Where the hell have you been?!
Woah, it has been ages. It's sad that I said pretty much the same thing about two posts ago, but this time it was way worse. I guess uni has been a lot more of a time drain than I thought. Not drain, I guess, because I love it...so, time absorber? An absorbaloff? Of the best kind? Maybe?
Anyway, it really has been fantastic, and I had a fantastic Christmas holiday in ENGLAND! Yes, you may recall that several posts back I was gloating about my luck in procuring two tickets to see David Tennant in Hamlet on Dec. 26th. However, many of you are probably aware that at the beginning of December, Mr. Tennant slipped a disc in his back, and had to go in for surgery. Of course this injury fell just over the time I was to be in England, but nevertheless I was still beyond thrilled to be lucky enough to see the RSC do Hamlet in any case. But the adventure was only beginning.
If you live in England, you are likely aware that Boxing Day, while being great for shopping, is hell for travel. My aunt, who lives just outside London naturally assumed that trains would at least be operating on holiday hours. This was not the case. As far as she could discover the only trains into London were running out from Gatwick. So, at 4:30pm, we hop in the car, and drive to the airport only to discover that the automated voice on the phone had been full of lies, and only the Express was in operation.
My mum and I frantically line up for tickets, but are rather less than pleased and rather shocked to discover her card has been canceled because of suspected fraud (always ring the bank before a holiday!). Finally, we scrounge together enough cash for 2 tickets, and enter the ridiculously long queue. At this point I'm cursing everything in sight, frantically checking my watch to see if it's remotely possible we'll make it. We're in line for a good 1/2 hour before we get the go ahead to board the buses. This process itself lasts about another 30 min, as all people who've arrived fresh off the planes have to store their luggage.
We get to London at quarter to eight, which basically means we've completely missed the first half hour of the performance. The next appropriate entrance is at intermission, so my mum and I sit, rather disgruntled, in the lobby to watch the rest of the act (of which there remains at least an hour) on the monitor.
Once we get inside the actual theatre, I am dismayed to find someone in my seat. I go to the usher, and it's finally arranged that I shall swap seats with the woman, who wants the aisle so she can leave early. Fine.
The rest of the show proved to be quite possible THE best thing I have ever seen staged in my life, ever. But perhaps more later. The adventure has yet to finish at this point.
Finally, at the end of the show I decide to line up with a few die hard fans at the stage door. I adore Hamlet, and, well...drama is my...you know...anyway! My mum and I dillydally for a while, content in the knowledge that the Gatwick Express is a 24hr service. Besides, we're in no rush to get a cab as we spent all our cash on tickets earlier, and haven't a working card. I chat for a bit with several of the actors who were as charming and genial as one can possibly imagine, even though it was bitterly cold. Finally, after everyone else has filtered away, my mum and I head off in what we assume to be the general direction of Victoria station. Turns out we did know where we were going, but didn't trust our instinct, being people who more often than not follow it to the wrong conclusion. So, instead of following the roads to our determined destination we turn back early and wander around for a bit more, before discovering that a) the nail in the heel of my mum's shoe has gone through to the sole of her shoe, and was now poking very insistently at her heel, and b) we are incredibly cold, and incredibly lost. Around midnight.
After we manage to circle the block a couple more times I remember that I secreted away a 20 pound note in my wallet. We fish it out, and hail a cab, who only ends up charging us 10quid. Lovely man. We arrive at Victoria station to find it completely closed. The sign that read 24hr Gatwick Express upon our arrival now has a sign pinned up next to it saying, "Closed from 12:30am to 4:30am". We'd missed the last bus back by 5 min. After careful observation we notice that buses continue to pull into the station, dropping people off, but leaving with no one. I have, in the meantime, discovered that my card still works, and we decide to bite the bullet and get a cab to East Croyden. Sure it'll cost at least 50pounds, but we're very, very cold, and rather tired. The first two cabs don't take cards, and the third doesn't feel like driving out so far on his last fare.
After struggling to find a hotel (all filled because no one else being dropped off at the station can get anywhere), we eventually give in and phone my aunt to give her the DL. She insists on coming to pick us up, and we, very gratefully accept. We waited and waited until 2:24am when my aunt pulled up in front of the station, and beckoned us into the car. What a night!
At the time I was so distraught, but looking back on it now, it seems rather amusing. I only hope that when I return in 5yrs, David is doing another show, and I can get myself there on time.
It must be said that even without the Lovely T, Hamlet was just so, so, so fantastic. I loved every minute. The confrontation between Hamlet and Gertrude was just stunning, and Edward Bennett was marvelous. It was really interesting, I thought, that I could tell portions of blocking that had been designed specifically for/by David. His trademark freneticism was clearly evident, and it was really cool to see his body being inhabited by another person, and wonderfully too. EB played the part with a cool cynicism that was still very conscious of the humour in every situation, even as it drifted into the macabre, and I just loved this ostensibly resigned, but definitely not reconciled prince. Patrick Stewart played Claudius with a quiet malevolence that while very difficult to pinpoint, made your skin positively crawl. It was entirely magical. I can't accurately describe my love of this production, and cannot possibly say enough. I wish I could see it every day forever, and I know I would never tire of it. The passages that had been omitted had been removed so smoothly as to scarcely be missed. Oh! It was just great. It really was.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, enough for now, I suppose. I don't mean to bore anyone who may accidentally stumble on this, but anyway, I've put off hmwk for long enough.
Anyway, it really has been fantastic, and I had a fantastic Christmas holiday in ENGLAND! Yes, you may recall that several posts back I was gloating about my luck in procuring two tickets to see David Tennant in Hamlet on Dec. 26th. However, many of you are probably aware that at the beginning of December, Mr. Tennant slipped a disc in his back, and had to go in for surgery. Of course this injury fell just over the time I was to be in England, but nevertheless I was still beyond thrilled to be lucky enough to see the RSC do Hamlet in any case. But the adventure was only beginning.
If you live in England, you are likely aware that Boxing Day, while being great for shopping, is hell for travel. My aunt, who lives just outside London naturally assumed that trains would at least be operating on holiday hours. This was not the case. As far as she could discover the only trains into London were running out from Gatwick. So, at 4:30pm, we hop in the car, and drive to the airport only to discover that the automated voice on the phone had been full of lies, and only the Express was in operation.
My mum and I frantically line up for tickets, but are rather less than pleased and rather shocked to discover her card has been canceled because of suspected fraud (always ring the bank before a holiday!). Finally, we scrounge together enough cash for 2 tickets, and enter the ridiculously long queue. At this point I'm cursing everything in sight, frantically checking my watch to see if it's remotely possible we'll make it. We're in line for a good 1/2 hour before we get the go ahead to board the buses. This process itself lasts about another 30 min, as all people who've arrived fresh off the planes have to store their luggage.
We get to London at quarter to eight, which basically means we've completely missed the first half hour of the performance. The next appropriate entrance is at intermission, so my mum and I sit, rather disgruntled, in the lobby to watch the rest of the act (of which there remains at least an hour) on the monitor.
Once we get inside the actual theatre, I am dismayed to find someone in my seat. I go to the usher, and it's finally arranged that I shall swap seats with the woman, who wants the aisle so she can leave early. Fine.
The rest of the show proved to be quite possible THE best thing I have ever seen staged in my life, ever. But perhaps more later. The adventure has yet to finish at this point.
Finally, at the end of the show I decide to line up with a few die hard fans at the stage door. I adore Hamlet, and, well...drama is my...you know...anyway! My mum and I dillydally for a while, content in the knowledge that the Gatwick Express is a 24hr service. Besides, we're in no rush to get a cab as we spent all our cash on tickets earlier, and haven't a working card. I chat for a bit with several of the actors who were as charming and genial as one can possibly imagine, even though it was bitterly cold. Finally, after everyone else has filtered away, my mum and I head off in what we assume to be the general direction of Victoria station. Turns out we did know where we were going, but didn't trust our instinct, being people who more often than not follow it to the wrong conclusion. So, instead of following the roads to our determined destination we turn back early and wander around for a bit more, before discovering that a) the nail in the heel of my mum's shoe has gone through to the sole of her shoe, and was now poking very insistently at her heel, and b) we are incredibly cold, and incredibly lost. Around midnight.
After we manage to circle the block a couple more times I remember that I secreted away a 20 pound note in my wallet. We fish it out, and hail a cab, who only ends up charging us 10quid. Lovely man. We arrive at Victoria station to find it completely closed. The sign that read 24hr Gatwick Express upon our arrival now has a sign pinned up next to it saying, "Closed from 12:30am to 4:30am". We'd missed the last bus back by 5 min. After careful observation we notice that buses continue to pull into the station, dropping people off, but leaving with no one. I have, in the meantime, discovered that my card still works, and we decide to bite the bullet and get a cab to East Croyden. Sure it'll cost at least 50pounds, but we're very, very cold, and rather tired. The first two cabs don't take cards, and the third doesn't feel like driving out so far on his last fare.
After struggling to find a hotel (all filled because no one else being dropped off at the station can get anywhere), we eventually give in and phone my aunt to give her the DL. She insists on coming to pick us up, and we, very gratefully accept. We waited and waited until 2:24am when my aunt pulled up in front of the station, and beckoned us into the car. What a night!
At the time I was so distraught, but looking back on it now, it seems rather amusing. I only hope that when I return in 5yrs, David is doing another show, and I can get myself there on time.
It must be said that even without the Lovely T, Hamlet was just so, so, so fantastic. I loved every minute. The confrontation between Hamlet and Gertrude was just stunning, and Edward Bennett was marvelous. It was really interesting, I thought, that I could tell portions of blocking that had been designed specifically for/by David. His trademark freneticism was clearly evident, and it was really cool to see his body being inhabited by another person, and wonderfully too. EB played the part with a cool cynicism that was still very conscious of the humour in every situation, even as it drifted into the macabre, and I just loved this ostensibly resigned, but definitely not reconciled prince. Patrick Stewart played Claudius with a quiet malevolence that while very difficult to pinpoint, made your skin positively crawl. It was entirely magical. I can't accurately describe my love of this production, and cannot possibly say enough. I wish I could see it every day forever, and I know I would never tire of it. The passages that had been omitted had been removed so smoothly as to scarcely be missed. Oh! It was just great. It really was.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, enough for now, I suppose. I don't mean to bore anyone who may accidentally stumble on this, but anyway, I've put off hmwk for long enough.