Day 4: The Day of the Melancholic Mood

Yes, I was in a schlump today. And I also dropped and dented my iPad, which didn't help. And while I realize that the issues I had today were my own making, and that I have no excuse to be pouty because I'm in London, I couldn't help it. So don't read this post unless you enjoy hearing people whine about their lives. If you do read it, I'm sure by the end you be playing me the world's saddest song on the world's smallest violin.

I had planned on having a slow morning, but it took me so long to do everything that by the time I was ready to leave the hostel it was already 3pm. My brain is still a bit foggy, and I just couldn't get it together.

I'm also having a fingernail situation that I don't think you'd be interested in hearing about.

I had no plans for the day, but thought I'd stop in Leicester Square to see about getting a show ticket, and then walk over to Coventry Garden to see if anything was still happening there.

By the time I got there, the heavy morning rain had turned into blinding sunlight, that reflected off the wet ground and not even my sunglasses could temper. The cheapest shows were about £40, and I just thought it might be better for me to spend that money on 6 walking tours instead. I started to walk around, managed to go through Chinatown, and then got a bit turned around and ended up back in Trafalgar Square, where I had passed through before.




Here's me in front of the National Gallery, where of course it was too late to go in to for a proper visit.


Here's a Texas themed restaurant.


I ended up walking down the Mall (pronounced m-AL) where I saw this memorial statue to King George VI and Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother. I also saw Clarence House, the official residence of Charles and Camilla.

At the end of the Mall is Buckingham Palace, where I sat and brooded for about two hours. I'm not looking for sympathy and I realize I sound ridiculous, since I'm on this amazing trip, but I just got so down! I was upset at my late start and inability to do what I wanted, and then I ended up seeing places I had already been, so I felt I was wasting my time. And then to sit in front of Buckingham Palace, in all its great splendor, pondering my unimportance and having a pity party because I'm not and never will be royal. Mostly it has to do with this theory of living history that I've been developing, and which I plan on writing an essay on in the future. Hopefully getting those feelings out in writing will be cathartic.

After my moody brooding I forced myself to head to St. Paul's, where there was a ghost walking tour scheduled. I figured I'd have a nice dinner, freshen up and then enjoy the evening.

But no.

Apparently the area around St Paul's, the City of London, absolutely SHUTS DOWN on the weekends. It was so dead there. I later heard a figure like, 9,000 people live in the area, and 3 million work there during the week. I was expecting to see tumbleweeds! So no dinner, no bathrooms, nadda. I walked for a while before I found a place to park it for an hour, and after spilling coffee on myself and into my shoes, I contemplated taking my pity party back to the hostel. Fortunately I ended up staying, and waited around for the tour guide. They're normally there very early to start selling tickets, but this time me and the others were wondering if maybe it was canceled. A few minutes until the scheduled time, this shrouded figure heavily cloaked in billowing black robes appeared from the shadows at the base of St. Paul's. His face had a mottled white pallor, and his lips black and withered. Upon his back grew a mighty hump, and his stride was uneven, however long.

This was, of course, our eccentric tour guide, here to give a walk on the ghosts that haunt this emptied out area. His hilarious entrance did quite a bit to lift my spirits. He was also a gifted actor, and recited prose and sang songs when pertinent. He would also bless the taxi drivers who stopped to let us pass, and say funny things to all the people we passed "Hello, youth!" To the boy in the youth hostel window. "He is a youth, you know." One woman turned the corner and walked right into him, which startled her so much she screamed. His response was simply, "Good evening, Madam."

We saw a lot of interesting things, including the only statue of Henry VIII left in London, and the place where the Great Fire of 1666 finally stopped.

I took a picture of this church, even though I can't remember the name of it. This church is the reason wedding cakes are tiered. Apparently a famous baker admired it so much he replicated it as the wedding cake for his own wedding, and the design became very popular and has since become a tradition.



After the tour I took the tube back near Buckingham Palace and had dinner.


This restaurant didn't have anything I could eat except this salad, and it was too late to find another place. It was a pretty blah dinner. For the most part, London is a very coeliac friendly town, especially since the government lists gluten as the major allergen, instead of just wheat. (Get a clue, America!!!)

Tomorrow I go to Shakespeare's Globe, where I have tickets to see Anne Boleyn. I'm hoping to also do a self guided tour of the South bank, and maybe go to the Tate Modern, if time permits.

So here I sit in the hostel, after all my roommates have fallen asleep, listening to the myriad of funny noises that girls make while they're sleeping, and catching dreamy murmurings in different languages. I suppose now, I too, should join their gentle chorus.

Here's hoping for a brighter tomorrow! And I do apologize for the unexciting post, kind readers.