“I know all about you. You’re the people waiting on the shoreline with the warm towels and the hot chocolate after the woman swims the English Channel.” – Gwen Moore
Just across the street from the Inns of Court on Fleet Street is a small, unassuming coffee and tea shop that you must visit if you get the chance. Modern though it is, it’s like most London shops in that while the innards have changed, the space allocated to them is straight out of the Middle Ages – tiny. Good things, as our mottos goes, come in small packages, ducklings.
Scrumptious eats.
You can buy proper tea here, loose leaf and brewed, and they have lots of their own combinations to choose from as well as a few private tea companies’ offerings.
Drink Me.
The real treat though is the hot chocolate. European hot chocolate is a totally different animal than the processed, sugar heavy packeted stuff you get in the States. It’s usually made with real chocolate pieces to start, melted into milk and cream. In Belgium I never had a pot of chocolate that I didn’t have sweeten myself with real sugar, and most prefer a minimum thereof. You can find plenty of sugary, processed brews if that’s what gets you through the day, but everyone should have real hot chocolate at some point. And if you can have it in London, so much the better! At Get Coffee, you can choose your degree of cocoa saturation. J. and I chose the 72% dark chocolate. And it was magnificent.
Seriously. If you’re in town, try it. You’ll thank me later.
“I don’t know what London’s coming to — the higher the buildings the lower the morals.” ― Noël Coward, Collected Sketches and Lyrics
This week the Small Dog team brings you tales of travel, tips for tourists, personal recommendations, show reviews, and lots of pictures of food from our sojourn in London. Today, our first day in town:
We arrived in the morning and determined to stay up all day, all the better to get on a new sleep cycle, my dear. Luckily, J. lived just off the Piccadilly Line, which conveniently runs all the way to Heathrow airport, so when we arrived we just hopped on the tube. After dropping everything off at his place, we jumped back on and headed into central London.
And I managed to take pictures, kittens! No one is more surprised than me (although looking through them I’m realizing how many more I should have taken). I’ll never be a photographer.
Our first stop was the Soane Museum which is mere minutes away from LSE and is just one of the hundreds of small, less well known museums in the city. The entire thing is the private collection of Sir John Soane – one of those glorious Englishmen who stockpiled things that interested him! Pictures were prohibited, alas, but if you’re ever in town, go and see it. It’s completely free (but I encourage you to donate any spare change in your pockets to it’s maintenance, as it survives entirely on such charity and government grants), and they only let in small parties at a time.
The whole thing is a magnificent hodgepodge of antiquities: busts, chunks of Grecian reliefs, medieval figurines, the pure alabaster sarcophagus of Seti I, Hogarth’s original Rake’s Progress paintings, and (most hilariously of all), a mausoleum to his wife’s dog with the inscription, “Alas, poor Fanny!”
A print from 1864 showing the sarcophagus room surrounded by other antiquities, all of which are still in the exact same arrangement today. Minus the people in the funny clothes (although it must be said that some tourists are upholding tradition on that account…)*
Our next stop was St. Paul’s Cathedral since J. had never been there. There’s been a church on this site for over a thousand years, and this is only the latest incarnation. Courtesy of Sir Christopher Wren after the Great Fire, it’s massive. At J.’s insistence, we climbed to the top of thing (heavily jet lagged, please recall), going up more stairs and through narrow passages than I could count. If you’re up to the physical challenge, it’s well worth the views – both of the surrounding city, and to the cathedral floor several hundred feet below. J. smacked his head on a few low Restorationist ceilings, clearly not meant for six foot tourists, but other than that, no casualties.
He insisted on documenting me, sans makeup and heavily jetlagged. Jerk.
The views are incredible. You can take in all the major tourist traps in one go if you walk all the way around the top of the dome:
The Houses of Parliament and the London Eye…The Tower of London and Tower Bridge…and Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.
After climbing the heights, we sunk to the depths and went through the crypts, which are equally interesting for any history nerd. Both Wellington and Nelson are buried there, as well as many other great British figures.
St. Paul’s isn’t free if you’re doing the tourist bit: it’s £15 for an adult and £5 for a child (although if any of you are going to be in town for the summer, the Olympics seem to be causing a rate lowering!), but it’s well worth the money. You get an audio/video guide with lots of information on the art, history, construction, and cool stories about the cathedral’s past. It’s got Queen Victoria, surviving the London Blitz, and up through Charles and Di’s marriage, if that’s your cup of tea. There are frequent guest performances from choirs that perform during the tourist hours free of charge, one was there when we were visiting, so we plunked down in some seats and enjoyed the show.
If you’d like to go for free, they don’t charge admission for worship services and you can enjoy Evensong for free as well, but you won’t get to wander around the church or see the sights when it’s functioning in its ecclesiastical capacities. Which is as it should be, quite frankly.
After that, thoroughly exhausted, we stumbled home and collapsed into a single person bed – which made sleeping a ridiculous complicated affair, but hey, we like cuddling.
*The sarcophagus of Seti I at Sir John Soane’s Museum, Illustrated London News, 1864 (obtained from Wikipedia).
** All other photos are my own
“So what are you doing next Friday night?” “What have you got in mind?” “We could try hitting each other with cars,” she suggested cheerfully. – Josephine Angelini, Starcrossed
Just making it through the end of the week, minions, and then it’s off to London next Monday to get J. wrapped up in robes and officially done with grad school! We’ll try to keep up with updates and pictures, but frankly you know how good the Small Dog clan is at that. I can’t wait to be back in the city!
It makes me this happy!
In the meantime, well-beloved kittens, here are some links. Let me know what you’ve been up to this summer! Has it been crazy like ours, or something more mellow and serene, sitting on porches and drinking iced tea?
Huh. I snack in my free time, but you know. Whatever. Show off.
Joanna Goddard, the fabulous blogger over at A Cup of Jo, and a former writer for Glamour magazine (among other publications) has done another work/life balance series about modern working women and motherhood. There’s some good perspectives there, go check it out.
You may have heard a bit about that damned elusive (Pimpernel!) Higgs Boson/God Particle this week, here’s a short documentary about the search for it.
I like to think I’d last a couple days, but deep in my heart, I know that dropped into the desert I’m a goner. Unlike this gentleman.
Here is a fabulous podcast that traces a creative lineage from Dickens to Geico. Don’t believe me? Check it out.
Alright, can we all just agree that these are great?
I am a good bad influence friend, ducklings, and I found you another place to spend money. Lots of things are cute in this shop but I particularly love the Alice in Wonderland themed racks and hanger-hooks and currently covet them exceedingly. And I’d be lying if the Napoleon key rack didn’t call to something deep and primal in my soul.
On the momentous day of July 4th, 1776 George Washington did what?
The weekly sheep. I’m fairly positive your brain just shorted out with cuteness.
“An inherent cultural passion for things that went boom, perhaps.” – Louis McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign
I’m at work today kittens, this is one of our busiest days of the year on account of the parades, local events, and stadium fireworks show.
If we judge by history, at least one police officer will be hit by a car this evening – due to the fact that people turn into jerks when told they can’t jump the line to get out of the parking lot ahead of the fifteen thousand other cars. Seventeen people will try to bring their firearms into the stadium and throw a fit when they are turned away. Five thousand mothers will try to bring outside food in and their children will throw fits when we tell them they cannot. Four fistfights will breakout twixt fans of different sports team persuasions. Twenty five people will be arrest for public intoxication. Three small fire will be started from poorly monitored firecrackers.
And a partridge in a pear tree.
Actually, I love July 4th. I like picnics with friends, getting out in the summer sun, the local fairs and parades that spring up everywhere, getting to a park early to claim a comfy spot of grass with blankets, and watching fireworks. But I’d be lying if I said that July 4th didn’t bring out some unfortunate behavior that I wish didn’t get slathered with a veneer of patriotism. Drunk and disorderly is still drunk and disorderly, and slurring, “You carn arressssst muh, ‘s a frey country!” is not a legal defense.
On a more practical note, be careful with the fireworks, kittens. Half the country is already on fire.
“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” – Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
It’s been a busy day prepping for the Fourth tomorrow, so here are a few smidgins of evidence that we’re alive, kicking and living it up. Yeah, I know. I’m shocked I thought to take pictures too…
The other groomsmen and myself from Flyboy’s wedding. My dress was still too big after alterations, but tis the life of the petite female. It wasn’t my wedding, so who cared about my dress! Weddings are a lot less stressful when they aren’t your own. Those guys were charming, by the way. Flyboy clearly knows how to collect good friends (*wink).
We live in a notorious marriage mart of a town, but clearly things didn’t work out typically for this gentleman… And apparently he has very cruel friends or relationships. Snagged this sad gem in a local parking lot.
Heading out to my car for work this morning, I was startled by a roaring sound above my head. It turned out to be a low drifting balloon from a local July 4th festival (which apparently happened on the 3rd). Believe it or not it was much lower to start with, I had to scrambled in my purse for the camera a bit and the balloon had risen by the time I fished it out. These were all over the sky this morning.That’s, um, not a cloud. Half of the country is on fire, in case you hadn’t noticed, and apparently so is the city a bit up from us. We’ll keep an eye on this one, I think.
“Henry, I’m tired.” “Sleep then.” – The Lion in Winter
I can’t talk about Saturday, kittens. Let’s just say the travel gods are fickle and leave it at that.
J. and I spent yesterday, our anniversary, in and out of fogs. Up late packing, up early to the airport left us in quite a state. We both fell into unplanned naps throughout the afternoon, watched some movies, and I taught J. how to play Rummy and he trounced me at it. Romantic? Not particularly. We’re delaying our celebration until we’re in London in a week.
Sidenote: a week! Life needs to slow down, I’m tired!
Also, the weather gods seem to be in a mood. We need to throw a virgin into a volcano or something.
“The wages of sin is death but so is the salary of virtue, and at least the evil get to go home early on Fridays.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad
We’re pathetic.
And tomorrow I’m off again, this time to Louisiana for Flyboy’s Wedding Part Deux. I’m flying in and out in a matter of hours, so I think I officially qualify as a jetsetter. J. will be playing basketball and hanging out with his mates – and probably still unpacking. Sunday is our three year anniversary. Weird, huh? Here are your links, kittens, and have a lovely weekend!
Jupiter Ammon! Someone deserves to be shot through the lung for this…
Make the call, lady minions: feminist revival, ridiculous nostalgia, or an act of desperation on the part of those for whom the gym isn’t working fast enough?
You guys, it’s my childhood being perverted again.
I cannot decide if one of these would either make my day or creep me out. I suppose, as with most things, it would depend on the person it came from.
Overshare alert: there are days (sometimes several in a row) where putting on makeup just doesn’t happen. Occasionally in the dark days of Seasonal Affective Disorder, washing my hair waits a day or two longer than in should (it’s why the good Lord created ponytails and dry shampoo). There are days, kittens, where putting in effort seems just too dang hard. Well, no more! I’ve been thinking about it a bit recently and decided to have a midyear resolution to act (and dress) like a real live grown up – which to me really just means taking responsibility and putting in the effort. And after resolving thus, this article appeared a couple of weeks ago, as if the Fashion Gods approved my decision. How about you guys? Do you ever randomly decide on self-improvement, or do you wait for the traditional times (New Year, Lent, etc.) to try and make life changes? I’m pretty good at sticking with them, but I wonder if I tried implementing them at non-standard times wouldn’t be more effective?
Need some culture in your life? Here’s Gandalf recreating his Royal Shakespeare Company role as King Lear for you. Sidenote, J. and I regularly refer to actors by some of their more well known characters, are we alone in this? J., waiting for me to catch up on Game of Thrones will demand, “Is Boromir dead yet?” Or I’ll ask, “Did you hear? Watson is going to be the new Bilbo in The Hobbit!” Or we’ll both exclaim, “It’s Sir Richard Carlisle in Dr. Who!” Another sidenote: we are hopeless, hopeless nerds…
Nope, first kid on the slideshow, we’re all judging you.
Check out these photo series! My favorite is the African ladies with the haute couture logos.
Seriously, America? Or at least certain parts of it?
Speaking of America, regardless of politics, I find this hysterical. Ahem, exactly what sort of healthcare do you think our neighbors to the North have, you adorable hysterics? See Caitlin Kelly for further reading.
“I never made a mistake in my life; at least, never one that I couldn’t explain away afterwards.” ― Rudyard Kipling, Under The Deodars
We pretend to be all put together and grown up. It’s a front. A sneaky, lying, cheating front.
Ducklings, our house is a disaster zone – I can confess this and you won’t think badly of us. J.’s suitcases are still spread everywhere, sweaters are piled on the couch, we still haven’t folding the load of whites we did before we left for Arizona, and we just barely got around to doing dishes last night. At which point J. requested cookies so we made a mess of the kitchen and stayed up late with cookies and milk watching Dr. Who, refusing to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Adulthood and responsibility, fah!
However this current state has side effects. For example, with all this travel (not to mention a trip to London upcoming during the Summer of the Jubilee/Olympics) our finances have sort of fallen over wheezing and begged us to stop. We’re allowing ourselves the chance to eat out once a week, although we’re choosing not to exercise this privilege currently, and restricting entertainment to Redbox and card games. Of course, I’ve been mostly cooking for one for the past nine months and am remembering exactly how much food the guy I’m married to consumes – woof.
So, in an effort to make a lot of good food at one go to give us lunches for a few days, I whipped up a crockpot full of chicken fajitas. And you’ll excuse me for patting myself on the back when I say that they were delicious. Minions would have wept in joy to have tasted them. However we waited for the food to cool a bit before putting it away – and then forgot about it. J.’s first words to me the next morning when we woke up were, “Did we put dinner in the fridge last night?” My first words were, ah, unfit to print here as I scrambled for the kitchen and discovered I’d manage to waste a ton of food.
My brain is clearly having trouble reengaging after all my bouncing around and living out of suitcases. Tonight, though, it’s getting a break as we say farewell to J.’s old flatmate as he and his wife head off to grad school – and that means a barbeque! One more meal I don’t have to cook, and potentially ruin. Even I can manage to whip up a communal salad without incident.
“It was a nice wedding.” “It was.” “Great family.” “Aren’t they lovely?” “Yeah. But let’s never come back to Arizona.” “Agreed.” – J. and C.
Last weekend was an adventure, ducklings, complete with forgotten IDs, lack of sleep, an Indian Casino, and a very happy bride and groom. I got to wear a boutonniere and received a pocket watch as a groomsman’s gift, so we can even add a clever bit of gender bending. Honestly, just writing this recap makes it sound like a Shakespearean comedy!
But Flyboy was very happy, and so was everyone else, so we’re going to call it a crashing success! His wife (which for continuity’s sake we’ll herewith christen Flygirl) planned the whole wedding in Arizona from Alaska and as far as any of us in the wedding party could tell, it went swimmingly. Her organizational skills are incredible. As soon as some pictures make their way to Facebook, or alternatively as soon as I can find the camera cord, we’ll show you the evidence.
My only complaint was that it was 120 degrees in the shade the whole time, which makes the whole of the state an unfit place to live – and that’s before getting politically snarky. Walking from the car to the hotel entrance to check in made my whole body freak out – I flushed bright red and couldn’t cool down on my own, leading to a cold shower (which I normally hate) to get back to normal. At one point J. burned his hand on a car door. Whose brilliant idea was it to settle that scalding wilderness, pray?
First settlers (in the style of the penguins from the movie Madagascar): “Well. This sucks.”
“Love one another and you will be happy. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.”
~ Michael Leunig
We’re still roadtripping and doing wedding stuff. We’re busy running ragged and partying, alternatively, so here are your links:
The DJ by the end of the night. Potentially.
Whatever political persuasion, this is an interesting story on changing a political message and a clever campaign to get people’s attention for a cause. Mind you watch the whole thing.
This is either incredible skill or way too much free time. Possibly both.
Oh Ascot, how do I love thee? Let me count the hats…the cracktastic, crazy, ludicrous hats. Occasionally there are toppers of lovely and understated good taste, but who cares about those?
You might not believe it (given my confession on Monday), but I don’t like the cheapness of fashion. I can have a good time in H&M, but I don’t mistake anything there for long term investment pieces (much less pieces that will last more than a season’s hard wearing). One of my personal projects has been streamlining my wardrobe into something multipurpose, practical, and pretty… and much smaller and better made. Hence my interest in this new book. Anyone read it yet?
Small Dog Syndrome 