“Style, friend, style.”
– Douglas Adams
No biggie. Just Deborah Mitford, Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, feeding her chickens. (C. wrote, wearing baggy jeans and a well loved but slightly ratty t-shirt.)
Category: Britain
“Stay is a charming word in a friend’s vocabulary.”
― Amos Bronson Alcott
Another big week wrap up, and best of all my friend Lauren is coming into town! Lauren and I met at a summer Young Global Leaders program when we were 15 and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. She’s currently conquering the world of media and is flying to London from Hong Kong for work because fabulous is her middle name. I’ve got lots of food and wandering planned for us. How are you guys spending the weekend? Let me know in the comments and add any links that you think the minion coterie has to know about.
Let’s get a new look at some of the world’s old favorites, shall we?
WARNING. Do not read if you’re caught up on Game of Thrones, there are spoilers and I cannot stress that enough. Seriously. Don’t click through if you don’t want secret knowledge you’ll be angry to have. ‘K? Alright. If the modern media reported on “that thing that happened” on GoT.
Gorgeous find. What else is hiding under plaster elsewhere, I wonder?
Twitter friend and entrepreneurial girl crush Bethany of Love Grows Design wrote a really good piece on the fundamentally edited nature of online writing and social media that’s really worth the read. Something to think about both creating and ingesting content.
Behold, the thing that made Jeff burst into the loudest, most hysterical laughter I’ve heard all week. Do make sure the sound is on.
Channeling love for the old Batman TV series, now for the low, low price of $2200.
Huh, does this guy do house calls? Across the Atlantic? I’m pretty chronically sleep deprived these days…
The British Museum recently opened one of the biggest new exhibition in years, Vikings. We haven’t seen it yet (and we’re BM members, the shame!) but I’m enjoying the heck out of the many campaigns and bonuses the museum is running. Here – Viking yourself! (I kid you not, I got “Cadence the Little.”)
Friend and Friend of the Blog Caitlin Kelly writes about her recent experience in Nicaragua, and the lessons learned while working with WaterAid for Rewire Me.
“God for Harry, England, and St George!”
– Shakespeare, Henry V
It’s St George’s Day, celebrated with bunting and pub crawls (like an awful lot of British feast days). What’s not to like? I love a good borderline mythological figure as much as the next medievalist, but truthfully it’s the dragon that gets me. I’ve had a thing for them ever since childhood.
My first ever published short story was composed at the tender age of about 13 and was titled, “The Guide to Saving Princesses,” an instruction manual for prospective heroes about choosing suitable princesses, negotiating with dragons to make sure the climatic fights look real, and general career tips for knight-errantry. It was terribly clever, she said without a hint of bias.
In university I conducted a bit of research into how St. George’s victim in the middle ages is often portrayed with female genitalia as his legend shifted to include ideas about romanticized chastity and virginity. Since in the middle ages it was the female sex that was considered particularly susceptible to lust rather than the male. Hm…
Tolkien’s Smaug is one of my favorite characters ever, but my favorite dragon-slaying story of all time has to be his historically satirical and incredibly clever, Farmer Giles of Ham. The vintage copy still in my mother’s possession was illustrated with medieval style drawings and she read it to me as a child and animated the dog Garm’s hysterical “Help, help!” cries in a way that still makes me laugh today. I might have to reread it in honor of the day. Anyone else celebrating?
“The rising of birds in their flight is the sign of an ambuscade. Startled beasts indicate that a sudden attack is coming.”
― Sun Tzu, The Art of War
More from the heron posse in Regent’s Park.
“Every duke and earl and peer is here,
Everyone who should be here is here…”
– My Fair Lady
So…in continuing adjustment to new business and spousal paradigms, Jeff’s summer social activity for work this year will be at Ascot.
Spouses are not invited.
This might affect my marriage, kittens.
(image via)
“London was so rich, and also so green, and somehow so detailed: full of stuff that had been made, and bought, and placed, and groomed, and shaped, and washed clean, and put on display as if the whole city was for sale.”
― John Lanchester, Capital
Regent’s Park is the brainchild of George the Prince Regent, later George IV, but the land on which it sits had been in royal hands since Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries and snapped up the property for himself. As he was wont to do.
George (who it must be said is being hilariously downplayed in the poster campaigns around the city as a number of exhibitions and events celebrate the 300th anniversary of the rise of the house of Hanover) was pretty useless as a regent and monarch. In fact he consistently ranks down among the worst king in British history in the sorts of polls that historians run. Corpulent, lazy, unimpressive, and obnoxious, we nevertheless still need to thank him since a number of his building projects helped create London as we know it today.
That’s not snow on the ground, it’s a natural carpet of daisies. I know, right?!
A flock of herons (which I’ve never seen associating in a group before) flirted with tourists and followed likely looking crumb droppers, looking for the world like a pack of spindly dinosaurs.
Gorgeous.
This garden was cordoned off. But I saw enough people meandering through it anyway that I hopped the barrier and joined them for a close up of a fountain of a frog spitting at a child. Which clearly is a lot more charming than it sounds on paper.
At some point you just get the feeling the park’s showing off.
So, thanks George IV! We’re still iffy enough about you 200 years down the road to awkwardly disregard you on signage, but frankly you helped make London gorgeous. For that, we thank you.
You were still a terrible king, a bad father, and a truly hideous husband.
“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.”
― Elbert Hubbard
Future bestselling YA author, friend of the blog, and buddy IRL Caitlin came into town Wednesday and frankly, it was a nonstop adventure. Caitlin is married to one of Jeff’s old college flatmates who now works for the NBA in China – we know such interesting people! Terry, the flatmate in question, was at a basketball conference in Monaco (his life is such a trial), so after spending some time in Paris, Caitlin took a train north to visit us. We probably went overboard in the entertaining, but she was our first visitor in London so we naturally had to put out all the stops. Which included:
Food (Holy mother of chocolate, so much food!)
An exhibit on the Cheapside Hoard – a staggering amount of Elizabethan jewelry that was buried and abandoned.
Sightseeing around London
Hitting up the West End for, count ’em, two shows
The Tate Modern
Fantasy shopping
The Southbank Center’s Real Food Market (like I said, lots of food)
Waterloo Book Market
Markets
The National Gallery
Parks
Wandering in Soho
John Snow’s cholera pump (she was a public health major)
and a small taste of the London Marathon (mostly the crowds)
The gastronomic highlight was the hours we spent lingering over an afternoon tea at Liberty talking history, culture, tales of university days, exchanging expat life stories, and encouraging one another in our writing pursuits.
I was delighted at her delight at the tea. Which was delightful!
Could it be more delightful?
And after the multiple hours spent digesting this, we hopped straight over to Burger and Co. since the caressing taste of ground beef hadn’t crossed her lips in months and this was a situation that had to be rectified immediately. Then we dashed to the theatre. Which was frankly the tone of her entire visit.
Clearly yes! Burgers can do that to a girl who hasn’t had one in months.
Sometimes it’s just so relaxing and wonderful to talk to a person who gets what’s going on in your life without a lot of context. She can grumble over issues with her flat (and I can commiserate), while I confess my troubles with some of my novel plots (and she can laugh and provide much needed perspective. She recommends books, I recommend theatre, we fit in both. She’s seriously the perfect guest and we were so lucky she came up to crash on our (newly purchased just for the occasion) air mattress to inaugurate our guest bedroom (read: living room minus the coffee table).
I’m hugely lucky to know so many interesting, marvelous people, scattered across the globe but still wonderfully accessible via email, Skype, and letters. And visits! Here’s hoping we can get to China in the next few years to return this stellar one.
“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”
― Mark Twain
Just a quick batch this week kittens. My future bestselling YA author buddy Caitlin is in town – from China, by way of Paris. We’ve been swapping stories of the expat and writing life, taking tea, and going to the theatre. And if you’ll excuse me, we’re off this evening for more of the same (you can follow along on our adventures here until the official recap in a couple days)! Here are your links and tell me what you’re up to this weekend!
In honor of Caitlin, who for a time worked as Winnie-the-Pooh at Disney World, I’ll just leave this thing here. Oh bother!
Amanda Brooks is an author and former Barney’s fashion director who switched up her life and career plans to move to a farm in Britain with her family. She blogs about it here (and her instagram feed is beyond worth following), cataloging her rural life. I loved this recent post on the hunts she and her family participate in. Blood sport is controversial, and I’m not making an argument about it here, but I have to admit the tweedy, old fashioned, country elegance of the participants makes for some beautiful photography! Lady Mary, is that you?
Excellent advice for writers, #8 resonates with me particularly lately.
Remember, you have the same amount of hours each day as Beyonce. And Beethoven. And Balzac.
When we were in Paris we saw that a cottage industry had sprung up around “love locks,” but apparently they are quite literally putting some structures in danger.
Baby naming phenomenons are interesting to me. This time, let’s hear it for the boys. h/t Savvy.
Hilarious and awesome writer and friend of the blog Sunny from Sunny in London, put together a great post today on tips for aspiring bloggers and writers. I took notes.
NO. Not okay! Unbelievably not okay!
I often get slightly annoyed when I hear people rave about how much they “love a British accent,” because I want them to specify: which one? Because let me tell you know, not all regional dialects are equally sexy and what most people think of as a British accent is a clipped form of speech developed almost entirely in the upper class halls of learning to be used in the new medium of radio.
The internet is a strange place, the oddest things can be linked. Often weirdly successfully.
“On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.”
― Wendy Cope
Rose, one of my buddies here in London, has been a research and teaching assistant for the last few months, but alas her program has ended and she’s heading for a last nomadic romp around the British Isles before moving back to the States. I’m sorry to lose her, we’ve had a lot of fun girl dates together, but far be it from me to stand in the way of academia’s next rising start! At the very least though, we knew she had to take in a bit more of the city before she left so we made a day of it down along Queen’s Walk on the south bank of the Thames.
The first port of call was the popular Bleecker Street food truck, parked right against the balustrade and looking out over the river. They boast that they make their burgers with “real American cheese,” which is frankly not a phrase you hear a lot in London, but I’ve got to say, they nail a good Yankee burger! All are cooked medium rare unless specified otherwise and the result is a gorgeous meaty mouthful. May I suggest their Angry Fries as a side for the adventurous? Freshly cut and covered with hot sauce and finished with melted blue cheese. Rose got those, I got the sweet potato fries (the portions are generous) and we divided and devoured them straight down the middle.
Filled with delicious food, we meandered down to the little known gem, the Southbank Centre Book Market under Waterloo Bridge. It’s small and tucked away but you can find some real literary treasures down here, including first editions of popular or important books, author signed copies, and every genre from trashy light reading to the densest of German philosophy.
Afterwards we strolled back along the Centre to admire the skate park in its undercroft. For several months now, there’s been a bit of a social brawl happening around this area. Developers wanted to turn it into more of what’s sprung up along Queen’s Way, shops and restaurants, but the skating community rallied and campaigned hard to keep it the slightly rough and graffiti marked spot as it was. I’m happy to report the skaters have won. They collected over 27,000 official planning objections and the park is safe for the foreseeable future.
Bye for now, Rose, thanks for coming out on one last adventure!
“London is a riddle. Paris is an explanation.”
― G. K. Chesterson
On our first night in Paris after our meal, we wandered along the river at in the dark – one of the best ways to take in the city of lights. Couples were cuddling, friends were blowing lazy and very French streams of cigarette smoke, a few boys were making inappropriate comments to passing women and being rebuffed with perfect flicks of their eyebrows, and everything was bathed in soft gold light.
Paris conflicts me. On the one hand, it’s stunningly beautiful. It’s colors of stone and slate are instantly recognizable the world over, and it wears both its age and good looks well. London, by comparison is certainly less romantic and elegant (Paris does have the advantage of not having been Blitzed in WWII, it must be said), and I think in many ways it’s less beautiful… but I still love London more.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not supposed to, like I’m obliged to adore Paris for the sophistication and je ne sais quoi that defines it over London’s rougher edges. But I don’t. I can’t help it. As much as I admire them and long for a touch of their style, I’m not a French girl at heart. I salute the Audrey Hepburns of the world, and will never stand in the way of a person who dreams of the Eiffel Tower, much less bash a genuine love of pastries and good dressing. Hell, hand over the pain au chocolat and wrap dresses! But as stunning as the Seine is at night, I’m afraid that in defiance of both convention and accepted popular taste, I say give me the Thames.
I plan on coming back to Paris as often as I can, but the truth is that London got her hooks into me long ago and I doubt I’ll ever get them out again. And I don’t particularly want to. That quote at the top of the post is one of my favorites about the two cities, and in the end I much prefer the riddle!
Small Dog Syndrome 
