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Or, an American Fangirl in London.
Day One: Hours on an Airplane
Except for the fact that all airplane seats were designed by sadists (whomever decided to put all that padding at the top to prevent passengers from leaning their heads back should be shot), the seven-plus hour flight to England actually wasn't that bad. I took advantage of the fact that Virgin Atlantic has, like, the best in-flight entertainment system ever to watch Master and Commander, which I missed in theatres last fall by being in Ireland at the time. Oh my fucking God, that film is slashy. I swear, I never got this intense a vibe from the books. When Aubrey and Stephen pulled out their violin and cello and started playing a duet together, I almost died right there in my seat. And the whole "digging a bullet out of my own side" scene just cemented their manly love (besides cementing the fact that Stephen Maturin rocks). Even setting aside the squee-inducing slashy moments (and if you ask me, that pair of cute seamen below decks were pretty slashy as well), it was a pretty good movie--Russell Crowe did a surprisingly good job as Jack Aubrey, and Stephen was absolutely perfect. He was always my favourite of the two guys in the books--he's such a geek. "Jack! I found three new species of beetle! Look, aren't they fascinating?" The angelic little ten-year-old ensign was pretty cool as well, and there was lots of lovely footage of sea battles and storms.
Then I watched Starsky & Hutch, and read H. Rider Haggard's She. More slash yumminess, and fun with Victorian pulp fiction. By the time I was finished, we were almost to the west coast of Ireland. Thence followed the joyful experience that is Heathrow airport, where all the terminals are approximately a mile apart. My Dad's flight came in practically on the other side of London. However, since he got upgraded to business class (*whines * I want to fly business class someday), he didn't have anything to complain about.
Day Two: Stonehenge
Today we picked up our rental car and drove south to Salisbury to spend the weekend there. Once we'd checked into our Bed and Breakfast--we can see the cathedral spire from the window and took a photo just to make my mom jealous--we went out to see Stonehenge. It was every bit as amazing as everyone says it is, especially since we were blessed with unbelievably good weather. Oh Holy God, those are some big fucking rocks. (Can you imagine building that thing? "Nope, nope, sorry fellows. We're gonna have to move the huge-ass rock just a little to the left. Wait, that's still not right. Put it back where it was." *and Bob the Stone Age construction foreman becomes the tribe's next sacrifice to the Gods*).
Day Three: Geeks Abroad (or, The Magna Carta and Hours at the Glider Port)
We started Sunday by going to mass at Salisbury Cathedral (which is beautiful, by the way, even though there's scaffolding set up around part of it for repairs/restorations), and in a surprise two-for-one deal, got to see England's oldest legible copy of the Magna Carta as well, since it turns out it's kept at the cathedral. They also had a copy of Boetheus' "The Consolation of Philosophy," translated into Middle English by Chaucer. I think I scared my Dad a little by actually knowing what it was.
Then, we drove to Shalbourne (without asking for directions, of course), to spend the next seven bloody hours hanging around at the Shalbourne soaring club's glider port. Daddy helped launch gliders, talked to soaring club people, and eventually got to go on a couple of flights himself. I read The Three Musketeers. Though, to be fair, I got to go on a flight to at the end of the day (for, like, twelve minutes, since all the lift was gone by then), and the winch tow (they pull the gliders aloft with a steel cable hooked to a motor, like giant kites, because the field isn't allowed any powered traffic) was pretty cool. That thing produces the fastest take off and climb I've ever seen anything without a jet engine do. It wasn't quite like being launched from a carrier deck, but I bet it was about as close to it as gliders can get.
Day Four: Sheep and More Rocks
After a spending some quality time in the Salisbury branch of Waterstones (Jesus fucking Christ, books are expensive in Britain and Ireland), Daddy and I headed back to London for the conference (with Fighter Boys, First Light--both about WWII pilots--a Pterry Discworld book, and Sarah Water's Fingersmith in tow--luckily, the blurb on the back of Fingersmith says a lot about it being shortlisted for the Booker prize and nothing about the main characters' lesbian love affair, so I managed to acquire it without raising any suspicious parental eyebrows). On the way, we stopped at Avebury to tramp through sheep pastures and look at the Neolithic stone circle and fortification there, which is even older than Stonehenge (also, considerably larger in diameter, though it doesn’t have dolmens--only menhirs--and the stones aren't dressed). Then we ate lunch at the local pub, luxuriating in the wonderful food (why do people bash British food all the time? I'd eat pub food and take out curry every other day if I could. You can't find steak and ale or venison pie anywhere in Virginia and Maryland, let alone lamb. Southern Maryland does do better fried seafood, though).
When we finally got to London, we had champagne and canapes(or mineral water, in my case, since I hate champagne)with our international flight test buddies at the Royal Aeronautical Society (right by Green Park, next to the Intercontinental Hotel). The Royal Aeronautical Society building, by the way, is gorgeous, all marble floors and wood panelling and molded plasterwork on the ceilings.
Day Five: "Do You Work Here?"
While my Dad listened to British, American, German, Swiss, Ukrainian, etc. members of the Society of Experimental Test Pilots give papers, I went to the Imperial War Museum to look at WWI and WWII stuff. I walked in and saw a Spitfire, a P-51, an Me/Bf 109E, and a V-1 flying bomb hanging from the roof in the main lobby, and knew right away that I was going to like this museum. And I was right.
They had cool old airplanes (and tanks, but tanks aren't as much fun as airplanes), they had uniforms, they had a Merlin engine (with a cluster of admiring guys outside the glass case, who seemed impressed by the fact that I knew it didn't have fuel injection), they had a life-size replica of part of a WWI trench that made the remnants of trenches outside of Richmond look like fun by comparison (if all of those guys weren't claustrophobic when they went to France, I bet the survivors were by the time they came home), and, of course, they had an entire case full of T. E. Lawrence's stuff, including a robe and one of those little Arabic head thingies (not the kaffiyeh, the band that goes around it. I never can remember what they're called). The WWII in the Pacific section had a segment of track from the Burma-Thailand railroad. It's probably just my imagination that made me feel sick looking at it. (That's the one problem with studying WWII--it frequently takes me several hours to start liking the Japanese again afterwards--kind of like the time needed to stop disliking certain other geographical areas after reading/watching the news).
Anyway, I got to drool over old planes, engage in fangirl squee, buy an old Battle of Britain-era RAF poster at the bookshop, and tell schoolchildren what things were. Such as, for example, the two boys and a girl (all about eleven or so) in the front lobby who were looking for the "V. I." (pronounced "Vee Eye"). When I said, "I think you mean the V One, which is hanging from the roof over there," they asking if I worked there. I'm like, "Um, no. I'm an American."
Museum touring done with, I took the tube back to Green park and the Royal Aeronautical Society building to tag along on the SETP-sponsored trip to the London Eye, also known as the Biggest Ferris Wheel in the World. The view really is spectacular, especially when you've got the abnormally sunny weather we continue to enjoy.
Day Six: Death by Fangirl Squee
Having done the Imperial War Museum, I went to day to the British Museum. *whistles* I could honestly have spent an entire week there, if I'd had the time. *sigh* Walking into the Reading Room alone nearly made me cry--looking up at that huge, gold and blue vaulted dome towering over me. It's like a cathedral built to worship books.
As I said, my time was limited, so instead of moving in and never coming out, I visited only the Great Court of Troy Fangirl Squeedom (all Troy fans in England should go there now. They have Brad Pitt, Brian Cox, Eric Bana, Peter O'Toole, and Diane Kruger's costumes on display), the Egyptian statue gallery and Assyrian statues (also known as Statues Older than Dirt and Holy Mother of God, That's a Big Winged Bull), the Hellenistic Art (also known as the Hall of Hot Naked People), and the section on iron Age Britain.
The Egyptian room held a giant granite fist from a statue of Ramses II that made me squee and spontaneously declaim Shelley ("Ozymandias" being the one poem by him that I actually like). The hall of Hot Naked People had two statues of Venus that were most ego-boosting, as Venus had the same small breasts and generous hips as me. Strip me naked and put me half-kneeling on a pedestal, and I'd be a dead ringer for "Marble Statue of Crouching Aphrodite Bathing."
In the evening, after I got back from the museum, my dad and I went to the SETP conference banquet, and I took a shallow and petty pleasure in the fact that I was the best looking woman in the room (the fact that I was pretty much the only one under twenty-five probably helped a little).
Day Seven: More Sparkly Airplane Goodness
To celebrate the end of the paper-giving, all of the SETP conference go-ers went to the RAF museum at Herndon to look at cool old airplanes. *whistles * That place could give the Air and Space Museum a run for it's money. We looked at a Spitfire, and a Sopwith Camel, and a Hurricane, and a Typhoon, and a Vampire, and a Sunderland Flying Boat, and a Junkers 87 and Heinkel 111, and a Vicker Vimy, and a LeRhone rotary engine, and… *trails off as reader's eyes glaze over* Y'all have no idea what half of this stuff is, do you? Anyway, it was fun, and they had lots of cool stuff, and I bought a polo shirt with a Spitfire embroidered on it, and a Spitfire postcard to send to Leeland over in the land of sand and car bombs, since he's a Spitfire geek too.
After we'd had our fill of Sparkly Airplane Goodness, we went to the Globe and saw Much Ado About Nothing. They performed it with an all-female cast (the male characters were in drag, frequently with false beards), and most of them (particularly Benedict, Beatrice, and Don Pedro) did an awesome job. Their Dogberry's performance couldn't quite stack up to Michael Keaton's, but then, few can.
Day Eight: Piccadilly Circus and Potter (Sirius & Remus: Thereloveissocanon)
With the conference finished, Daddy and I spent today in Piccadilly Circus shopping for presents for Sarah and my Mom (and all of VX-23's secretaries, because you have to bring stuff back for your secretary when you go on travel). For my Mom, we went to a china shop and bought here a Wedgewood teapot with a wild strawberry pattern. For Sarah, we went to Lillywaites (the largest sports clothing store I have ever seen) to find an England rugby shirt. I insisted that we get the more expensive one with the red stripes and the shoulders, the embroidered rose crest, and the Kooga logo. Edit: Turned out to be a wise choice--not only did it look better, the Kooga brand name made her jump up and down with glee. I got a red England football shirt for myself to wear while running, and my Dad found an orange and black dry-weave shirt to wear under his leathers at the races. I'm not sure what team it's really for, but it's a Harley Davidson shirt now.
Shopping over, we went to the Odium theatre in Swiss Cottage (within walking distance of our Marriott) to see PoA. I hate to say this of a two hour-movie, but it should have been longer. Not because they didn't have enough fangirl-pleasing details, but because, quite frankly, they cut out some very important scenes that left fair-sized plot holes in their wake. For example, leaving out Sirius and Remus's explanation in the Shrieking Shack of how Sirius, James and Peter all became animagi at school (not to mention how James saved Snape from being killed). If you'd read the book, you knew what was going on, but I imagine people who hadn't read PoA were sitting there in the theatre going, "Wait, how the Hell did Sirius know that Scabbers was really Peter? Since when can he change into a rat? And why didn’t any mention before this that Sirius Black could change into a dog?" And leaving the scene where Snape delivers the wolfsbane potion out deprived us all of that nice Snape & Remus interaction, not to mention an opportunity for some good characterisation for Snape. And the CGI werewolf sucked, but I already knew it was going to. The CGI Padfoot sucked as well. Why in the name of God didn't they just make the puppies look like a real dog and wolf, like in the book?
That said, Gary Oldman and David Thewlis did an awesome job as Sirius and Remus. They didn't look quite right (Remus, for example, will forever be Noah Wiley in my head), but the dynamic between them was almost perfect. The little exchange of snarky comments right before the hug, and the whole transformation sequence, and Snape's comment that they were "just like an old married couple" (I swear to God, I almost died. I managed to turn me squee of glee into a strange choking noise, though, since my dad was right there next to me), and Sirius's tattoos *melts* (Sorry, small tattoo fetish here). Remus's use of the phrase "people like me" instead of "werewolves" when he's explaining his resignation to Harry was just the cherry on the sundae of slashiness that was the canine couple in this movie. It takes about two brain cells worth of imagination to pick up that he could be referring to homosexuality as well as lycanthropy. Thereloveissocanon.
Oh, and Emma Thompson was great as Prof. Trelawney.Eminem's Mini-Me Tom Felton once again did a decent job as Draco, despite the overly-wussy characterisation he was given by the script, and Rupert Grint is still adorable.
Day Nine: Why Yes, it's Seven More Hours at the Glider Port.
Today, having accomplished all the conference-going and shopping we come over for, my Dad and I went back to the Shalbourne soaring club's glider field. He spent another seven hours doing glider stuff. I finished The Three Musketeers and started on Fingersmith (which is not quite as much fun as Tipping the Velvet was, but still a very interesting read). A warning to all slashers now: Alexandre Dumas will eat your brain. It's been a long time since I last read The Three Musketeers (about five years), and although nothing in the book was too overtly slashy, it would take damn little effort to make it so. Athos and D'Artagnan in particular are suspiciously close to one another, and would make a pretty good slash couple (though the fact that I seem to recall Kiefer Sutherland playing Athos in the movie a while ago might be influencing me--he almost made up for the pain of Chris O'Donnell playing D'Artagnan). And Porthos and Aramis would just be cute together. Their relationship would be almost solely about sex, and probably would end with one strangling the other (my money's on Porthos), but it would be hot while it lasted. Also, it's kind of odd to realise that, though I was a teenager last time I read the novel, I'm now slightly older than D'Artagnan is at the beginning of the book (and old enough to date Aramis, if it weren't for the fact that he'd probably be prettier than me). The three younger guys seemed a lot younger and more naive this time around ("Yes, D'Artagnan, we know Milady's hot. She's also soul-suckingly evil. Stop trying to hit on her for God's sake! And, Porthos, just shut up, okay. Nobody's listening anymore.").
Day Ten: Go England! (or, France, we hate you).
Christ, but the English (in fact, everyone in Europe) are insane about football. The insanity was present the entire week (I swear, I saw more Cross of St. George flags here than I do American flags on the Fourth of July back home), as everybody geared up for the Euro 04, but since today was the match against France… it was practically bedlam. The Super Bowl pales in comparison.
Daddy and I both wore our new England shirts (remember, the ones from Lillywaites?) and as we came down to breakfast in the hotel, one of the other guys in the elevator (also in an England shirt) observed, "We're all very patriotic this morning." The two of us just smiled and nodded.
And then, of course, France had to go and win the match. I really wouldn't want to be the cops in Portugal tonight. There are going to be English football hooligans beating up French fans in the streets.
Day Eleven: Yet More Hours on an Airplane.
And it's yet more hours on the airplane, prefaced by the fun of Going Through Customs, Redux. I actually got patted down by the security lady, because my jewelry set off the metal detector (and we're not talking heavy duty Gothed-out jewelry either, I had on three little hoop earrings and my Spitfire necklace).
This time, I had two fairly cute British guys next to me for the flight instead of the painfully ditzy American girl I'd been next to on the flight over. It almost made up for the small child behind me who spent approximately two hours straight kicking the back of my seat (at least he didn't scream or cry).
British guy no. 1, Fred, who was bringing his violin over in his carry-on luggage, had his violin strings confiscated by the cabin crew, lest he try to garrotte somebody midflight, I guess. He was not pleased. Apparently, re-stringing and tuning a violin takes a lot of time and effort.
This time, I watched some absolutely awesome Bollywood film called Kahki while we crossed the Atlantic. A handpicked crew of policeman were chosen to escort a suspected (but, it turned out, falsely accused) terrorist to trial, facing attacks on all sides from both the real terrorists and evil men in the Indian government. There were enough explosions and shootouts for a Robert Rodriguez film, plus a music video half-way through wherein the two romantic leads sang about their love for one another and danced. I love Bollywood movies. They're like crack.
After several aeons, we landed in DC and had the fun of going through US customs (also known as the endless queue from Hell). Thankfully, nobody noticed that I was smuggling a package of McVities digestive biscuits in my purse in addition to the five paperback books I had stuffed in there.
Day One: Hours on an Airplane
Except for the fact that all airplane seats were designed by sadists (whomever decided to put all that padding at the top to prevent passengers from leaning their heads back should be shot), the seven-plus hour flight to England actually wasn't that bad. I took advantage of the fact that Virgin Atlantic has, like, the best in-flight entertainment system ever to watch Master and Commander, which I missed in theatres last fall by being in Ireland at the time. Oh my fucking God, that film is slashy. I swear, I never got this intense a vibe from the books. When Aubrey and Stephen pulled out their violin and cello and started playing a duet together, I almost died right there in my seat. And the whole "digging a bullet out of my own side" scene just cemented their manly love (besides cementing the fact that Stephen Maturin rocks). Even setting aside the squee-inducing slashy moments (and if you ask me, that pair of cute seamen below decks were pretty slashy as well), it was a pretty good movie--Russell Crowe did a surprisingly good job as Jack Aubrey, and Stephen was absolutely perfect. He was always my favourite of the two guys in the books--he's such a geek. "Jack! I found three new species of beetle! Look, aren't they fascinating?" The angelic little ten-year-old ensign was pretty cool as well, and there was lots of lovely footage of sea battles and storms.
Then I watched Starsky & Hutch, and read H. Rider Haggard's She. More slash yumminess, and fun with Victorian pulp fiction. By the time I was finished, we were almost to the west coast of Ireland. Thence followed the joyful experience that is Heathrow airport, where all the terminals are approximately a mile apart. My Dad's flight came in practically on the other side of London. However, since he got upgraded to business class (*whines * I want to fly business class someday), he didn't have anything to complain about.
Day Two: Stonehenge
Today we picked up our rental car and drove south to Salisbury to spend the weekend there. Once we'd checked into our Bed and Breakfast--we can see the cathedral spire from the window and took a photo just to make my mom jealous--we went out to see Stonehenge. It was every bit as amazing as everyone says it is, especially since we were blessed with unbelievably good weather. Oh Holy God, those are some big fucking rocks. (Can you imagine building that thing? "Nope, nope, sorry fellows. We're gonna have to move the huge-ass rock just a little to the left. Wait, that's still not right. Put it back where it was." *and Bob the Stone Age construction foreman becomes the tribe's next sacrifice to the Gods*).
Day Three: Geeks Abroad (or, The Magna Carta and Hours at the Glider Port)
We started Sunday by going to mass at Salisbury Cathedral (which is beautiful, by the way, even though there's scaffolding set up around part of it for repairs/restorations), and in a surprise two-for-one deal, got to see England's oldest legible copy of the Magna Carta as well, since it turns out it's kept at the cathedral. They also had a copy of Boetheus' "The Consolation of Philosophy," translated into Middle English by Chaucer. I think I scared my Dad a little by actually knowing what it was.
Then, we drove to Shalbourne (without asking for directions, of course), to spend the next seven bloody hours hanging around at the Shalbourne soaring club's glider port. Daddy helped launch gliders, talked to soaring club people, and eventually got to go on a couple of flights himself. I read The Three Musketeers. Though, to be fair, I got to go on a flight to at the end of the day (for, like, twelve minutes, since all the lift was gone by then), and the winch tow (they pull the gliders aloft with a steel cable hooked to a motor, like giant kites, because the field isn't allowed any powered traffic) was pretty cool. That thing produces the fastest take off and climb I've ever seen anything without a jet engine do. It wasn't quite like being launched from a carrier deck, but I bet it was about as close to it as gliders can get.
Day Four: Sheep and More Rocks
After a spending some quality time in the Salisbury branch of Waterstones (Jesus fucking Christ, books are expensive in Britain and Ireland), Daddy and I headed back to London for the conference (with Fighter Boys, First Light--both about WWII pilots--a Pterry Discworld book, and Sarah Water's Fingersmith in tow--luckily, the blurb on the back of Fingersmith says a lot about it being shortlisted for the Booker prize and nothing about the main characters' lesbian love affair, so I managed to acquire it without raising any suspicious parental eyebrows). On the way, we stopped at Avebury to tramp through sheep pastures and look at the Neolithic stone circle and fortification there, which is even older than Stonehenge (also, considerably larger in diameter, though it doesn’t have dolmens--only menhirs--and the stones aren't dressed). Then we ate lunch at the local pub, luxuriating in the wonderful food (why do people bash British food all the time? I'd eat pub food and take out curry every other day if I could. You can't find steak and ale or venison pie anywhere in Virginia and Maryland, let alone lamb. Southern Maryland does do better fried seafood, though).
When we finally got to London, we had champagne and canapes(or mineral water, in my case, since I hate champagne)with our international flight test buddies at the Royal Aeronautical Society (right by Green Park, next to the Intercontinental Hotel). The Royal Aeronautical Society building, by the way, is gorgeous, all marble floors and wood panelling and molded plasterwork on the ceilings.
Day Five: "Do You Work Here?"
While my Dad listened to British, American, German, Swiss, Ukrainian, etc. members of the Society of Experimental Test Pilots give papers, I went to the Imperial War Museum to look at WWI and WWII stuff. I walked in and saw a Spitfire, a P-51, an Me/Bf 109E, and a V-1 flying bomb hanging from the roof in the main lobby, and knew right away that I was going to like this museum. And I was right.
They had cool old airplanes (and tanks, but tanks aren't as much fun as airplanes), they had uniforms, they had a Merlin engine (with a cluster of admiring guys outside the glass case, who seemed impressed by the fact that I knew it didn't have fuel injection), they had a life-size replica of part of a WWI trench that made the remnants of trenches outside of Richmond look like fun by comparison (if all of those guys weren't claustrophobic when they went to France, I bet the survivors were by the time they came home), and, of course, they had an entire case full of T. E. Lawrence's stuff, including a robe and one of those little Arabic head thingies (not the kaffiyeh, the band that goes around it. I never can remember what they're called). The WWII in the Pacific section had a segment of track from the Burma-Thailand railroad. It's probably just my imagination that made me feel sick looking at it. (That's the one problem with studying WWII--it frequently takes me several hours to start liking the Japanese again afterwards--kind of like the time needed to stop disliking certain other geographical areas after reading/watching the news).
Anyway, I got to drool over old planes, engage in fangirl squee, buy an old Battle of Britain-era RAF poster at the bookshop, and tell schoolchildren what things were. Such as, for example, the two boys and a girl (all about eleven or so) in the front lobby who were looking for the "V. I." (pronounced "Vee Eye"). When I said, "I think you mean the V One, which is hanging from the roof over there," they asking if I worked there. I'm like, "Um, no. I'm an American."
Museum touring done with, I took the tube back to Green park and the Royal Aeronautical Society building to tag along on the SETP-sponsored trip to the London Eye, also known as the Biggest Ferris Wheel in the World. The view really is spectacular, especially when you've got the abnormally sunny weather we continue to enjoy.
Day Six: Death by Fangirl Squee
Having done the Imperial War Museum, I went to day to the British Museum. *whistles* I could honestly have spent an entire week there, if I'd had the time. *sigh* Walking into the Reading Room alone nearly made me cry--looking up at that huge, gold and blue vaulted dome towering over me. It's like a cathedral built to worship books.
As I said, my time was limited, so instead of moving in and never coming out, I visited only the Great Court of Troy Fangirl Squeedom (all Troy fans in England should go there now. They have Brad Pitt, Brian Cox, Eric Bana, Peter O'Toole, and Diane Kruger's costumes on display), the Egyptian statue gallery and Assyrian statues (also known as Statues Older than Dirt and Holy Mother of God, That's a Big Winged Bull), the Hellenistic Art (also known as the Hall of Hot Naked People), and the section on iron Age Britain.
The Egyptian room held a giant granite fist from a statue of Ramses II that made me squee and spontaneously declaim Shelley ("Ozymandias" being the one poem by him that I actually like). The hall of Hot Naked People had two statues of Venus that were most ego-boosting, as Venus had the same small breasts and generous hips as me. Strip me naked and put me half-kneeling on a pedestal, and I'd be a dead ringer for "Marble Statue of Crouching Aphrodite Bathing."
In the evening, after I got back from the museum, my dad and I went to the SETP conference banquet, and I took a shallow and petty pleasure in the fact that I was the best looking woman in the room (the fact that I was pretty much the only one under twenty-five probably helped a little).
Day Seven: More Sparkly Airplane Goodness
To celebrate the end of the paper-giving, all of the SETP conference go-ers went to the RAF museum at Herndon to look at cool old airplanes. *whistles * That place could give the Air and Space Museum a run for it's money. We looked at a Spitfire, and a Sopwith Camel, and a Hurricane, and a Typhoon, and a Vampire, and a Sunderland Flying Boat, and a Junkers 87 and Heinkel 111, and a Vicker Vimy, and a LeRhone rotary engine, and… *trails off as reader's eyes glaze over* Y'all have no idea what half of this stuff is, do you? Anyway, it was fun, and they had lots of cool stuff, and I bought a polo shirt with a Spitfire embroidered on it, and a Spitfire postcard to send to Leeland over in the land of sand and car bombs, since he's a Spitfire geek too.
After we'd had our fill of Sparkly Airplane Goodness, we went to the Globe and saw Much Ado About Nothing. They performed it with an all-female cast (the male characters were in drag, frequently with false beards), and most of them (particularly Benedict, Beatrice, and Don Pedro) did an awesome job. Their Dogberry's performance couldn't quite stack up to Michael Keaton's, but then, few can.
Day Eight: Piccadilly Circus and Potter (Sirius & Remus: Thereloveissocanon)
With the conference finished, Daddy and I spent today in Piccadilly Circus shopping for presents for Sarah and my Mom (and all of VX-23's secretaries, because you have to bring stuff back for your secretary when you go on travel). For my Mom, we went to a china shop and bought here a Wedgewood teapot with a wild strawberry pattern. For Sarah, we went to Lillywaites (the largest sports clothing store I have ever seen) to find an England rugby shirt. I insisted that we get the more expensive one with the red stripes and the shoulders, the embroidered rose crest, and the Kooga logo. Edit: Turned out to be a wise choice--not only did it look better, the Kooga brand name made her jump up and down with glee. I got a red England football shirt for myself to wear while running, and my Dad found an orange and black dry-weave shirt to wear under his leathers at the races. I'm not sure what team it's really for, but it's a Harley Davidson shirt now.
Shopping over, we went to the Odium theatre in Swiss Cottage (within walking distance of our Marriott) to see PoA. I hate to say this of a two hour-movie, but it should have been longer. Not because they didn't have enough fangirl-pleasing details, but because, quite frankly, they cut out some very important scenes that left fair-sized plot holes in their wake. For example, leaving out Sirius and Remus's explanation in the Shrieking Shack of how Sirius, James and Peter all became animagi at school (not to mention how James saved Snape from being killed). If you'd read the book, you knew what was going on, but I imagine people who hadn't read PoA were sitting there in the theatre going, "Wait, how the Hell did Sirius know that Scabbers was really Peter? Since when can he change into a rat? And why didn’t any mention before this that Sirius Black could change into a dog?" And leaving the scene where Snape delivers the wolfsbane potion out deprived us all of that nice Snape & Remus interaction, not to mention an opportunity for some good characterisation for Snape. And the CGI werewolf sucked, but I already knew it was going to. The CGI Padfoot sucked as well. Why in the name of God didn't they just make the puppies look like a real dog and wolf, like in the book?
That said, Gary Oldman and David Thewlis did an awesome job as Sirius and Remus. They didn't look quite right (Remus, for example, will forever be Noah Wiley in my head), but the dynamic between them was almost perfect. The little exchange of snarky comments right before the hug, and the whole transformation sequence, and Snape's comment that they were "just like an old married couple" (I swear to God, I almost died. I managed to turn me squee of glee into a strange choking noise, though, since my dad was right there next to me), and Sirius's tattoos *melts* (Sorry, small tattoo fetish here). Remus's use of the phrase "people like me" instead of "werewolves" when he's explaining his resignation to Harry was just the cherry on the sundae of slashiness that was the canine couple in this movie. It takes about two brain cells worth of imagination to pick up that he could be referring to homosexuality as well as lycanthropy. Thereloveissocanon.
Oh, and Emma Thompson was great as Prof. Trelawney.
Day Nine: Why Yes, it's Seven More Hours at the Glider Port.
Today, having accomplished all the conference-going and shopping we come over for, my Dad and I went back to the Shalbourne soaring club's glider field. He spent another seven hours doing glider stuff. I finished The Three Musketeers and started on Fingersmith (which is not quite as much fun as Tipping the Velvet was, but still a very interesting read). A warning to all slashers now: Alexandre Dumas will eat your brain. It's been a long time since I last read The Three Musketeers (about five years), and although nothing in the book was too overtly slashy, it would take damn little effort to make it so. Athos and D'Artagnan in particular are suspiciously close to one another, and would make a pretty good slash couple (though the fact that I seem to recall Kiefer Sutherland playing Athos in the movie a while ago might be influencing me--he almost made up for the pain of Chris O'Donnell playing D'Artagnan). And Porthos and Aramis would just be cute together. Their relationship would be almost solely about sex, and probably would end with one strangling the other (my money's on Porthos), but it would be hot while it lasted. Also, it's kind of odd to realise that, though I was a teenager last time I read the novel, I'm now slightly older than D'Artagnan is at the beginning of the book (and old enough to date Aramis, if it weren't for the fact that he'd probably be prettier than me). The three younger guys seemed a lot younger and more naive this time around ("Yes, D'Artagnan, we know Milady's hot. She's also soul-suckingly evil. Stop trying to hit on her for God's sake! And, Porthos, just shut up, okay. Nobody's listening anymore.").
Day Ten: Go England! (or, France, we hate you).
Christ, but the English (in fact, everyone in Europe) are insane about football. The insanity was present the entire week (I swear, I saw more Cross of St. George flags here than I do American flags on the Fourth of July back home), as everybody geared up for the Euro 04, but since today was the match against France… it was practically bedlam. The Super Bowl pales in comparison.
Daddy and I both wore our new England shirts (remember, the ones from Lillywaites?) and as we came down to breakfast in the hotel, one of the other guys in the elevator (also in an England shirt) observed, "We're all very patriotic this morning." The two of us just smiled and nodded.
And then, of course, France had to go and win the match. I really wouldn't want to be the cops in Portugal tonight. There are going to be English football hooligans beating up French fans in the streets.
Day Eleven: Yet More Hours on an Airplane.
And it's yet more hours on the airplane, prefaced by the fun of Going Through Customs, Redux. I actually got patted down by the security lady, because my jewelry set off the metal detector (and we're not talking heavy duty Gothed-out jewelry either, I had on three little hoop earrings and my Spitfire necklace).
This time, I had two fairly cute British guys next to me for the flight instead of the painfully ditzy American girl I'd been next to on the flight over. It almost made up for the small child behind me who spent approximately two hours straight kicking the back of my seat (at least he didn't scream or cry).
British guy no. 1, Fred, who was bringing his violin over in his carry-on luggage, had his violin strings confiscated by the cabin crew, lest he try to garrotte somebody midflight, I guess. He was not pleased. Apparently, re-stringing and tuning a violin takes a lot of time and effort.
This time, I watched some absolutely awesome Bollywood film called Kahki while we crossed the Atlantic. A handpicked crew of policeman were chosen to escort a suspected (but, it turned out, falsely accused) terrorist to trial, facing attacks on all sides from both the real terrorists and evil men in the Indian government. There were enough explosions and shootouts for a Robert Rodriguez film, plus a music video half-way through wherein the two romantic leads sang about their love for one another and danced. I love Bollywood movies. They're like crack.
After several aeons, we landed in DC and had the fun of going through US customs (also known as the endless queue from Hell). Thankfully, nobody noticed that I was smuggling a package of McVities digestive biscuits in my purse in addition to the five paperback books I had stuffed in there.
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Though the Tower of London was pretty cool, too. Sparkly Crown Jewels.
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