I finally shut up (London photos)
2/3
On Friday morning, Kate went back to work and I set off for King's Cross with my enormous suitcase (note: the left luggage facility is ridiculously expensive). And then I went to the British Museum and basked in some treasures:
After that, I headed to the National Theatre Archives to watch Ben in After the Dance. I have to say that it hit me the same way Frankenstein did - I wasn't very impressed with the play but thought that the performances really elevated it. Benedict's voice was deeper than I'd ever heard it, with a very plummy accent, and he commanded the stage (as his character David should - we're in his flat for the entire play) absolutely. The interview he gave was also made available to me, and that was an absolute scream, with Benedict digressing merrily and being charmingly self-deprecating and drinking tea that had gotten steadily colder and only realizing as he answered the very last question where exactly the microphone was. The staff at the Archives was very friendly and collegial, and since I was the last guest of the day, I got to stick around as they cleaned up and we chatted. Apparently, they are considering a Frankenstein DVD because of the demand, though there are legal nightmares to wade through to get there.
Then I met Kate for one last hurrah - a reading of Romantic poetry by Damian Lewis, Harriet Walter, and another actor whose name escapes me. I thought they were all merely okay with the Keats, better with the Shelley, and then absolutely rollicking when they hit Byron. It was a wonderful way to cap off my time in London. (And then I got on a train to Cambridge, where a cousin of mine lives, and spent a few days surrounded by family and then flew home.)
Really, even without Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman running around, London can be a ridiculously pretty city:
A few Sherlock-y pictures to round things out:
Remember that "smallest police station in London" that John mentions in Kate's "The Love Song of Dr. John H. Watson"? Here it is:
Interesting graffiti from a Moriarty-ruled dystopia?
And one that I took because of a connection to the story I'm trying to finish for casestory (if I can't, then I'll finish it for holmes_big_bang):
So that's it! I hope you enjoyed the tour!
On Friday morning, Kate went back to work and I set off for King's Cross with my enormous suitcase (note: the left luggage facility is ridiculously expensive). And then I went to the British Museum and basked in some treasures:
After that, I headed to the National Theatre Archives to watch Ben in After the Dance. I have to say that it hit me the same way Frankenstein did - I wasn't very impressed with the play but thought that the performances really elevated it. Benedict's voice was deeper than I'd ever heard it, with a very plummy accent, and he commanded the stage (as his character David should - we're in his flat for the entire play) absolutely. The interview he gave was also made available to me, and that was an absolute scream, with Benedict digressing merrily and being charmingly self-deprecating and drinking tea that had gotten steadily colder and only realizing as he answered the very last question where exactly the microphone was. The staff at the Archives was very friendly and collegial, and since I was the last guest of the day, I got to stick around as they cleaned up and we chatted. Apparently, they are considering a Frankenstein DVD because of the demand, though there are legal nightmares to wade through to get there.
Then I met Kate for one last hurrah - a reading of Romantic poetry by Damian Lewis, Harriet Walter, and another actor whose name escapes me. I thought they were all merely okay with the Keats, better with the Shelley, and then absolutely rollicking when they hit Byron. It was a wonderful way to cap off my time in London. (And then I got on a train to Cambridge, where a cousin of mine lives, and spent a few days surrounded by family and then flew home.)
Really, even without Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman running around, London can be a ridiculously pretty city:
A few Sherlock-y pictures to round things out:
Remember that "smallest police station in London" that John mentions in Kate's "The Love Song of Dr. John H. Watson"? Here it is:
Interesting graffiti from a Moriarty-ruled dystopia?
And one that I took because of a connection to the story I'm trying to finish for casestory (if I can't, then I'll finish it for holmes_big_bang):
So that's it! I hope you enjoyed the tour!