BoofleBlog

Day 8 was just the train trip back from Cornwall. The only item of note was that the hotel manager did manage to get the shower lukewarm for me, so I wasn’t as stinky as I could have been on the train.

Anyhoo. Day 9. Went to the Houses of Parliament. My cousin (who works for the Liberal Democrats) gave us a tour. It’s pretty damn impressive and he makes a great tour guide. The first thing to know is that while ordinary British police officers don’t carry guns, you’d better believe that the folks guarding Parliament do. Big ones. We went through a metal detector and had a very “friendly” frisking by one of the security staff.

Our first stop was St. Stephen’s hall, which is pretty impressive. According to The Cousin, the tile is original and hand painted. It was repainted a few years back and needs another repainting. Statues of former prime ministers and other political figures (mostly from the mid-1800s) are everywhere. From there, it’s into the Central Lobby, where the hallways to the Lords and Commons are. This is where people are supposed to meet their MPs. The stonework is really excellent. Down the hall to the House of Lords. The officer on duty told us we couldn’t go in as they were doing some sound engineering. The guy who was doing the work picked that minute for a head call, though, so the officer told us we could go pop our heads in. It was seriously excellent. (US Senators must never, ever be allowed to see this room, or we’ll all be paying higher taxes so that they, too, can sit on red velvet and be surrounded by gold leaf.) I found it a little unnerving that the officer who was supposed to be protecting this room was the one who told us just how much money could be made from melting down all the gold leaf — isn’t his job sort of to keep us from thinking like that?

The House of Commons was closed, but I didn’t count that as too much of a loss, since one can see that every week on TV. We checked out Westminster Hall, which is amazing. The detail in the stone and woodwork is just astounding, and made even more so by the fact that constuction began in the 11th century. Think about it — how long would it take to make one 2 by 4 without any power tools? Now, carve it, bend it, and make enough others to roof a room of over 16,000 square feet. The mind, she boggles.

Westminster Hall is where some of the big names have laid in state — there are plaques marking where Gladstone, Churchill, and the Queen Mum (among others) were put on public display. There are also plaques commemorating the Queen addressing both houses, something that’s only rarely done. She’s not, after all, allowed to enter the House of Commons, so presumably, it’s done in the big, cold hall.

After lunch, I wandered through St. James’s Park. They have, for reasons I don’t understand, giant pelicans there. Huge. One of them was walking down one of the paths with his wings spread (perhaps it was just that I’d come from Parliament, but I kept thinking of the lord of some manor strutting about), daring people to get in his way. I’d guess that he was at least 4 feet tall.

Through the park we come to Buckingham Palace. It’s another palace that’s pretty dull from the outside. There were a couple guys on guard at the side I was watching — the usual bright red tunic and big fuzzy bearskin cap. I noticed something, though, that I don’t associate with the guards at B.P. — they had big frigging guns. In my head, I see them marching either with nothing in hand or some sort of ceremonial sword. These were assault rifles and I think it would be safe to assume that they were very, very loaded.

I wandered down the road to the Royal Mews (the Queen’s stables), but they’re closed on Fridays.

I hopped on the tube to Chancery Lane and tried to find the courts. I figured it would be fun to see a petty little drug case argued by people in silly wigs. I couldn’t find it and figured that they’d close up early on a Friday afternoon anyhow.

– Day 10 —

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No shower again. Talked to the hotel manager — he said he’d look into it.

Wandered through downtown Falmouth (all 3 blocks of it). Lots of pasty shops, souvenir shops, and pubs. At the end of town, I came to the National Maritime Museum. Since I don’t like shopping, it’s a good thing I like educational-type museums. It was very well done — lots of videos and interactive stuff. They definitely took advantage of whatever technology they had access to. My biggest complaint is that it’s too heavy on yachting/racing and not enough on fishing and military seacraft.

It tries very hard to be educational, but the educational materials are geared a little too much towards kids. I think the only thing I learned was what “clinker built” means. I know next to nothing about boats — there was a lot I could have been taught and wasn’t.

I got lunch at the Oggy Oggy Pasty Co. With a name like that, you’d figure it would have to be good. You’d be wrong.

A couple pints at the local pub, then a nap, then dinner with my cousin and her daughter, then bed.

– Day 9 —

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Got up in the morning at the hotel. The British have interesting ideas about plumbing. The worst was the shower. It had two temperatures — scalding and freezing. Seriously. The hot water was either on or off — there was a little dial which seemed like there should be some positions in between, but it lied.

I admit it — I had an ugly American moment. The best thing I can say for myself is that I had it quietly, in the privacy of my room. I decided that if the barbarians in this country can’t manage a simple thing like plumbing, they can just live with my stink. Until I could shower in comfort, I wouldn’t be showering at all.

Drove down to St. Ives. (Yes, like the nursery rhyme.) It’s a little country town right on the sea. There isn’t much to it but little shops. It’s nice enough — in a way it reminds me of a low-end Venice. Not because there are canals everywhere, but because all the houses and shops are set right on the street and it’s all old stonework. I found two things to recommend it: they have a little store specializing in Winnie the Pooh and they have lots of Cornish ice cream. Three things — they have lots of sweets shops, too.

When we finished up in St. Ives, we didn’t have time to do much else, so we went back to my aunt’s. She and I took her dog for a walk (the hills were unspeakable), and got to see dolphins frollicking in near the coast. My brain said it was worth the walk, though my knees were less certian.

– Day 7 –

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Train to Cornwall. The English countryside is greener than anything I’ve ever seen before. There are all these picturesque little towns and rivers and hillsides. It’s like someone took the world’s biggest postcard and laid it flat, then ran a train over it.

We toddled around Truro for a bit. (Lord, but my mother does love to shop.) I had my first Cornish pasty. It seems like a good idea — meat and onions in a pastry — but I wasn’t impressed.

Off to Falmouth then. I like place names that make sense. Falmouth is at the mouth of the river Fal. I started wondering if there’s a river Ply, but I just don’t care enough to look it up. We visited with my aunt for a bit, had some dins, and called it a day.

– Day 6 –

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First stop: The Museum of Childhood. This place is excellent. I’m not sure I have words for how excellently excellent it is. It’s a museum of mostly toys and games. The toys are divided up by power source: steam powered toys and light based toys and electric toys and gravity/falling toys. Many of the exhibits seem like they haven’t been updated (the electric toys include stuff from the early 80s but not much that’s more recent), but, at least for the older toys, they’re splendid. They have a puppet exhibit and lots of board and card games. They have a people sized checkerboard and lots of tables with inlaid games. Upstairs are dollhouses (Did you know that a dollhouse was supposed to teach a young girl how to run a household? I didn’t.), children’s clothes through the years (including a bong — there was an explanation, but it made little sense), and an exhibit on child labor (because that’s part of childhood too). I don’t remember what the requested donation was, but I’m sure I gave them more.

Next stop: The Museum of London. This isn’t just a typo of the British Museum — it’s actually a museum devoted to the history of the town that’s been in the curve of the Thames for over 5000 years. I loved the prehistoric stuff — who knew that there were once rhinos in England. The museum does really well up through the Romans, but the medieval stuff is being renovated, and it’s just too big a jump from Roman tiles to Stuart bedrooms. Without the bit in between, it doesn’t flow well at all. There’s a movie of the Great Fire, and a computer exhibit of the Victorian era, but I sort of lost interest when I skipped over 1500 years. This is a museum that starts off telling me a story and ends up just showing me pretty pictures. I’m not a pretty pictures person.

Onward to: St. Paul’s Cathedral. I strolled around the outside and was shocked (shocked!) to see people sunbathing on the grounds. I’m certainly not a religious sort, but that seemed a little disrespectful to me. Inside, there was a service going on — it’s easy to forget that these classic churches which are such popular tourist stops are also functioning Anglican churches. I was a little surprised to find a service happening at 3:30, but there we were. Not much opportunity for touristing around, so I just listened to the sermon. It was a woman vicar (at St. Paul’s — I was stunned) and the lesson was quite reasonable: you don’t have time for God when you’re rushing from place to place so just Slow Down. I went downstairs and had a quick afternoon nosh (tea, I suppose) at the Crypt Cafe. Why, oh why didn’t they have t-shirts? I would have bought one in a heartbeat.

Back to Richmond. Back to the pub. Back to the house.

– Day 5 –

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