We got up around 0800 so that we could get checked out and on the tube to Trafalgar Square by 0830.
(Geared up and on the go!)
What a great little area! You could see so many iconic structures from that point, and of course there were the four gigantic lions for me to clamber over, not to mention lovely fountains with various merpeople.
(To be frank I was far too tiny to actually clambor up on them...)
(Which did not actually keep me from trying...)
(I was big enough for this, tho'.)
(Goooood kitty...)
(Apparently if you're a merperson you can use dolphins as squirt guns...)
Someone had their bird of prey with them, and was exercising it by sending it for short flights across the square. We could not for the life of us figure out why Trafalgar Square for such activities, although we didn't let that stop us from waiting with bated breath for the creature to take out a pigeon… which it never did. The other birds of interest were the random mallards swimming in one of the fountains, and I thought to myself that The Mallards of Trafalgar Square sounds like an excellent name for a children’s book.
(Heeeere, ducky ducky ducky!)
The National Gallery opened at 1000, so we tore through a small portion like mini-hurricanes (we had to be back on the tube by 1030), and managed to see a few paintings by da Vinci and Michelangelo, as well as Titian and a few other Renaissance masters. I couldn’t help but think to myself (spoiled creature that I am) that I’m a bit tired of seeing paintings that I’ve seen hundreds of times in books, by artists whose work I’ve seen dozens of times in the flesh (wretched, ungrateful child, I know). But the fact of the matter is, the vast majority of the “great” artists (and I include da Vinci and Michelangelo in this) were not particularly good painters. I know, I know- blasphemy. But it’s true. Michelangelo was a superb sculptor, and I kind of find it a crime that he ever wasted any time on painting that he could have spent creating more sculptures (and yes I include ceilings in that. Sorry.) Da Vinci was a beautiful draftsman, but his paintings really do not live up to their underlying cartoons. They just don’t. I will say this, tho’- it was freaking sweet to see The Ambassadors (Holbein the Younger) in the “flesh”, because we got to walk around to the side and watch the skull pop into being.
From there we went tearing back to Victoria Station to meet up with the rest of the family, and then walked down to pick up our rental vans to begin our leisurely drive up through the UK. Don drove our vehicle, which also contained Barbara, Ben, and Heather. I cannot say it was an accident that Nate and I ended up in the no-screaming-baby car…
Our first stop was Windsor Castle, which we did not pay to go in to, but did admire from the outside. The surrounding area was quite charming, and I got my first UK cat-call while strolling along, pushing Eel’s buggy. Shortly thereafter Nathan got complimented on his beard, so the two of us agree that the residents of Windsor are a highly discerning lot.
From there we went on to Oxford and met up with an old friend of the siblings named Kerstin, whom I found thoroughly agreeable. She took us down to Christ Church (of Harry Potter film fame) , which unfortunately closed just before we got there (we’d run into some serious traffic on the way into town). We were appropriately impressed by the outsides, however, and spent some time wandering about the grounds.
(Properly foreboding, as all good private schools are.)
For dinner I made an executive decision to stamp my little foot, and we ate at The Eagle and Child, former meeting place of the Inklings.
(Feel the inspiration rising!)
It was actually a pretty great pub just in and of itself, all geeky historical pertinence aside. And I had a completely scrumptious butternut squash pie, because I’d eaten more meat over the past few days that I’ve eaten over the past few months, and my body was full-on rebelling.
(Awaiting my highly delicious pie.)
The “second” van (or “B Team”, as Nathan likes to call them) went ahead and took off for the hotel in Stafford, since they had a little one to get to bed, but the rest of us (“A Team”) went with Kerstin up to her place of employment (Oxford University Press) and nerded out over our small glimpse into the glamorous world of publishing. From there we drove on to Kidderminster, the small town that Don’s maternal grandmother Broadhurst came from. We found a lovely old church with a lonely graveyard, so we wandered around it in the fading light.
(Kidderminster)
So many of the tombstones made me sad, because they said things like, “In memory of my greatly loved and much missed wife, who was born in 1814 and died in 1837, and also of our beloved daughter who died in 1838, and her brother who died in 1838.” And it just made me wonder what exactly happened. Stories, stories everywhere…
Although we enjoyed seeing the ancestral seat, we definitely paid for the privilege: by the time we got back on the road (about 2130) we discovered- much to our horror- that they had shut down a large swatch of M6. To understand what I mean by this, I want you to imagine that they’ve shut down a part of I-65 (if you’re in the SE) or I-5 (if you’re in the PNW) and that you have no access to smaller highways (such as 31) and are instead forced (as we were) to be re-routed along tiny little neighborhood streets. Yeah. It took us about an hour and a half to go five miles, all the while nose-to-tail with our fellow distressed travelers through the perhaps-charming-under-different-cirumstances city of Wolverhampton. The best part of the detour (or "diversion" as they call it here) was the part with construction on it. Yeah.
We did, however, manage to make it here to the hotel (although we were all a bit punch-happy by the time we rolled up) and now I’m going to collapse, and try not to think about the fact that we’re getting up and on the road again in about seven hours…
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