Lance's final was not exactly what you'd call a piece of cake. It was more like a piece of frozen, uncooked cherry pie. But that was over soon enough...
And when we were finished, me and the girls headed to the Orangerie for a celebratory afternoon tea. I got my favorite: fresh mint leaf tea, and a small lunch consisting of hickory smoked salmon and caper-berries with stone baked raisin bread.I couldn't help feeling fancy as we sat there chatting away over our china plates and posh, pricey food.
As we left the Orangerie I enjoyed a little people watching...
There was an old man sitting on a bench with tattered leather gloves, and a bag of crumbs in his lap. Much like the bird lady in Mary Poppins, this old man was feeding the squirrels. And it looked as though he'd been doing it for years... a seasoned, unofficial squirrel keeper in the park...
There was a young woman whose cut off jean shorts were SO short that her rear hung out the end, and I wondered how she managed to cut them off so short without destroying them completely...
There was a man sitting far off in a stretch of grass, his own personal picnic laid out on a log: complete with red and white checked cloth and woven basket on the side...
And as the day continued, I people watched... catching little snatches of London in the people I observed.
As I stepped onto the tube and heard the doors begin to close behind me, I realized that a man in a hurry had got his briefcase quite jammed in the door! And he stood there struggling, foot against the wall, pulling and tugging and panting up a storm... until the doors reopened and he retrieved what was almost a very smashed bit of leather with a handle on top.
We walked to the Tate Britain, brother to the Tate Modern, and perused its many walls. The Lady of Shallot was there, and we admired her for history's sake. But I was drawn to the boats, as always... The water scenes, the storms, the clouds, and the rain. These fascinated me, everywhere we went... I wondered at the artist's ability to use a bit of paint to make a rainstorm, a turbulent sea, or a fast fading sunset.
One exhibit was a maze of rooms and doors... each one looking very lived in, very common, timeless, and REAL. There were living rooms with old dusty red couches, and work rooms with faded magazines and paperwork, game rooms with old style pin ball machines, storage rooms that smelled of must, and rooms without a point. Miriam and I became quite lost as we opened doors, and walked through hallways. They had the details down to the old style outlets on the walls and the smell of old carpet in the air. The plaque at the entrance stated that the artist intended to make the patrons feel lost in the every day, middle class,"civilized" world. And we thoroughly enjoyed it... especially when we came back a second time and a black security guard got suspicious and started following us through the exhibit.
On another floor of the museum we found a pile of flattened cardboard boxes in a corner. Curious, we discovered a plaque on the right which read... "Patrons are invited to use the boxes within the space".
Well, we weren't about to pass up that invitation! We began setting up boxes this way and that, stacking them on top of one another (which was precarious indeed), and having an all around good time. At first it was a fort, which then turned into a castle. And of course, we couldn't have a castle without a nice tall tower, and a moat, and a drawbridge. And we even used Miriam's green scarf to represent "water". When we were finished, we stood back to admire our work... and just then, a couple of serious looking art enthusiasts walked up to the castle and tilted their heads to the side. They commented on the originality of the piece, and the cleverness of the medium. And after a moments admiration, they continued on to another room...
We burst into laughter as they turned the corner, because, you see, they hadn't seen the plaque.
But I guess it just goes to show that anything can be art for somebody in the world. Even if it's just a bunch of cardboard boxes.
After a few hours at the museum, it was time for dinner and a show. We grabbed a couple bagels and a bag of crisps in Southwark Station, chewing as we walked.
There was a cookie place along the way called Millie's, and I couldn't resist getting a picture with me and my new haircut in front of the sign. But just as I was smiling for the camera, the man next to me walked up and put his arm around my shoulder, posing for the picture too! I laughed, and he blushed, getting embarrassed after his rather rash decision... he quickly apologized and walked away. But as Miriam showed me the picture, I laughed even harder... The camera had clicked before he'd reached me, so instead of a cute couple's shot, he looked like big foot caught in the act of sneaking towards me.
The show we were seeing, "Joe Turner's Come and Gone", was at the Old Vic Theatre- a relatively experimental venue, set up in the round. The floor was covered in soft, red dirt--much like the stuff we used to play in at Grandma and Grandpa's house, jumping and tumbling in dirt and sage.
The play was... excellent. The acting, phenomenal. The blocking, costuming, lighting... brilliant. But I had absolutely no idea what was going on... And apparently, neither did anybody else. The intermission was spent wondering aloud whether there was something cultural we had missed, or if we were just looking for a plot that wasn't there. But, at any rate, we had a good time. And if the meaning wasn't entirely clear, the emotion was heartbreaking.
After the play was over, our large group stood in the lobby, giving hugs and saying goodbyes. It was the last time we'd be together as a group. And suddenly that started sinking in.
Several of us went to visit Big Ben and take pictures along the Thames and in front of parliament. For many, including Robyn, this was the last night in London. And an evening on Westminster Bridge, looking out over the river and watching the lights dance on its surface was the perfect way to spend it.
On the tube ride home, there was more than one drunken individual. There was a couple in the corner who were clearly unaware of the rest of the people sitting on the train. And there was a man (wacky as a fruit loop) who announced that ours was the "Salsa Carriage". He stated that if there was anyone who did not sign up for the "Salsa Carriage", they had better shove off. And then he began to do his own version of the Salsa (which was really quite good for a drunken man on a train), and we all sort of smiled at his antics, though we tried not to laugh. Eventually he said "Somebody, stop me!... No, don't stop me, I'm harmless. And I do like to Salsa...," and I'm sure he continued dancing as we hopped off the train.
And as we reached the flats, and I gave Robyn a hug goodbye, and walked up the stairs, and looked at my suitcase... I realized for the first time, that I was really leaving London.
The Thames in the moonlight... the sky all black and starless... the streets so familiar and the buildings so tall... the taxi cabs and the double decker buses... the cobble stone streets... the people... the rain... and the view from the fifth floor of 37 Hyde Park Gate as I stare out into the London air.
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