A Month Later

I wrote about my last days in London from the desk of a government agency in NoVa I am currently temping for. I leave them at the end of the week, and I don't know what I'll be doing for a job afterwards.

I'll admit it, the adjustment has been hard. Finding a job is elusive, finding one in theater near impossible. I can go for up to a week without seeing anyone my age. There have been weeks where I haven't seen anyone but my family. I have few friends in the area, limited transportation and I'm living at home.

There are bright spots, though. Target, home cooking, a bathroom that doesn't flood or disintegrate before your eyes. I've been to New York and will be going again soon. The few times I am social are always enjoyable, and it's been nice to reconnect with the people I do have here, especially knowing that the next time I leave it might be for good.

And that's what I'm trying to focus on. I compare being back in Virginia to being in a time-out, which can have both negative and positive connotations. It also has an end. Next September, 2010.

My time in London was amazing. I struck out on my own and I pulled it off. I met people that will be in my life for a long, long time and strengthened connections from the last time. I saw amazing theater, took some trips. immersed myself in history and drank a lot of pints. I saw Ray Quinn win Dancing on Ice and Kate Winslet walk the red carpet. I was laughed at by Prince Charles, mooned by Wales' hottest guy and followed by Eddie Izzard. And so, so much more.

I don't know what London3 will be, and it's a long way off. But that I did this? I have that. And that's not nothing.

Until then, friends. Be well.

We Hope You Enjoyed Your Stay

My last days in London were a series of errands and people and goodbyes. I went to Exmouth Arms to watch Victoria get her tattoo. I suffered the cruelty of fate that was the previously described banking situation from hell. I got lunch with Vic in Islington, coffee with Rachelle in Bloomsbury and cookie with Charlie at Covent Garden. I bought souveniers for my family from the Tower and the Tate and an anniversary present for Jacey at Fortnum and Mason. I packed and packed and threw things out and packed some more. I ran around the city in a blur of last-minute to-dos and tried to ignore the fact that I was leaving.

Amanda slept over on my last night and then, after Sarah came and picked up her bedding, we struck out for Heathrow, meeting Vic at Holborn on the way. I don't know what I would have done without those two, both in the borader story of London and in the more specific instance of trying to get those massive bags across the city.

We arrived at Heathrow and confirmed that my one suitcase, though overweight, was still less than 32kg (it was 30), had coffee and chocolate and lunch and bought magazines and then said goodbye at the gate, quickly, like the old ripping of a band-aid.

I didn't have much time to kill before I boarded, and the plane was mostly empty. It was an awful flight, thanks to a mild case of food poisoning, and I spent most of it trying in vain to find a comfortable, non-vomit inducing position and listening to the returning backpackers seated behind in an attempt to distract myself. At long last we landed, with a light rain falling over D.C. and and hour later I was through customs and meeting my mom at the gate. And we drove home.

And with that, six months was over.

Epic Fail

I'm now sitting in BUNAC, having earlier killed time scamming the WiFi in King's Cross. If you've been reading this blog from the beginning, you'll likely recall that this was how my first two weeksa in London were spent. I may wind up at Nero in a bit. IT ALL COMES FULL CIRCLE.

But why I am visiting the ghosts of London past? Oh, I'll tell you.

So, I'm not very great with money, and something that I do that is not super great is live hand-to-mouth quite frequently. I work my budget out with future payments in mind and allow myself to get down to the wire if I know in the next two days I'll be getting more in. Which is why my rent desposit check has been kind of a big deal to work out, because I was (am) really depending on that money.

I told my landlord I needed to check with enough time to cash it and close my bank account. She sent me the check on Thursday and it arrived on Saturday, when i was out of the house. Banks are closed Sunday, which meant this morning was the first day I could take it to the bank to be cashed, which I did.

Now, I have no money currently because I knew I would be getting the money from this check. Unlike my account in America, deposting the check does not mean you have instant access to the funds. I should have known this, but, keep in mind, my landlord wouldn't send the check earlier and this was the first monring I could deposit it. All of the errands I had planned to run today depended on that money, which will be available "sometime" today. Barclays being awesome (read: horrible) means that, because I don't have my elaborate calclator thing, I can't monitor this online, so I have to keep going to ATMs to check my account. One of the errands I had been planning on doing was mailing a package back home, which I now have to lug around the city with me until said funds appear in my account. At this rate, there's no way I'll be able to complete even half of what I needed to do today, which means tomorrow is going to suck. FURTHERMORE, I can't close my bank account now because while the funds will be made available to me, the check itself will take five or six days to clear, which was the whole point of getting the money from my landlord in the first place AND WHICH I TOLD HER but which she apparently ignored (I didn't realize this would be a problem or I would have pushed her to give me the deposit earlier...I did try, but she wouldn't do until the last week). The fact that I have to keep my bank account open means that I have to keep money in it because I have a monthly fee i will now be paying on an account I won't be using. PLUS, the fact that I was supposed to close my account tomorrow is the reason why a) I didn't work last week (money I could have used) and b) why I have to go back to Novello tonight to haggle with Gloria.

In addition, it's raining and I just missed a bus and they got my order wrong at lunch.

I'm going to do a little blog catch up and then, fingers crossed, accomplish at least ONE of the things I meant to do today. London always does this to me when I get ready to leave; becomes really obnoxious and petulent.

*sigh*

That Epic Last Saturday

It's been a month since everything I'm about to write about happened, so forgive me if the details are fuzzy/non-existent. I've been putting off completing this blog as part of my increasingly delusional denial that my time in London did, in fact, come to an end. Or, if not an end, a pause. But if I keep doing that, it will make it just that much harder to write about because whatever details I still DO retain will get even more fuzzy/non-existent. So. Onwards!

A Play's The Thing: Saturday am I woke up with a faint idea that maybe I would try and go to Borough Market for lunch. Why this did not occur is one of the many things now lost to time (did I wake up too late? was it a financial concern? I have no idea). All I know is that I instead opted to go straight to Shakespeare's Globe and partake in some afternoon al fresco theater.

On my way to the theater, walking by St. Paul's Cathedral, a bit of debris got caught in my eye. It was excruciatingly painful, whatever it was, and quite unwilling to be flushed out by the copious amounts of tears I cried out of half my face for the next three hours. Beyond being uncomfortable and distracting, I was annoyed that my misfortune also gave me the appearance of being unusual moved by the first half of Romeo and Juliet which is, of course, the funny half (what? there's a funny half of R&J, you ask? why yes, yes there is).

Got to the Globe about eighth in line and settled down to try and fix my eye (no such luck) before we groundlings flooded the yard, where I then joined another line and happily eavesdropped on the two American college students in front of me who were having a conversation that I'm sure was identical to one I must of had during London1, doing the exact same thing. Bought and read a program and then secured one of the coveted leaning-on-the-edge-of-the-stage-seats.

I realize now that I've wasted a good deal of time leading up to the play, which (if you're going by my slightly arbitrary formatting) should have gone BEFORE the heading. It happens.

So! Now, the play. This is the second show I've seen at the Globe, the first being Othello, and both were set in a rough estimation of the Elizabethan period (I say rough to signify my own shortcomings when it comes to positively identifying the period, not to indicate the Globe was sloppy in its accuracy). The stage was littered in baskets and kind of faux-market areas (not unlike the Public production two summers ago) and before the main action began we were treated to a quartet of gentleman singing a variety of period songs, the last of which containing a very funny and anachronistic verse regarding the turning off of cell phones.

The main action then began. I feel unfair judging an entire theater's production value based on only two shows, but I can't help but feel what the Globe does is more "storytelling" than "theater." The tale was very clear, but the acting superficial. Deciding to focus on the teenage aspect of the characters, everything that happened seemed more a case of "Mooo-OO-oom, I thought you said you'd take me and Chrissy to the mall!" and less a case of "My secret husband has killed my favorite cousin and is now banished so I'm contemplating suicide." Sadly, I have no way to type how my favorite line reading went (Rosaline? My ghostly father, no. I have forgot that name and that name's woe.) but rest assured it contained Laguna Beach inflection, a kind of valley-girl arm motion (particularly awkward on a man) and an extreme 45 degree lean backwards. I hope you can picture it, because it was priceless.

Not my favorite moment, however. Oh no.

So we're trotting along through the two hours traffic and we get to yee olde balcony scene. A classic, a standard. Here Romeo is, hidden amongst the fruit trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of his beloved. Ah! He sees her, though we cannot. He praises her beauty, in the majestic language of some of Shakespeare's most famous lines, raising his arm to the raised platform—"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun...."

"...."

"...."

....you know what those dots are? Those dots would be Romeo, forgetting what comes after "Juliet is the sun," and so standing in silence with one awkwardly outstretched arm.

Oh, but it gets better.

So our dear Romeo is screwed. He has forgotten his lines smack dab in the middle of one of the most famous speeches in what is surely the most famous scene in Shakespeare. Surely, as a professional trained actor, he will ad-lib or do some stage business to cover this horrendous gaffe? Surely?

Nope, not our boy. Instead, he drops his arm and begins pacing the stage, rubbing his palms together and making exaggerated facial expressions like a teenager who has just crashed the family car and is waiting for a parent to reach the scene. He does this about four times. Four times he figure eights the stage in this kind of paralyzed anxiety, still pulling elaborate faces that do nothing to pass off the moment as a bit of awkward blocking. Finally, mercifully, Juliet rushes onstage, clearly heading the bidding of someone backstage going "Save him! SAVE HIM!"

But we have not come out of the words of awkward yet. Juliet isn't supposed to know Romeo is there, so there is no chance of eye contact for the two actors to establish which one of them is now going to speak. Is Juliet going to put us back on track by saying something? Or is Romeo going to use her appearance to anchor his floundering and get back to it? Neither knows what the other is thinking, so what had been painfully awakward Romeo-pacing-time now becomes painfully awakward Romeo-stands-with-one-hand-upraised-towards-Juliet-while-she-rests-her-face-on-her-hand-and-stares-into-the-night time. This lasts about 30 seconds (and before you dismiss that as not being so bad, stare at your watch for thirty seconds...it's a long ass time). At last, at last! After 3 or 4 minutes of dead silence, Romeo delivers a line to get the scene rolling again.


The line he picks?


"She speaks!"


...oh man.


So, that was my awesome Globe experience. It was a fun day and a good time, but more akin to seeing a really well set up Renn Faire performances than THE GLOBE. Besides one potential new line reading, I didn't see anything to illuminate new thoughts about the play (and, since Shakespeare is so rich, I find that really hard to do), but I didn't feel like my afternoon was wasted. Which is good.//


I had a lot, A LOT of time to kill after the show before meeting up with the Novello crowd. It was that awkward span of too much time to do any one thing and not quite enough to make it worth going home and coming back out into the city, which I often found myself navigating in London. I got dinner at Pizza Express for the last time and then went to Pret since they had free WiFi and I had my touch on me. Eventually I had whittled away enough of my day that I could head over to the Nell knowing it would be a short amount of time before I had friends to play with.


On the Town: Thus the epic last night began. Sure enough, I wasn't there more than ten minutes before some of the bar staff began trickling in, followed by FOH. I don't recall staying terribly long at the Nell, but I chatted to Will, Kane, Oliver and Ben for awhile (heard about Oli's run-in with Jude Law) and we got that delightfully weird moment when Victoria got up in arms about the Donmar's rehearsal space (one of those things that really isn't that funny or a big deal, but will follow her through the rest of our friendship because it was so gosh darn random).


I said goodbye to various people, some for the last time, and then headed over the rbidge with Victoria and Amanda to The Pit Bar, my first true bar love. Getting downstairs we found oursleves acing a table filled with high spirited Welsh 20-somethings with Ni holding court in the center. This wouldn't be at all unsual except that Ni had been absent from Spring Awakening for some time, "illness" being the reason given out (or at least assumed). Questionable.


We managed to secure a table and then got drinks squared away. I can't remember most of the conversation we had (due to time passing and the unremarkable nature of what was said; not because of any alcohol related side effects), though I do recall spending a fair amount of tie trying to Vic to say hello to the people she recognized from Royal Welsh College. At one point, I was coming back from the loo and found myself stuck in a doorjam with Ni, giving me the opportunity to inquire about his health. It seems a strained rib (or something similar) was the actual reason he was out from the show, which I guess doesn't preclude drinking. I don't actually know that he recognized me as someone who works in the theater, despite that night of revels at Rachelle's, but I had that breezy nonchalant confidence that comes from a pint or two and the knowledge that I would be leaving the country without much delay, so I didn't let his well-covered skepticism dissuade me.


After closing down the Pit we met up with Naomi and Charlie at Bar Italia, a kind of 1950's sandwich bar known for its respectably shabby interior and 24-hr operating times. I chowed down on an overpriced panini while we caught up with what each half of the party had been up to upon leaving the Nell. I had hoped Bar Italia would be more of a diner, with places to sit that we could hang out in indefinitely, but it was much more an eat-and-go establishment, so we were forced back into the night and meandered over to Cafe Fiori, another return to my early London2 days since it was across the theater from the Wyndham's and where my darling dotty actress line buddy had bought me hot chocolate out of cocern I was going to freeze to death.

Cafe Fiori was also overpriced so, while the rest of the table got real food, I tucked into two large cups of lukewarm tea. All of the waitresses seemed German and disinclined to deal with customers (two facts I'm not trying to link, just state) and that was okay by us since we were looking to kill time anyway. At one point we became aware of Naomi's back-combing twin seated just a few tabled behind us, a slender guy sporting a veritable hedgehog of teased hair. Naomi took this as a challenege and promptly the comb came out, but to no avail- she made met her match. He became aware of this whole scenario, but was of good humor about the whole thing.


For my faux birthday, I had desired seeing the sun rise over Waterloo Bridge, a wish that was once again brought to light over our tea and jacket potatoes. The sky was slowly becoming rosier, and the troops freshly fired up and rested, we went to welcome Sunday into London in style, hunting down a container of juice for Naomi on the way.


The sun was just starting to rise over the Thames we we reached the bridge, and it was breathtaking. The slightest hint of yellow beginning where the water met the sky and then this super saturated, glorious blue creeping over and gradually getting darker. There was this one long, dotted cloud that streatched over the whole thing, like someone had made a swipe with a paintbrush that was running out of paint, and all the buildings still had their lights on. It was gorgeous.

It was breath-taking for another reason, and that reason was the cold. My god, it was freezing on the that bridge. We were all kind of bundled up, but not really, and over the course of standing around and singing songs, mocking MG, plotting to steal a lifeboat, taking tourist billboard photos and dancing in the median we gradually wound up wearing every scrap of clothing we had on us, which included scarves wrapped like shawls and DMT usher uniforms layered fetchingly over club outifts. Awesome.

Naomi was going to leave us after the bridge while we killed that last hour before the tube reopened, but her plan was foiled by her night bus being stupid. Instead, we parked on a bench in Trafalger Square and engaged in that kind of heady, hysterical chatter you can only have if you've been out all night. Thus things like "Hawkman," "I don't like the radio" and the entire French language became unbearably funny to the point of tears streaming down our faces.

And finally, finally, the epic last night was ended at McDonald's, the four of us falling asleep at the table (Amanda left us after the square), counting the seconds until we could hop that train home and collapse into bed.or, in Naomi's case, take a train to Sussex.

A Good Friday

The Epic Catch-Up continues. I would just really like to knock off Friday/Saturday/Sunday and then do one last post to summarize my last few days, the lane ride, and the first week at home so as to not leave the blog hanging. Slowly, but surely, it will get done.

Friday in London (April 24) was my last morning baby-sitting for Matthew, that adorable child. He was as happy and chatty and squirmy as he ever was, and we spent much of the time tramping around his kitchen unsteadily and playing on the floor with building blocks and much gnawed on books. Am going to miss that little guy. It was really sad to goodbye.

I thought I'd have loads of time to get things done in between leaving his and going out that night, but really all I accomplished was showering, getting dressed and fixing something to eat before I had to swing my way back out the door to get to the theater. But not the theater to work, oh no! The theater to SEE A PLAY.

Well, a musical. The bill of fare was A Little Night Music, a Menier Chocolate Factory transfer directed by T-Nunn and featuring my personal favorite from I'd Do Anything!, Jesse Buckley (I freely admit my affection for her comes not from any great admiration of natural star quality or talent but because her story on the show was that she had been rejected from every drama school she tried out for and laughed at by everyone from home for trying and by golly if I don't love a plucky underdog making good). The show was one I was unfamiliar with, though I knew it had a reputation for great music and had seen it referenced many times, so I was very excited to see what it was all about. And, after a brief kerfluffle with my tickets needing to be exchanged and some slight irritation they waited until the last possible moment to tell me (NOW I see why we have people at the front doors of the Novello), I was able to.

Everyone who has asked me about it has gotten the same response: charming! Absolutely charming. Witty and light and breezy and highly enjoyable. The lead male (I don't have the program in front of me, so these vague descriptions are the best I can do) was engaging, as was the female lead. Maureen Lipman was bitingly funny as the mother. The set was highly reminiscent of that previous Chocolate Factory confection, Sunday in the Park With George, but to no detriment (thought it worked quite well in both shows) and the music was (wait for it...) utterly charming! I enjoyed it, quite. Not life changing, but near-perfect and I hope it does make the leap to Broadway because I think it deserves to be seen.

I went to the Nell afterwards, but only had one and a little chatting and then was off back home.

The Bard of Stratford-On-Avon

I was all clever and set up drafts of posts I had yet to write so that they would chronologically be in order. how's that for foresight?

Trippin': Thursday was the Bard's assumed birthday, and so I thought a perfect day to traipse on down to the real Stratford and frolic in the hills. Also, see where I would be spending a year of my life come 2010.

I caught the train out of Marylebone station and spent a lovely 2 hours snaking through the English country side. I am pretty positive there are faster train routes to Stratford, but I hadn't bothered to find them, and this one was quite pleasant and picturesque. I did mourn the lack of reading material a wee bit, but I had my iPod and Freecell to amuse me, as well as absorbing panaromas to occupy my attention.

Arrived in town just after 1pm, which gave me a comfortable amount of time to meander around the town and find my school before my 2pm meeting with the head of my prgram. I had been to Stratford before, so it wasn't an entirely new experience, but I was looking at it with a new perspective, one of "can I live here and not kill myself?" I'm proud to say the answer to that question is a resounding "yes." The thing I really get out of cities as opposed to towns is a thriving theater scene, and thanks to the RSC, Stratford has that. Otherwise, I'm pretty much a homebody, content with books and TV, and I anticipate my life in Stratford will be septn doing lots of academic work and frequenting one of the really cute pubs dotted about, and, really, that's all I want. for a year, at least.

Making the Grad: After poking about a bit, I went back to the Shakespeare Institute. Calling it a "school" is vastly misleading as, really, it's a building without about five rooms. but such charming rooms! The building itself has a 17-th century core and then was decorated by the owner in the 1920's to reflect a kind of "arts and crafts" (as Tara put it) interpretation of Jacobean style. I saw one teaching room that was kind of like Bedford Square, the computer bank and the main hall, which is used for lectures and the Shakespeare Institute players (and kind of resembles Middle Temple in my mind, where Twelfth Night was probably first staged). Along the back of the building is a glassed in room used for refreshments and set up as a kind of lounge, with a kitchen and second lounge just off of it. There is a large, gorgeous garden out back with this funny little tower built in the middle of it that students can use as a writing room (how awesome is that?). Just loved it!

Talking to Tara also made me 100% confident that I chose the right program and school. My MA is half literature, half history and I'll have one 2hr lecture in each per week taught by a rotating group of fellows, with the history part taught at the University of Birmingham in Birmingham (more of a city). The schedule tara gave me as being typical for the programme is:

Tuesday: 2hr lecture on the plays of Shakespeare, workshop on handling Elizabethan documents in conjunction with the Shakespeare birthplace trust

Wednesday: 2hr lecture on the history of the time, ranging from court politics to witchcraft to gender roles to religion, etc.

Thursday: guest lecture by a visiting fellow on a topic relating to Shakespare including a reception and Q&A period, evening a Shakespeare plays reading session where you read the plays and rink wine

Monday/Friday: research and essay days

...that actually sounds like my idea of Heaven. She also said that the town is very receptive to SI students, so getting a job and finding a place to live is made a lot easier by the connections already in place. I AM SO FREAKING EXCITED.

After talking to Tara and being showed around, she pointed me to the library where the librarian gave me a quick tour. It's not a very big building, but knowing everything in it was somehow related to Shakespeare sent a thrill through me. They have an extensive collection of microfilms and walls upon walls of newspaper cuttings going back to 1920, as well as about every different edition of the play you can imagine and a sizeable library of AV resources and the ability to order anything from Birmingham should you need it. I want to read every single thing in that building. I am not kidding.

Ye Olde Thyngs: After the glory that was my programme tour, I headed over to the Shakespeare Center. I had already seen his birthplace and such, so didn't feel I needed tos pend the money again. However, they had the new portrait on display and so I shelled out the fiver it took to gain my access.

The display set up was very small but did a decent job of making a case for why this was thought to be a portrait of Shakespeare I always knew my boy was a looker!). Didn't change my life but I'm glad I went.

It was a beautiful day, so I bought an ice cream cone afterwards. one of the better decisions made in the past week, I must say.//

Meandered about the town after that, popping into little Shakespeare-themed stores and buying various knick-knacks that celebrated the Bard (I have gotten way into badges during the last few months, and if they have Shakespeare quotes on them, all the more appealing!). Snaked my way through the center of town until I happened upon the gigantic construction project that is known in better times as the RSC theater and obeyed the various signs directing me to the relocated shop in the Courtyard theater. Spent a long, long time contemplating everything the store had to offer and wound up settling on a mug for Amanda, tea towel for Dad and a poster for myself.

Was about to leave when I saw a box marked marked "past programmes 50p." I had, during London1, secured programs for all the RSC shows I had seen (Coriolanus, King Lear, Antony and Cleopatra and the ubiquitous Tempest) but I thought occurred to me...If they were old programs, might not they have some from the Complete Works Festival as whole? Including, perchance, visiting productions that had been part of said festival? Such as, for example, that delightful theater troupe that had provided The Taming of the Shrew?

I flipped through the box, anticipation mounting as I realized that a) yes, they had programs from as far back as the festival and b) those included outside productions and then....VOILA! not one but two TWO Propeller programs revealed themselves and it was all I could do not to do a little jog right then and there. I bought both, clearly, and for that small moment they whole trip would have been worth it. Except the rest of the trip was lovely as well, so bonus!

Food for Thought: During my wandering I had passed The Garrick Inn, which proudly proclaimed itself the oldest pub in Stratford-Upon-Avon, and so made that my goal for dinner. Since there was only one train per two hours taking me back to London, I had ample time to enjoy my sausage and mash, my newly purchased programs, my Freecell game and my cute Rugby-playing-type waiter. //

Upon return to the bustling metropolis I met up with Vic at the Novello and we high-tailed it over to Crouch End so as to catch as much of what was left of The Chicago Blues Revue (a Blues Brothers tribute band consisting of friends of friends of mine). Were able to hear about five (?) songs before they ended and had a jolly old time dancing, enjoying a few drinks and railing against the injustice of an obnoxious cosmos before heading back to hers to crash.

And that was last Thursday! My god, was it only a week ago? Being back in America, I will try and complete the blog posts detailing my last few days, but details are likely to be sketchy as much has happened since there and here.

King Henry Party!

Having gotten in at 2am last night, I really didn't think I was going to make it out of the door this morning. As it was, I slept in 1-1/2hr  past my alarm, but still made it out of the house by 10am! I win.

Playing the Palace: Today, apparently, is the actual date that King Henry VIII ascended the throne! I didn't know that when I picked today as Hampton Court Palace day.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous for a stroll in the footsteps of the most fascinatingly dysfunctional family this side of the Kennedys. I picked up an audio guide and did the tour of the royal kitchens, which are a staggering example of excess and organization. Most meals required service for 600 people. 600 people! Also, the Tudor diet was 75% meat, they considered beavers to be fish and used pastry as a form of cooking dish. Furthermore, Hampton Court has 800 pieces of pewter serving ware, all handmade by one person who's previous largest order was 50. C'mon, tell me you found that interesting!

Everyday at Hampton Court this summer they do a re-enactment of the marriage of Henry and Catherine Parr, so I found myself in Clock Court just as Thomas Seymour was making Anne Parr an impassioned plea to point him Catherine's way so he could pledge his undying love and stall the wedding. He led us up to the Great Hall and then the Great Watching Chamber, where we found Catherine at prayer, reflecting on her decision to choose duty over love. Stayed with the re-enactors until the masses had helped choose Catherine's wedding dress and then went to explore the portrait gallery of Henry's heirs, peeking into the Royal Chapel on the way.

Viewed the exhibition on Henry's Women, which had some interesting things in it but was sadly small (I think the exhibit at the British Library will be better, I only hope I have time to see it). Swung back around to see the projection on one of the Abraham tapestries to show how it would have looked and then took a quick look into the Wine Cellar to see Henry and Thomas engage in a little arm-wrestling.

Felt by this time I had done all I wanted, so after picking up a few souvenirs I hit up the Tiltyard Cafe for tea, which was scrumptious and criminally relaxing.

Flat Notes: Have been home ever since, being relatively productive.  Keep trying to pack, but I don't think I'll be able to really dig into it until Monday at the earliest.

Got a snide comment from Rachel, which left me more than a bit annoyed for much of the afternoon, but I'm more or less over it now. And our bathroom's flooding again (I'm not convinced the sink isn't going to actually fall out of the wall). And...I leave in a week! It's like the world is conspiring to make me feel better about leaving.