London: The End
On this, our last day in London (yes, you may well rejoice-it’s almost over!), we finally managed to get up in time to go see the crossing of the guards. Which was largely unexciting, though I *was* amused by their way of gliding their feet daintily across the pavement. Having accomplished this task, it being our last of “Things You Must Do In London Even If You Have No Desire To, Just Because,” we were going to stop by a pub, eat lunch quickly, and go catch up on the museums we missed. Instead of a pub though, we went to “Bumbles,” motto: An Exceedingly British Restaurant (I kid you not). Complete with a Polish owner and an Ecuadorian wait staff. There, our pain augmented by the Incomprehensibly Bad Mood Music, we had to suffer through The Meal From Hell.
Now then, the food itself wasn’t at all bad. But the restaurant’s specialty was a three course meal for 10 pounds, and for God knows what reason, despite our not being particularly hungry, we took it. It would have been a good-even a great-meal for two, but for one person for lunch, it was entirely too much. We should have split it. I don’t even remember what we had exactly, except that the second course did involve fish and chips, and the third an apple pudding for one of us at least. Whatever the first course was (Yorkshire pudding for me, I believe), we were both already full after it, and yet had the other two still to go. With grim-faced determination, we persisted, and through time and effort succeeded in consuming most of it. It was, however, pure torture. And it took up far more time than we had to spend. In the end though, I guess it sort of justified itself, because we didn’t have to eat for the rest of the day after that (personally, I felt sick just thinking about more food).
It started up raining again, so we took our umbrella and trotted off to Tate Britain. Tate Britain we liked much better than Tate Modern, due in no small part to its having a collection of the Decadents and Pre-Raphaelites. The Decadent room was perfect, all done up in gold and purple, with Wildean quotes adorning the walls and some lovely pieces I’d never seen before. Anna particularly liked a statue of Icarus, and I was distracted by an Orpheus and Euridice one, but my reasons for that were less artistic than just... mine.
The Pre-Raphaelite rooms were great too, though they reminded me mightily of my Victorian Lit class, as most of them had been covered there. Ah, Professor Pfordresher and the Victorian Lit class. One of the very best I’ve taken, and I owe most of my knowledge on the Pre-Raphaelites and anything Victorian to it. I can’t thank Professor Pfordresher enough, he was amazing. Heck, I’d take the class again if I could.
We bought a Rosetti print in the shop, though sadly not the one I was looking for. Rosetti is also amazing: his dark women truly are “perfect and poisonous.” If you’ve ever seen his painting of Proserpine, you know what I’m talking about. The trademarked sensuous mouth is redder than red, rendering perfectly the bloody taint of the fruit she has bitten. The skin’s contrasting paleness and greyish transparency is suggestive of the shadow that falls over her at the moment of the disastrous action, and the feverish brightness of the eyes under the heavy masses of hair hint at a darker corruption.
I wanted to remain longer in Tate British, but Anna insisted on going to Victoria & Albert’s again, so we went, and amused ourselves there till closing-time. I got to see their clothing gallery, so was satisfied. After we left, we went briefly to Oxford Circus and dropped by two other vintage records shops I’d marked. These had slightly more T. Rex merchandise, and I wanted to buy an album, but Anna was dead against it (“You won’t even be able to listen to it! Isn’t having 5 records you can’t listen to enough?”), so I didn’t. I bought a used copy of the Brown album on CD instead. (If they’d had *that* one in stock, I’d have bought it for sure though. I mean, the CD isn’t even brown! ... Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure why it’s called the Brown album anyway.)
Then it was 15 minutes to seven and all the shops were closing, so we went back to the Delta of Venus to drop by and say goodbye to Leigh. He was still there by the time we got to the store, and he let us in, and then invited us to come out with him and some friends to a pub. This was the day we’d set aside to go see Marc’s tree, but thought a half an hour here or there wouldn’t matter.
The pub was a nice, low-key place in Camden. While waiting for Leigh’s friends to arrive, we went up to the bar to talk. Leigh bought us drinks, and Anna sensibly just asked for a glass of coke, while I agreed to have a beer, which was a mistake. Rather, the beer was fine, but I should have specified that I only wanted a half-pint. (I can hold my alcohol okay, but to drink that much liquid in general--that’s what I have difficulty with. I am pathetic in this regard.) So then instead of leaving quickly, it became a matter of principle not to leave until I at least finished my drink. This took… a while, especially considering my penchant for talking rather than imbibing. I think I impressed everyone at the bar by just how damn long it took me to finish that unfortunate pint. :)
Eventually, though, I did finish it, and Leigh’s friends arrived. We all chatted for a while, exchanged email addresses, etc, with Leigh, and left. Outside, night was already beginning to fall, but it was still light. We quickly made our way to Waterloo Station, and bought the railway tickets for Barnes. Up to now, all was pretty good.
We boarded the train without mishap, and watched the stations flit by. Unfortunately, we didn’t watch how other passengers opened the train doors, and when our station came, we were unable to get the doors open in time and so missed it.
That was still all right, because we immediately caught the next train back, and this time got off correctly. The trouble then began in trying to locate the tree. I’d asked Anna to copy down directions before we left, but when we tried to follow them, we found they weren’t very clear. Far as we could tell, we were supposed to go straight-not-right, then left, then… well, point was, first off we needed “Gypsy Lane.”
In search of this evasive lane, we wandered about the railway area for well over an hour. The platform gave way to woods that were full of small paths and lanes, none of them marked, and we circled through all of them thrice, with no avail. It did not help that it had started drizzling again, and that it was now entirely dark, and that we had no flashlight. Stumbling around in the foliage, we had to resort to taking repeated photographs, just so while the flash illuminated the area, we could see if there was perhaps a path or a sign ahead. Anna was very mad at me, saying that she felt like we’d come upon a dead body at any moment, and that it was like being in a horror movie. I refrained from responding that actually, it reminded me an awful lot of “Blair Witch.”
I’ll admit, walking around an unknown wood in the dark, alone, in the rain, without proper directions and no flashlight, far from anyplace we knew, and nearing midnight, was a monumentally stupid idea.
After making yet another round, and finding nothing, we glumly returned to the train station. A train had just come in, and small groups of people were getting off. I suggested we make a last attempt to ask for directions (we’d tried before, but no-one could tell us where Gypsy Lane was), and if we still got nothing, we’d just give up and go home. Anna asked a man who said he didn’t, and I, without much hope, approached a woman with two children, and asked her. To my surprise, she paused, and turned to a friend, saying, “Gypsy Lane, isn’t that further down that way?” Her friend confirmed, and to our joy, it seemed we’d finally be able to get somewhere. (Well, to my joy more than Anna’s. Anna wanted to leave.)
The woman attempted to explain to us how to get there, and then said she was going in the same direction anyway, so we should come along and she’d show us. As we were walking, still trying to figure out the best directions to give us, she asked whether we had an address--were we looking for a particular house on Gypsy Lane?
At this point, feeling like an absolute nut, I replied, “Uh, no, not a house… actually, we’re looking for a particular tree.”
To my even greater surprise, instead of deciding that we were crazy, she simply smiled, “Oh, Marc Bolan’s tree?” She knew what it was! I was amazed. And very, very glad, because now we had someone to give us a more detailed set of directions.
After she set us on our way, we found the tree fairly quickly, though not as quickly as we might have wanted (people keep telling you, “it’s all covered in ribbons and pictures--you can’t miss it! Well, in the daylight, maybe not, but at night-time, it’s not that difficult to pass it by). We ended up finding it though, because close to it there thankfully *was* a lamp post, and it illuminated the ceramic swan lining the path to it adequately enough.
So yes, we came, we saw the tree. We really saw very little of it, because the light did not reach up to where it was. All I could see of it was made out by the brief burst of headlights from the passing cars, as they sped by every so often. We ended up taking lots of photos again, just so we could figure out what the place *did* look like after we got home.
The getting home, though… was more difficult than we expected. In better spirits now, we returned to the railway station, only to find that it was now after midnight, and the last train to London had left. Trying very hard not to panic, I wondered how we could possibly get back now--a taxi? Possible, but would be so expensive that I didn’t even want to imagine it. Plus I didn’t know where we *could* get a taxi, there. Luckily, after about 5 minutes, a group of youths in the same predicament came to the platform. They advised us to get the train to Richmond when it came, (that one was still running) and try to find transportation there. We did, and once we got to Richmond, it turned out the tube was also still running, so (with a big sigh of thanks for the Underground after all) we got on it, and got to London that way.
The tube *still* stopped running before we got to our station, and threw us out at Earl’s Court, where we did get a taxi. But all in all, this ended much better than it could have. Yay, the Underground.
Now then, the food itself wasn’t at all bad. But the restaurant’s specialty was a three course meal for 10 pounds, and for God knows what reason, despite our not being particularly hungry, we took it. It would have been a good-even a great-meal for two, but for one person for lunch, it was entirely too much. We should have split it. I don’t even remember what we had exactly, except that the second course did involve fish and chips, and the third an apple pudding for one of us at least. Whatever the first course was (Yorkshire pudding for me, I believe), we were both already full after it, and yet had the other two still to go. With grim-faced determination, we persisted, and through time and effort succeeded in consuming most of it. It was, however, pure torture. And it took up far more time than we had to spend. In the end though, I guess it sort of justified itself, because we didn’t have to eat for the rest of the day after that (personally, I felt sick just thinking about more food).
It started up raining again, so we took our umbrella and trotted off to Tate Britain. Tate Britain we liked much better than Tate Modern, due in no small part to its having a collection of the Decadents and Pre-Raphaelites. The Decadent room was perfect, all done up in gold and purple, with Wildean quotes adorning the walls and some lovely pieces I’d never seen before. Anna particularly liked a statue of Icarus, and I was distracted by an Orpheus and Euridice one, but my reasons for that were less artistic than just... mine.
The Pre-Raphaelite rooms were great too, though they reminded me mightily of my Victorian Lit class, as most of them had been covered there. Ah, Professor Pfordresher and the Victorian Lit class. One of the very best I’ve taken, and I owe most of my knowledge on the Pre-Raphaelites and anything Victorian to it. I can’t thank Professor Pfordresher enough, he was amazing. Heck, I’d take the class again if I could.
We bought a Rosetti print in the shop, though sadly not the one I was looking for. Rosetti is also amazing: his dark women truly are “perfect and poisonous.” If you’ve ever seen his painting of Proserpine, you know what I’m talking about. The trademarked sensuous mouth is redder than red, rendering perfectly the bloody taint of the fruit she has bitten. The skin’s contrasting paleness and greyish transparency is suggestive of the shadow that falls over her at the moment of the disastrous action, and the feverish brightness of the eyes under the heavy masses of hair hint at a darker corruption.
I wanted to remain longer in Tate British, but Anna insisted on going to Victoria & Albert’s again, so we went, and amused ourselves there till closing-time. I got to see their clothing gallery, so was satisfied. After we left, we went briefly to Oxford Circus and dropped by two other vintage records shops I’d marked. These had slightly more T. Rex merchandise, and I wanted to buy an album, but Anna was dead against it (“You won’t even be able to listen to it! Isn’t having 5 records you can’t listen to enough?”), so I didn’t. I bought a used copy of the Brown album on CD instead. (If they’d had *that* one in stock, I’d have bought it for sure though. I mean, the CD isn’t even brown! ... Come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure why it’s called the Brown album anyway.)
Then it was 15 minutes to seven and all the shops were closing, so we went back to the Delta of Venus to drop by and say goodbye to Leigh. He was still there by the time we got to the store, and he let us in, and then invited us to come out with him and some friends to a pub. This was the day we’d set aside to go see Marc’s tree, but thought a half an hour here or there wouldn’t matter.
The pub was a nice, low-key place in Camden. While waiting for Leigh’s friends to arrive, we went up to the bar to talk. Leigh bought us drinks, and Anna sensibly just asked for a glass of coke, while I agreed to have a beer, which was a mistake. Rather, the beer was fine, but I should have specified that I only wanted a half-pint. (I can hold my alcohol okay, but to drink that much liquid in general--that’s what I have difficulty with. I am pathetic in this regard.) So then instead of leaving quickly, it became a matter of principle not to leave until I at least finished my drink. This took… a while, especially considering my penchant for talking rather than imbibing. I think I impressed everyone at the bar by just how damn long it took me to finish that unfortunate pint. :)
Eventually, though, I did finish it, and Leigh’s friends arrived. We all chatted for a while, exchanged email addresses, etc, with Leigh, and left. Outside, night was already beginning to fall, but it was still light. We quickly made our way to Waterloo Station, and bought the railway tickets for Barnes. Up to now, all was pretty good.
We boarded the train without mishap, and watched the stations flit by. Unfortunately, we didn’t watch how other passengers opened the train doors, and when our station came, we were unable to get the doors open in time and so missed it.
That was still all right, because we immediately caught the next train back, and this time got off correctly. The trouble then began in trying to locate the tree. I’d asked Anna to copy down directions before we left, but when we tried to follow them, we found they weren’t very clear. Far as we could tell, we were supposed to go straight-not-right, then left, then… well, point was, first off we needed “Gypsy Lane.”
In search of this evasive lane, we wandered about the railway area for well over an hour. The platform gave way to woods that were full of small paths and lanes, none of them marked, and we circled through all of them thrice, with no avail. It did not help that it had started drizzling again, and that it was now entirely dark, and that we had no flashlight. Stumbling around in the foliage, we had to resort to taking repeated photographs, just so while the flash illuminated the area, we could see if there was perhaps a path or a sign ahead. Anna was very mad at me, saying that she felt like we’d come upon a dead body at any moment, and that it was like being in a horror movie. I refrained from responding that actually, it reminded me an awful lot of “Blair Witch.”
I’ll admit, walking around an unknown wood in the dark, alone, in the rain, without proper directions and no flashlight, far from anyplace we knew, and nearing midnight, was a monumentally stupid idea.
After making yet another round, and finding nothing, we glumly returned to the train station. A train had just come in, and small groups of people were getting off. I suggested we make a last attempt to ask for directions (we’d tried before, but no-one could tell us where Gypsy Lane was), and if we still got nothing, we’d just give up and go home. Anna asked a man who said he didn’t, and I, without much hope, approached a woman with two children, and asked her. To my surprise, she paused, and turned to a friend, saying, “Gypsy Lane, isn’t that further down that way?” Her friend confirmed, and to our joy, it seemed we’d finally be able to get somewhere. (Well, to my joy more than Anna’s. Anna wanted to leave.)
The woman attempted to explain to us how to get there, and then said she was going in the same direction anyway, so we should come along and she’d show us. As we were walking, still trying to figure out the best directions to give us, she asked whether we had an address--were we looking for a particular house on Gypsy Lane?
At this point, feeling like an absolute nut, I replied, “Uh, no, not a house… actually, we’re looking for a particular tree.”
To my even greater surprise, instead of deciding that we were crazy, she simply smiled, “Oh, Marc Bolan’s tree?” She knew what it was! I was amazed. And very, very glad, because now we had someone to give us a more detailed set of directions.
After she set us on our way, we found the tree fairly quickly, though not as quickly as we might have wanted (people keep telling you, “it’s all covered in ribbons and pictures--you can’t miss it! Well, in the daylight, maybe not, but at night-time, it’s not that difficult to pass it by). We ended up finding it though, because close to it there thankfully *was* a lamp post, and it illuminated the ceramic swan lining the path to it adequately enough.
So yes, we came, we saw the tree. We really saw very little of it, because the light did not reach up to where it was. All I could see of it was made out by the brief burst of headlights from the passing cars, as they sped by every so often. We ended up taking lots of photos again, just so we could figure out what the place *did* look like after we got home.
The getting home, though… was more difficult than we expected. In better spirits now, we returned to the railway station, only to find that it was now after midnight, and the last train to London had left. Trying very hard not to panic, I wondered how we could possibly get back now--a taxi? Possible, but would be so expensive that I didn’t even want to imagine it. Plus I didn’t know where we *could* get a taxi, there. Luckily, after about 5 minutes, a group of youths in the same predicament came to the platform. They advised us to get the train to Richmond when it came, (that one was still running) and try to find transportation there. We did, and once we got to Richmond, it turned out the tube was also still running, so (with a big sigh of thanks for the Underground after all) we got on it, and got to London that way.
The tube *still* stopped running before we got to our station, and threw us out at Earl’s Court, where we did get a taxi. But all in all, this ended much better than it could have. Yay, the Underground.