deer who just looked at him with a quiet chastisement: "Rude."

The dinner hour was approaching, so I headed off to see if I could find a good pub.  While heading up one street, I came upon this sign:

Now, Sir Christopher Wren was the guy who built that second wing of Hampstead Court, and also built most of the major buildings in London (including St. Paul's Cathedral).  This house was about a block or two from the entrance to the court.  I just imagine him waking up each day to Hampton Court and how that influenced his style.
I finally found a pub and placed my order at the bar before sitting out back on a breezy patio.  
I probably should have taken a picture of my food, but I ate it too fast.  I imagine the conversation between chefs going something like this as they figured out this recipe.
Chef #1:  You know what this chicken breast needs?  Some butter.Chef #2:  Great idea!  Do you think some spices?Chef #1:  Um... no... maybe just some more butter.Chef #2:  With a double helping of butter!Chef #1:  BRILLIANT!  And I know!  Let's add even more butter!Chef #2:  You  know, we could get wacky and add some cheese...Chef #1:  DO IT!  And add more butter on top of that.
It was DELICIOUS.  When did eating food in America become a full contact sport.  I like a place that decided that all food really needs is butter... and maybe some cheese... but mainly butter.
I headed back to the palace to catch my tour.

I was greeted at the gate a friendly guide from the National Trust.  In the courtyard, they handed us a sparkly beverage and we got ready for our... SALACIOUS GOSSIP TOUR!

That's right!  An entire evening of royal intrigue.  Who was sleeping with whom!  Who died where?  Who was dragged down the stairs while giving labor because her husband was so mad at his parents he did want them to see the baby?  SALACIOUS GOSSIP!
The entire palace was closed except for the forty of us.  Remember that fountain in the middle of the courtyard? Well, our guide took down the chains and we walked out onto the grass.  What scandal!


We were taken into rooms that people aren't allowed into.  Snuck into galleries lit by only a single bulb.  Taken up the servants' stairs where all the behind the scenes action was taking place.  We passed around historically accurate sheepskin condoms with laces, which was the only defense in the day against syphilis, which took court favorite, poor John Wilmot (portrayed by Johnny Depp in The Libertine).  We saw the yellow pages for whores in Covent Garden with the descriptions of their services.  Scandal!


(the underside of stairs)
Unfortunately, we weren't able to take pictures in the rooms, but let's just say that our celebrity gossip of today has nothing on these royals.  The adventure was an absolute hoot.

London - 8/1/14

The second week at RADA has drawn to a close and the halfway mark crossed.  I think all of us are reaching a physical exhaustion point and the weekend came just at the right time.  I tell you what, those LA Bootcamp exercise programs have got nothing on Shakespeare training.  Several of us decided it was high time we spent an evening in each other's company outside of attacking each other with rapiers or stretching each other's bodies in odd directions.

So we did what everyone does here: we headed for the pub.

There's a little spot just down the road from the school with the sweetest bartenders... pubtenders... mistresses and masters of draught... what do you call the people who work behind the bar at the public house?  Anyways, they were so dear.  I ended up buying a raffle ticket to help renovate the local children's hospital along with my beverage because it seemed like, yes, that was something a person should do.  Buy a beverage, save the world.  That will be three pounds six-pence, please.


We talked and laughed and regaled each other with stories.  We discussed hopes and dreams and all of the factors that led us to this path.  We concluded that everyone in our ensemble is an absolute darling and how rare it is to be in a group where there isn't at least "one" who makes you groan.  There were some other members of other ensembles there, and we learned that what our group has is even rare within the program this year.  All of our classmates work hard, love what they do, and everyone around our table was in agreement that there is nothing but mutual admiration and adoration for everyone in our troupe.  Here!  Here!  So say we all!  
As the night wore on, we realized it was 8:30PM (or 20:30 as I'm learning to think over here, which makes ever so much more sense) and our stomachs were growling.  So, we wandered down the street for some Indian food.  I cannot even describe the curries and chutneys and naan.  Each bite had layers of flavor, exotic spices I've never tasted, savory and hot, cool and creamy.  I'm craving some take-away even as I write this.  I realized the Indian food I've been eating in America was akin to saying you know Mexican food because you've eaten at Taco Bell.  We closed the place down with more laughter and world-problem-solving.  It was close to the witching hour when we finally hugged each other goodbye at the Tube and went our separate ways.  I sat next to my open window listening to all of the friendships, old and new, spilling out into the world through their open windows as others experienced what I had that night.  These new friends are a part of me, our shared experiences and joys carving new pathways in my thoughts, and I am a part of them and the memories they shall carry from this day forward.  It is not an "I" who is experiencing this course.  It is now a "we".  And we are coloring each other's futures in ways we cannot even begin to understand.  We are each the pebbles in the still pond.  Who knows how far the ripples will go.