“Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer.” ― Sir Walter Scott
Throughout December, both of us made noises along the lines of, “We should do something for New Year’s Eve,” whereupon the other would say something to the effect of, “Indeed we should!” After which we would go back to working/munching/watching British quiz game shows/goofing off. For two usually highly organized people we largely took the holidays easy this year – with the exceptions of dinner and the service (which were both planned weeks if not months in advance).
The trouble is that in a city like London, you have to have a plan for New Year’s or the chances of you getting trampled, mobbed, or left out in the cold are pretty high. But almost everything is pricey and booked well in advance. So by New Year’s Eve, just as we were emerging from our food and nap induced sluggery and ready to go out and do something, we realized that our chances of a nice night out were slim.
Nevertheless, we both dressed up and headed to our favorite restaurant in Covent Garden, hoping against hope that most people would be waiting until later to start their festivities and/or heavy drinking and space would be available. As it happened, we got a prime spot at the bar and the universe missed its chance to teach us a lesson in responsibility. Ha ha!
I still heartily endorse the elderflower presse. Mocktail of champions.
We ate delicious and artfully prepared food.
And we got delicious deserts which were so incredible that they actually made my phone’s camera to spontaneously readjust its own lighting feature…I think. I’m not a photographer, people. Interestingly, popcorn has had a bit of a fad year here in London, so apparently I’m trendier than I realized!
Then, because we are old fogies, we walked home across Waterloo Bridge past the throngs of people already camping out for the fireworks show. This year the organizers went in for a multi-sensory experience combining flavored and scented aspects with the already well hyped, traditional exploding. It sounded intriguing, but frankly not enough to stay up in the freezing cold and inevitable bad weather when…
…we got to watch them from the comfort of our own sofa while drinking tea and cuddling.
And that was how we rang in 2014. We might do something more ambitious some other year, but this year, it was just right.
“All the world’s a stage.” ― William Shakespeare, As You Like It
What a week! And it’s not even over, Jeff and I are going to Jeeves and Wooster in: Perfect Nonsense tomorrow evening. With Matthew Macfadyen and Stephen Mangan – otherwise known as Mr. Darcy and Dirk Gently. Somehow in one form or another I’ve combined Shakespeare, superheros, Jane Austen, Douglas Adams, P.G. Wodehouse, and most 90s romantic comedies into this week alone. I’m pretty sure fanfic has been written about this very scenario in some dark corner of the internet.
In summation, I have not a single thing to complain about. You may find me this weekend by following the intolerable air of smug contentedness that will be wafting from my desk as I work away, happy as a clam. Here are your links, kittens, and tell me what you’re getting up to this weekend.
As a former flatmate of mine once put it after a frustrating day of shopping for underpinnings, “I’m not sure bosoms are worth the trouble.” This rundown of a 17th century guide on their maintenance – yes, you read that correctly – might lend force to her proclamation. Skip this one, Dad, even though it’s hilarious. “We find by lamentable, if I may not say fatal, Experience, that the the world too much allows nakedness in Women.” Dear me, how glad I am that the writer never lived to see the lasciviousness that is jeggings, it might have killed them!
“God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!” ― William Shakespeare, Henry V
Awash with theatrical good fortune, I decided to meet up with Katie this morning so we could try our mutual luck at getting day of tickets to Henry V, starring Jude Law, with the Michael Grandage Company. We got in the queue early, and none too soon because the line was even longer than Coriolanus on Monday. But somehow I scored literally the last ticket of the day (Katie was just ahead of me and got in too, never fear).
What is happening?! Which good fairy/benevolent deity do I owe some serious devotions to?
“That thing is magical, and you are never taking it off, do you understand me? – C.
This is the tale of how a navy sports coat started a chain reaction that culminated in Tom Hiddleston being mere inches away from my face. And that’s not even the most amazing part.
Jeff had been on the hunt for a jacket for a while and since January kicked off sale season, we headed down to Seven Dials for a look around a few shops that intrigued us. He found what he was looking for and on the way back to Leicester Square tube station, we literally stumbled upon a poster for a production of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, starring Tom Hiddleston at the Donmar Warehouse.
Donmar is a small, not for profit that has a really strong reputation as a producing theatre, and can boast nearly bursting at the seams with some of the highest acclaimed actors in Britain on any given performing night. We hadn’t heard of this performance prior to coming face to face with the poster, but naturally we both were wild to go see it. In addition to Hiddleston, whom we both really like, it had Mark Gatiss (of Sherlock fame amongst a great many other things), Deborah Findlay, and the list just goes on. Seriously, read the cast bios. Everything’s represented from Restoration comedy to Game of Thrones.
We also figured we had about a snowball’s chance in hell at getting tickets (most were sold out weeks in advance), but decided to try our luck anyway. On Monday morning we doubled teamed it; Jeff stationed himself at the computer in order to try and get a couple of the few that they release online, while I got in the queue at the theatre itself in the morning to try and snag some in person.
Even arriving quite early I was at the end of the line. My hopes sank a bit, but I decided to wait it out. At one point the queue divided into those hoping for day-of tickets and those chancing their luck with the handful of tickets provided by the main sponsor, leaving me with fewer rivals but still at the end. I watched people ahead of me walking away from the booth, clearly not willing to purchase what was available, but I’d already guessed we’d be getting the “standing room only” type. By the time I trotted up to the box office window and chirruped, “What’s left?” that was indeed all that remained, and only a handful at that. I was just thrilled to get it, I actually skipped back towards the tube station texting Jeff the good news.
Gratuitous sidenote. I couldn’t tell what so many people were snapping photos of while waiting in line, until I got into the main box office and saw this. And immediately followed suit. What? I’m human!
We worked all day and then headed out to our evening at the theatre excited to see the show. The Donmar has only 250 seats, and a significant portion of those are standing room, which actually makes it feel not unlike going to see a traditional Shakespeare performance at the Globe, except that the locations are reversed. The privileged get seating on the ground floor with the stage and first level, while the cheap seaters line the narrow balconies and looked on.
The middling seats.Where we were standing.
It was mere seconds to show time when an usher tapped me on the shoulder and asked if Jeff and I were there together. I answered in the affirmative, wondering if we’d done something reprehensible without being aware of it. I actually was in the process of pulling out our tickets to prove we were there legally when she continued, “We have a pair of unclaimed seats on the main floor, would you like them?”
What sort of a question is that?! Feeling a bit dazed she led us down to the main floor and seated us on the third row corner, with a completely unimpeded view of the stage that (I later discovered) also put Tom Hiddleston’s cheekbones within touching distance. His cheekbones rank right up there in my book with Vegemite’s Bandersnatch’s and Jeff’s, so you can imagine the thrill this caused, to say nothing of having a truly marvelous vantage point of the whole play.
We sat down just as they started the whole, “Please silence your mobile phones now,” spiel when I happened to glance to my left. And saw Rufus Sewell, one of our very favorite actors, sitting ten feet away from us.
And that, kittens, is how I died.
Exiting the theatre.
The production itself was excellent, really one of the top Shakespeare performances I’ve ever seen. The set was minimal and used to superb effect, while the performances were absolutely spot on. The themes of power, populism, and politics intertwined cleverly with the creative, and the degree and type of special effects were exactly correct. Coriolanus is ruthless, dangerous, compelling, and persuasive, and you find yourself at times siding with nearly all of the characters at one point only to question your own judgement five minutes later.
An absolutely banner night that, as far as I can tell, defied every single law of probability.
“…Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!” ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Christmas day was an adventure!
We nearly got stuck in an elevator. We live on the top floor of our building and have access to two stairwells/elevators, one of which is slightly more convenient but is the one (naturally!) that has the most problems. Lately the door has been sticking a bit on the ground floor. One morning, feeling particularly grumpy, I made Jeff burst out laughing when the door only semi opened before it got stuck and I yanked it open the rest of the way with a curse.
Christmas morning we needed to get a move on since all public transportation was closed for the day, which meant we had to walk four miles and cross the river to get to Westminster Abbey, where we had reserved places for the morning service. We made a calculated decision to take the slightly sketch elevator because it put us closer to the tube station without having to circumnavigate the building. Which of course meant that this was the morning that the door slid open a crack on the ground floor… and refused to budge further. With a combined sigh, “Of course,” Jeff set his shoulder to it and I got on my knees to pull from the bottom. It took several minutes and many attempts, but eventually we freed ourselves. Teamwork.
The walk to the Abbey was gorgeous. There were almost no people about…except that I crossed paths with a history heroine. Dr. Lucy Worsley, the Chief Curator of Historic Royal Palaces was walking along the Thames with her husband. I nearly tripped over my own boots! On another day I might have accosted her, but since she’s written publicly about not liking being approached by strangers and fans – and in the spirit of the day, namely not being a jerk – I restrained myself to a bright smile and fangirling to Jeff in private.
Neither of us are High Anglican (Jeff rather cheekily rephrased the Nicene Creed to himself during its recitation), but I still really enjoyed the service and the setting – Westminster Abbey being one of the coolest places for a British History nerd to be. Do you know how many interesting dead people hang out there?!
When we emerged, the bells were ringing. We walked the four miles home again, made our traditional Christmas morning breakfast (at nearly two in the afternoon), talked to family via Skype, and watched holiday movie favorites. Not a bad Christmas on our own, I think!
“I trust Christmas brings to you its traditional mix of good food and violent stomach cramps.” – Ebenezer Blackadder (‘Blackadder’s Christmas Carol,’ 1988)
I mentioned the importance of holiday traditions, and chief among them is food. I decided to attempt the entire Rodgers Clan Christmas Dinner by myself this year, in defiance of the fact that usually we have several cooks in the kitchen to help. And that in its usual form it can feed up to 15 people. But I was not to be dissuaded!
Jeff and I went to the butchers at Borough Market to pick out a roast, lots of produce, and a staggering amount of cured meats and cheeses. Because I knew once this meal, and Christmas morning breakfast was done, I wasn’t cooking again until January. Grazing and snacking would be the order of the day, intermingled with leftovers. Which, I’m happy to report, turned out to be the case.
You would not believe how nervous I felt about this sucker, it was in every way an experimental attempt.
“One day,’ you said, ‘I watched the sunset forty-three times!’ And a little later you added: ‘You know, when one is that sad, one can get to love the sunset.’ ‘Were you that sad, then, on the day of the forty-three sunset?’ But the prince made no answer.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
“I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love.” – Linus Van Pelt, A Charlie Brown Christmas
I’m officially done being a lazy, holiday enjoying, treat gobbling, hibernating slug. Back to work, back to job apps, back to responsibility! But I want to share a bit of our holiday fun, and hear about yours. So this week I’ll be covering our first proper expat Christmas, and hoping you’ll link to or comment about your own festivities – or alternate activities if you don’t celebrate.
Basically, what have I missed in the last week and a half?
Without further ado then, ladies and gentlemen, the first proper Christmas tree we’ve ever had.
I find it absurdly cute. Normally in my family we take down our tree on Epiphany/Three Kings Day, but this guy’s already moved to the balcony. I think I’ll try to keep it alive for next year. As Jeff so lovingly put it, “Well, it’s an evergreen so maybe it will survive you.” Hope and holiday spirit springs eternal kittens!
“Even though sugar was very expensive, people consumed it till their teeth turned black, and if their teeth didn’t turn black naturally, they blackened them artificially to show how wealthy and marvelously self-indulgent they were.” ― Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life
I’m not good at trends, kittens. I enjoy watching other people follow most of them, and enjoy my friends who are better able to keep up with them than I, but I’m perfectly happy to take my time in jumping on bandwagons. This goes for food, music, fashion, and most things in general. It has saved me a lot of bother, money, and time waiting through an initial craze period to gauge genuine interest.
I just barely got around to reading Eat, Pray, Love, which I found deep and poignant in many places, very highlight-able, and self-indulgent in the extreme. (I’ve also just barely discovered Goodreads reviews, or rather how to write them. I’m probably having too much fun.) I still like darker and more color saturated, nail polish colors even though pastels have been all the rage. Most films I’m willing to wait to rent rather than see in theatres – though of course there are exceptions. I still haven’t read The Hunger Games trilogy. Et cetera.
But on a recent Saturday I finally got to try a cronut (after the minor culinary frenzy earlier this year). And I’ve got to say, those suckers are seriously tasty! I’m wouldn’t queue up for them in NYC for hours at a time, but now that the furor has died down and they’re actually findable in London…I think I shall indulge, very occasionally.
Perhaps I should have jumped on this particular bandwagon sooner?
How about you, ducklings? Are you a trend observer or follower, and of what sorts?
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Small Dog Syndrome 