Friday's rainy day activities incl Open Air Theatre

"Rain, rain rain", as the Beatles sang. What else is new? It rained in Boston for most of the summer, and I guess it rained a lot here in London, too. It's still raining. The Brits are still grumbling about the rain. There is nothing new under the sun (from Psalm X, a reading at our wedding) Actually, there is nothing at all under the sun; it's all under a heavy cloud cover.

This was conducive to giving the flat a good cleaning. "Hoovering" (they use the brand name for both the appliance (noun) and vacuuming activity (verb), scrubbing the bathrooms, doing the ubiquitous laundry, and a coat of non-slip floor polish on the hardwood floors were among the activities I enjoyed. The whole picture can be completed by your imagining me in my purple pajamas with the monkees and bananas motif. This all brought me to about 2:30 (oops, 14:40), just in time to shower and dress so the returning family members would think I'd been dressed all day.

We had been planning to attend the theatre Friday evening. A theatre in nearby Regent's park was putting on the Lerner & Lowe musical "Gigi". Master Thespian "Topol" (i.e. he's so famous he only needs one name) and some other notables would star. I had scored the tickets the week earlier on a beautiful, sunny-day stroll through Regents Park.

There was just one catch. The theatre is called the Open Air Theatre. As in We Have No Roof.
Not Even Over the Stage. There "weather policy" stated that they get through 94% of their performances, although the sign on which this was posted had gotten a little damp and the statistic was somewhat blurry. Even if they have to stop the action due to a shower, they wait until it's over and resume the play.

That particular day's weather did not bode well for the Open Air Theatre-goer. The forecast called for rain, heavy at times, and strong winds. This is a pretty graphic forecast for the Brits. Their penchant for understatement extends even to their weather reports. American "Partly cloudy with clearing later" is "cloudy, with bright spots breaking out in the afternoon". It was coming down in torrents all day long, and the radar map did not look like any bright spots would be making an appearance.

I had little hope that the production would go on as planned, so rang the box office so I could confirm that the show was off. Wrong. There policy is to get everyone there, and then call off the performance if within a half hour or so of start time it will not clear up at any time during the evening. The reason why this is their policy became clear later.

I figured we'd go down to the park by bus, catch some dinner at the nearby Garden Cafe, go over to the theatre, and be told to go home. We walked into the park as the clouds ceased their deluge, and did enjoy a very tasty meal. As we finished paying, TeenE said "Look outside". The floor-to-ceiling windows were starting to stream with raindrops. We walked two minutes to the theatre, and were admitted. We then milled around the covered bar area for about twenty minutes. Aha! The reason for the delayed cancellation policy became apparant. At one point the lady on the PA said " Ladies and Gentlemen. We are still assessing the weather situation, and will make another announcement in fifteen minutes. Please stay in the bar area." Everyone laughed at management's transparent motives. Meanwhile, the rain increased to the hardest of the day. I thought to myself "there is no way this production can go on". Another announcement of delay, and then the rain ceased. The bells rang, and the voice announced "Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. The performance is about to begin.

We entered the theatre. We had seats in Row R, in a raised area three rows from the back.
The very wet stage was set out before us. The orchestra arrived, and spent a few moments clearing the water off their seats. I had cleverly packed plastic carry-bags (sacks) to place on our seats. Unfortunately, what I thought was a bundle of three bags turned out to only be two, so TeenE and I ripped one in half and shared it. The cushy seats were completely soaked, and when we sat down water squeezed out onto the cement floor below.

I decided to take a few photos of the stage (old set decorator's habit). As I was putting my camera away, a stagehand came out and actually started squeegee-ing water across the stage!

Very shortly, it began to rain. Umbrellas opened. Official policy states that umbrellas may not be used during the performance. It rained very hard. The really hardy souls had plastic ponchos on. I regretted not packing the $12 Icelandic ponchos from several summers ago.
People began to grumble, then to complain outright. "Be patient" I told Hubster. There is absolutely no way this show can go on. We'll be able to go home and make an early night of it.
They made us sit there for another five minutes in the rain, and then announced:
"Ladies and Gentlemen: Metro Weather informs us that this rain will be continuing throughout the evening" (this was news to them?) We must therefore cancel this evening's performance. As per our cancellation policy, you may apply your ticket purchase to any performance for the rest of the season or next year. Please note, you MUST exit to the sides, not through the rear entrance through which you came in. Thank you".

The band did NOT play on; they folded up and left the stage, and we all filed out in an orderly queue. A ten-minute walk back through the park in the dark brought us to the Baker Street area where I led TeenE and Hubster to the nearest bus stop of the 189, having reconnoitered the various options the previous week.

"Gigi" is only on through this weekend, and the weekend calls for rain. If I can't score exchange tickets for THIS Wednesday night, we'll see something else next summer. And pray for good weather.

A Flat on Days Zero and One

Day Zero: We fly to London

Left our neighbor Leslie and Tom’s at 5:45 am. Their friend John drove us to the airport.
Arrived at Heathrow with no problem, just a little convincing at immigration.
Collected luggage. Filled two rolling carts, which are free, with four bags each, two 50 lb. checked bags, two lighter checked bags, one computer, one bookbag, one asst things, one backpack.
Took cab directly to Abbey Road, as we would not have been able to manage all that on the train to Paddington.

Pressed bell 16 on brass placque. Hubster does not know how to work the video phone entry thingy, so he came down in the “lift” , which is an elevator with 2 sets of brass gates as doors. You can see the innards of the elevator shaft as you rise through the center of the pre-war brick building. This particular block of Abbey Road was less touched by bombing in the Blitz, within a quarter mile are whole swaths of 1950's-era boxes and taller 1960's icky modern blocks of flats.

Entered A flat on Abbey Road at long last.

It is really nice, with hardwood floors, nice curtains, tastefull Picasso prints, contemporary furniture, new granite kitchen and two newly redone bathrooms. The kitchen and baths are actually nicer than in any home that we have owned.

Pebbled glass next to tub gives persons on fire escape or in adjacent units nice pebbly view of naked bodies. No way to hang a curtain except for a tension rod. Luckily, I brought a long swatch of tie-died silk that is supposed to be a belly dancing veil. This is the new temporary curtain, hooked over the handle used to open the window.

Windows have no screens. Does this mean there are no bugs or bats in London? What about pigeons on the windowsills?

The tree outside Teen’s window (which is visible in the old photos of the Abbey Road album cover) is most likely a London Plane tree, although it has giant gumball-looking things hanging from it, so I’m really not sure yet. It is NOT a chestnut tree, as there is also one of those nearby and it has different leaves, and has a sign on it marked "Warning: Falling Conkers".

Went to bed at 11 pm their time, 6 pm ours. It was Saturday night, so there were a few revelers nearby in the street. Melatonin plus Tylenol PM helped fuel a good night’s sleep.

A Flat Day One

Awoke at first light for a while, and then again a few times later. When I finally got up for good, I was surprised to see that it was already 10:30 am. Tried to wake up Teen, who came out to the lounge for a few minutes, then grumped back to bed.

Decided to go out for a walk to get the lay of the land.
Went North on Abbey Road and took a street that went West toward Maida Vale. My walk took me Straight to the Violet Hill Park, a tiny but lovely garden and play space with lots of Mums and Dads and toddlers and American accents. St. John’s Wood is home to many Americans due to the presence of the American School nearby.

Went to the Violet Hill Studios, which I have been researching on line for months. It is a Centre for Natural Healing and rents space to practitioners such as me. Of course, it was 11:20 am, so not many people were around, but I met one woman waiting for her Massage during Pregnancy session, and when the practitioner came out to greet her, I met her, too. She gave me all the relevant lists of practitioners and workshops and encouraged me to come back when the founder would be there.

Went around the corner to St. Mark’s C of E church, peeked in the doors. The service was just ending as they were playing the final hymn. ALMOST went to coffee hour, but decided I woundn’t have time to make it back to the flat in time if I did that.
Walked North a bit to the top of Hamilton Terrace, then took a right and went back over to Abbey Road. Everywhere there are neat townhouses behind brick walls, with a paved spot for a car park and neat little gardens and well-trimmed trees and shrubs.

Took a detour down Blenheim Terrace, which is mixed residential and business, including Natural Burger (100% Scottish Black Angus beef!!) a very pricey French restaurant (with menu in French), two coffee houses (independents, not chains) and an Italian restaurant. Also a Mental Health Trust.

Back down Abbey Road, I spotted an “arcade” located in the ground floor of a block of flats. Here, an arcade is a row of shops, including a hair salon, a grocer, a dry cleaner, etc.
Went back to the flat WITHOUT going through the famous crosswalk.
Collected Teen and Hubster, and we set out on a trial walk over to school. To the back entrance, it’s five minutes, to the main entrance, eight.

From there we walked over to the High Street, and had lunch at my choice restaurant, which was sadly disappointing. Stopped by two cell phone stores and learned that without working bank cards, we had no chance of signing up for any plan. Took brochures any way. Hubster and Teen headed back to the flat for proof of residency paperwork, whilst I.... (get out your maps)

...walked down the High Street to Prince Albert Road, which runs along the northern edge of Regents Park. Found a gate into the park, and was excited to find a HUGE patch of blackberry bushes growing near a bridge over the Regent’s Park Canal. Went down a path to the canal and walked West until I got to the next stairway up to the street level.

The Canal used to be plied by barges delivering coal to central Londoners. The barges were towed by horses or mules that walked alongside. Walking along the canal is a little like walking along the Seine in Paris, but the water is narrower, shallower, and without the smell of piss that permeates quays. Many people were walking and biking on the now-sunny afternoon.

Walked up Park Road, past Lord’s Cricket Ground, took a left on Wellington Place and a right on Cavendish Avenue, also known as the street on which Sir Paul McCartney lives.
Breezed by his house, which is small and backs onto the grounds of the Wellington Hospital. Lots of security signs, cameras, etc. so I walked briskly by without looking like a tourist gawking. No one else was on the street at all.

Took a left onto Circus Road, then doubled back, crossed Wellington Rd. on Circus, and wound up back at St. John’s wood High St. at the appointed time to meet the Hubster and Teen. Gave up on the phone buying for the day.

Walked back to the flat, this time using the FAMOUS CROSSWALK on Abbey Road. I realized that I am no longer an Abbey Road Zebra Crossing Virgin.

Spent the evening watching Olympic coverage as well as a strange programme about weird British sports like Cheese Rolling, Snail Racing, Tiddley Wink Tournaments, and throwing a beer-soaked towel at a moving circle of people. Hubster cooked us up some spaghetti and corn-on-the-cob, and we perused the mobile phone brochures. Still no closer to making a choice, as there are too many details to comprehend.