Time Is An Illusion, Lunchtime, Doubly So (3/30-4/1)

This blog began so hopefully, and yet, somehow I find myself more than a week backlogged. I spend too much time watching my NEW EPISODES OF TORCHWOOD that I got for 3 quid at Jubilee Market in perfect condition.

Anyway.

Last week was full of classes. And by full of classes I mean I had two. Which was wonderful. Seriously, the British know how to do the Easter holiday. Bank holiday on Friday, Saturday, Easter, and bank holiday on Monday. And chocolate. Loads and loads of chocolate.

On Tuesday, we had our first class with Mike, our other British professor for Contemporary Britain. He is pretty much hilarious, a big, burly British guy who smokes a pipe and explains the Royal Family lineage through hypothetical parachute accidents and one very unfortunate wall. Later that day, a few of us shoppers of deals skipped off to Primark, a shop that is, at best reckoning, the mischievous love child of Target and Marshalls. Loads of good deals, but nothing enough to tempt me. Also because I was still a bit reeling from the shopping extravaganza that is my new DVD collection.

Wednesday was a wonderfully blustery trek to Greenwich, where Henry VIII gallivanted and shot deer and was generally kingly and William and Mary had a sweet pad back in the day. We went and visited the Prime Meridian, waved at Time, and had a drink and some rather lovely chips at the Trafalgar, a pub where Charles Dickens frequented and wrote things that you may have heard of. I also discovered that my snacking habits as of late are tending towards baguettes, chocolate and whiskey. My professor was there when said discovery was made, and needless to say, was quite proud. Mostly of the whiskey, I think. We then explored Queen Mary’s castle and learned some of the rather silly things that painters and architects who don’t have the luxury of rolling their eyes at someone who could place their head on a pike do. Now, I don’t want to replace Josh Groban as my chosen BFF, but Christopher Wren would most def be my second. Christopher Wren was a cheeky bugger.

We then attended Evensong at Christopher Wren’s church at the Royal Naval Academy and heard a spectacular choir sing to a ceiling completely covered in gold and gold-ish colored things to the point where the very air seemed guilded. We then retired to another pub, the Garrick Arms near Leceister Square, which made me excited because I have never been in an ‘Arms’ before, had more chips, and waltzed over to Picadilly Circus to attend Waiting for Godot starring…wait for it…SIR IAN MCKELLAN.

That’s right, I SAW SIR IAN MCKELLAN. He was, of course, beyond enchanting on stage and Waiting for Godot is arguably one of the most intriguing plays I’ve seen. Barring Hamlet for reasons mentioned in an earlier post. Sir Ian McKellan or no, I can’t just do an Opheliac leap into the proverbial river from the Hamlet shore. As Master Shakespeare once wrote: ‘I love to hear her speak, yet well I know/That music hath a far more pleasing sound’. I don’t know where that was going, but what a lovely line, eh?

Anyway, back to the 3 quid Torchwood. In perfect condition. I’ve already watched all five eppies, and feel especially legit watching them while eating chips. I am seriously going back to that market all the time, it’s brilliant.
I’ll finish out reporting on the rest of the week once after Doctor Who Day tomorrow…perhaps with some more wonderfully nerdy discoveries.

Ta.