Bulletin. . .Bulletin. . .Bulletin. . .

On Monday, July 18th, I posted some questions I had about pasties. Important questions. Vital questions impinging upon the heritage of this great island nation. And minutes ago, one of this blog's readers came through with information that may help us resolve this chewy conundrum. Thanks to David Carmichael of Devon (along with Cornwall, the traditional site of pasties) for this link:

Historical pasty info right here.

The Geffrye Museum

Bill writes: On Sunday we went to the Geffrye Museum.



Here, you can find recreations of rooms from each period of English history, from the Elizabethan era, onwards. The rooms use original period furniture throughout. For instance, here's a Late Georgian room (1770-1800):



It's wonderfully laid out, you just walk from one room to another through the length of the building. It's one of those museums, along with the Museum of London and the National Portrait Gallery, that give you an overall sense of London throughout different periods in her history. And I ought to mention what a bargain it is. It's free (though donations are welcome of course) and an audio tour (which I highly recommend) is only $1. Plus there is a great garden outside as well as galleries on the subject of modern design, and a very nice cafe, where, of course, we had tea. That's us: get on the Underground, enter Museum, look around, stop, drink tea.

I will add, that on hot days we've branched out by having one or more Pimms:



The problem is, after drinking a pitcher of Pimms, it's really difficult to navigate to the top deck of a moving double-decker bus.

For Friends of Grommet

Aline writes: For all of you Grommet fans, I thought I would give an update and show some pics of our favorite world-traveling cat!

But before we get to actual Grommet photos, I am amazed at how many depictions we see of Grommet when we are out and about. There seems to have been an extraordinary foreshadowing of Grommet’s arrival in Britain. Now keep in mind that many of these pictures are not of Grommet’s quite handsome exterior, but instead of his inner Grommetness, which as many of you know, is not always as attractive as his physical form.

Here is a picture seen in the museum of Brighton, a representation of Grommet’s capacity for happiness:


Here Grommet’s warrior side is depicted on a new book cover:


And finally, some graffiti at Brighton seems the essence of Grommet in his more, um, difficult, carpet-tearing, biting moods:


But enough of Grommet’s inner self – how about his actual physical self? Grommet has adapted well to life here in England, and only had a few sick days last week with what seems to have been an allergy; he made a remarkably fast recovery in only a few days, and was very good about his visit to his new vet. He has been absolutely thrilled about the screens we brought back from California (we haven’t yet seen a screen in a window here…). Here he checks out how strong they are:


They allow him to sniff at all the amazing scents, and give us all much needed ventilation on those warm days without allowing him to experience the 35 foot drop out our windows:


He is quite enchanted with our wall-to-wall carpeting, and the idea of having a whole flat-size scratching post at his disposal. I am sure our neighbors think his name is “No Grommet.” But he manages to make up for his badness by playing the “cute card,” rolling and showing off his tummy (Grommet still gets his "sun-fix" even here in England):


He continues his adventurous streak (for those of you who remember his adventure in the hole-in-the-wall). Here he decides (with two adult spotters, don’t worry) that he will climb the ladder that leads to our roof terrace (the ladder is usually hung up, but we let it down to let him explore.)


He clambered up quite adroitly for a fellow who hasn’t seen any stairs. We won’t discuss his little slip, since Bill was up there to catch him. He is still his fearless (foolish) self!

And just for good measure, here are two more pics of his handsomeness. Here he is on top of the couch back by the window, one of his favorite places to snooze:



And finally, here he is with “big red mousy,” a present from Virgin Atlantic that he loves to chase:

Things we’ve been doing

Aline writes: We’ve been doing lots of things lately, but haven’t been blogging as much as usual, so I thought I would catch everyone up on a few of our recent activities.

We happen to have a BBC studio right around the corner from our flat, so we got tickets to attend a radio show taping of “With Great Pleasure,” a show that focuses on one person who talks about their life using favorite pieces of prose and poetry. The literary excerpts are read by an actor and actress. Our show featured John Simpson, a BBC commentator who is quite well known here. He picked an interesting array of literature, from Alice in Wonderland to the poem "Digging"
by Seamus Heaney. Other choices included non-fiction from war correspondent Martha Gellhorn and a favourite novel of journalists, Scoop, by Evelyn Waugh, as well as a song from the Marx Brothers. Simpson has led quite an exciting life as a war correspondent in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he had some interesting stories (plus a few withering remarks about BBC management) to tell. Our instructions, as the audience, were to act naturally – make noise where we wanted to, as they wanted the broadcast to sound like a live audience had been there. There were only a few mistakes made by the readers, who simply corrected themselves so it could be edited later on. We were told by a fellow audience member who was much more experienced in attending these events that the radio shows were the best to attend, as the television show tapings are quite long and repetitive with multiple camera angles and takes – our radio show, which will be broadcast as a ½ hour show, only took about 45-50 minutes! We will certainly go again.

We went to another lecture at the Museum of London yesterday on their
latest archeological dig at Shoreditch Park in London. This dig is part of the WWII anniversary celebrations, as Shoreditch Park is a blitz bomb site of 19th century houses. It’s a special dig since they have invited the community to participate, and lots of the work is being done by schoolchildren and volunteer adults. There has been a lot of publicity about the dig, and so they are able to also collect oral histories from people who lived in the area, who have stopped by the dig. I thought the most interesting part of the lecture were the questions and comments by the audience, many of whom had lived through the Blitz as children, and had really interesting comments about the V1 and V2 bombs (such as how much worse the V2 bombs were since they didn’t make any noise coming down), and other bombs which were exploded above the ground which were also devastating. The amount of archeology being done in and around London is phenomenal!

Pirate Feet and British Cuisine

Bill writes: British food has long had an unfortunate reputation for being sub-par compared to cuisine on the continent. Certainly when I first came to Britain twenty years ago the food I encountered did little to dispel that view. But the past two decades have seen a gastronomic revolution that has largely erased my taste buds' memory of soggy mushy peas, greasy eggs, and greasier bacon.

While the quality of food has most noticeably improved at restaurants, this has also trickled down to take-out and grocery store prepared meals.

(Later blog entries will likely show me rhapsodizing over the way in which the venerable Marks and Spencers have wrapped ready-to-heat feasts in plastic at £3 a pop.)

But for now, let me tell you that I love Cornish pasties. What a food! It's a crusty pie. It's a savory stew. Imagine a portable chicken pot pie. Or Beef Wellington you can eat with your hands. Now that's a civilized country. And you can get this as takeaway at the West Cornwall Pasty Co. Their stands are seen throughout London, including this one outside the Liverpool Station.



But herein lies a mystery that I hope some kindly Brit can answer. Take a closer look at the sign outside the West Cornwall Pasty Co. food stand:



Why does this pirate appear to be eating his own right foot? Is this the origin of the Cornish Pasty? If so, one shudders to think of the original ingredients. Meanwhile, the West Cornwall Pasty Co.'s PR department might do well to rethink their ad campaign, in which if I read it right, this sign implies "Our pasties taste better than a pirate's foot." Though indeed, without wishing to put it to the test, I'd be willing to bet it does. Still, they could reach a bit higher for their taste comparison.

If someone can answer this, I'd be grateful. And extra credit to anyone who knows the name of this pirate. My best guess would be Jean Lafitte when the plural still applied. Or how Long John Silver really lost his leg.

Crazy....

Aline writes: All I have to say is that it's 85 degrees. And it's raining. How bizarre is that? Is this London or Hawaii?

Some Sights from Remembrance Day

Bill writes: As Aline mentioned yesterday, the Remembrance Day celebrations have been going on in St. James Park, as well as along the mall leading to Buckingham Palace. I thought it might be worthwhile sharing some of the sights of the past two days, as a counter to Thursday's terrible events.

On Saturday, there were recreations of what life was like in London during the war, including music hall shows, displays of cards on which people wrote and shared their memories, and RAF squadron scrambles.

Today, meanwhile, began with a parades of veterans and the Queen, including one by the Queen, followed by flyovers of World War II aircraft. It ended with over a million poppies dropped from a Lancaster bomber used at Normandy, in remembrance of those who fought and died.

There’ll always be an England…

Aline writes: I thought I would try and share what it is like here after the bombings. London has an amazing spirit – there is definitely an attitude of stoicism mixed with pragmatism. One of their columnists pointed out in the newspaper yesterday that London is not like New York – 9/11 was an innocence lost, and London in the 20th century has never been innocent in that way, not after having lived through the Blitz and the IRA bombings.

A few moments during the last two days:

The afternoon of the bombings, I walked to Paddington train station (about 15 minutes walk from our flat) – it seemed a good idea to get some food in the house and we didn’t have much, and Paddington has a good selection of stores, including two food markets. It’s a beautiful walk there – down the street, along the canal, across a pedestrian bridge. There was a lot of police presence as I got near Paddington, and with the underground shut down, only the train station was open. I was able to get some groceries, although only one store in the whole station was open. The grocery line was the longest line I have seen here – others obviously thought it might be a good idea to have some food too! But there was a lot of camaraderie in the line, with people helping each other out. And the feeling in the station, which was packed with people trying to get home, was quiet and calm. Interestingly, as I left the train station and walked outside toward the canal, my bag (full of groceries) was searched by a policeman. I thought it was curious that he would do it as I was leaving the station….

The evening of the bombings Bill and I walked up to our little neighborhood coffee spot a few blocks away – a lovely place to sit outside when the skies clear, as it usually does around 5:00 pm. It was nice to sit with other people and be part of the community. Even when a police van full of officers sped by with sirens blaring and blocked off the street we were on – a bus a block away seemed to have something suspicious in it, and so the street was shut down and guarded while the bus was searched. Our table neighbors were mildly interested, but shrugged it off and went back to their families, friends, and drinks. By the time we finished a little grocery shopping across the street the police were gone. I found it easy to return to normalcy because that is the expectation here – live normally because that is what the terrorists least want.

The underground was up and running (almost all of it) yesterday, the morning after the bombings. I went on a trip in the early afternoon. It was quiet, with definitely less people than usual. People in the carriages were subdued and pensive – few were talking, and most were looking down, deep in thought. Several were reading the newspapers with the horrific pictures of the aftermath. It was eerie to see pictures of tunnels and carriages filled with smoke and think “that was what it was like in these tunnels yesterday.”

There was again visible police presence in the station – as I was coming out of the underground there were six police officers coming down on the escalator next to me – I couldn’t help wondering “have they found something?” But the sign I passed in the cell phone store right outside the underground said it all – “business as usual – we will not be intimidated.”

As I walked by the Thames, and later through Paddington station, there were several hovering helicopters, and it seems that everywhere we go, there are police cars with sirens whizzing by.

Today on our bus ride we rode by Edgeware station, one of the stations bombed (it is within walking distance of our flat.) From the front it looked quite ordinary, with the now-expected two policemen in front of it. But as the bus went by, I looked down a side street, and saw that it had been blocked off – a large canvas tunnel had been extended out of the side entrance of the underground into a large containment truck. It was chilling to think what they were bringing out of that underground, while people were coming in and out of the front entrance going on with their lives.

Finally, this afternoon I saw a 1940’s style concert at the “Living Museum,” a huge outdoor exhibit in St. James Park celebrating the 60th anniversary of VE and VJ day for WWII (more on this in a later post). It was extremely moving to hear people sing along to songs that were sung during the blitz, and know that they were thinking of the recent bombings, as we were:

There’ll always be an England
While there’s a country lane.
Wherever there’s a cottage small
Beside a field of grain…
There’ll always be an England
And England shall be free.
If England means as much to you
As England means to me.

Thanks for your thoughts and emails

Bill writes: We've been getting emails and calls from different parts of the US as each time zone has woken up and heard the news from London. As I said, we're fine, and are in awe of London's calm determination in responding to today's awful attacks.

There have been sirens and helicopters, but London continues. It gives us a small sense of what it must have been like here after a Blitz in the 1940's.

Thank you all for your concern,

Bill and Aline

We're OK

Hi all,

There have been six incidents in London this morning, perhaps involving explosions on buses and the Underground, including one several blocks from us on the Edgeware Road Station. Just in case family and friends are checking this blog for info about us (since phone service is spotty as well due to the overload), we're fine. Although the entire Underground network and bus service is shut down, the emergency services are doing a fine job.

What they're reading underground...

Aline writes: The Tube is such an fascinating place - how so many people can coexist in such close proximity and yet maintain their solitude amazes me every time I ride it at rush hour. This ability to exist in your own little world has been enhanced by the iPod; I think one in every two tube riders is now wearing headphones. But not to worry, there are still plenty of riders maintaining their own little world the old-fashioned way: by reading books.

When I am not wearing my iPod, I amuse myself by covertly people-watching. In addition to wondering why English men seem to love pink ties with blue shirts, I spy on people who are reading. Here are the last few titles I have seen (yes, I do have a little notebook I write them down in, so maybe I am not as covert as I think!):

King of the World by David Remnick

Colossus: The Price of America's Empire by Niall Ferguson

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

Fighter Boys by Patrick Bishop

The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad

Fatal Error by Colleen Thompson

Invitation to Awaken by Tony Parsons

The Trial by Franz Kafka

A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson

Summer afternoon at the Chelsea Physic Garden Fair

Aline writes:
Summer afternoon - Summer afternoon... the two most beautiful words in the English language. Henry James

Maybe Henry James was in the Chelsea Physic Garden when he said the quote above. When Bill and I went there for the Chelsea Physic Garden Fair on June 26, it seemed like a fantasy of English Summer.


The Chelsea Physic Garden has been in place in central London since 1673. It was originally the Apothecaries' Garden, with the purpose of training apprentices in identifying plants. This Fair was to raise money to install their first automatic sprinkler system! Yes, you heard it right, they water it by hand when they need to water. That seemed like a long overdue improvement (after over 400 years), and a very good cause, so we decided to attend.

They had music



Beautiful beds of plants



Decorated statues


Stalls, strawberries and cream, tea sandwiches, scones, all you would expect on an English Summer afternoon. They even had Pimms, something I had always heard about but never tried. It was delicious! And very refreshing on a warm day. The gardens looked their best, too.

No English Fair is complete without a Punch & Judy show, of course.


Bill even bought me a bunch of posies from a little girl wandering around with a basketful of them. Grommet loves them, as I still have them in water. His head smells like delicious herbs now because he spends so much time with his head stuck in them, nuzzling them.


A delightful Summer afternoon!

Why We aren't Blogging

Bill writes: Blogger's photo-posting function has stopped working, so we can't post for now. At least nothing with visual appeal. And you know you come for the pictures (it's all "Blah, blah, blah...ooh, nice photo. Blah, blah blah."). So we're skipping the blah, blah, blah til Blogger fixes the nice picture function.

There. Maybe we've shamed them into fixing it.

Fête de la Musique

Aline writes: On June 21, we attended the first ever Fête de la Musique in London, a wonderful music event that lasted all day and evening.

Since there were multiple events going on at multiple locations, it was a challenge to choose. The first was easy, however – how often do you get to hear a Theramin? The performance was a combination of drama and music, as the performer told the story of the Theramin, partly from Theramin’s point of view, and played the instrument.


We had some trouble finding the next concert, as there were multiple buildings for the Institut Français but the wrong one was marked on the map. We ended up at the Goethe Institute on the lawn listening to a great Brazilian group instead.


We ate a delicious lunch in their café, and then Bill and I parted ways – I went to more music while he went to the Science Museum. I heard a Celtic folk duo, and then ducked out to hear a folksinger at another venue. After the concert, the Institut Français served complimentary Ricard aperitifs, which I was glad to try, but won’t be ordering anytime soon ☺. Bill will fill in his Science museum adventures…

Canal Boating through Maida Vale

Bill writes: Aline's been down and semi-out with a cold the past week. So she's been thinking of things to do that would take no effort whatsoever. She suggested a canal cruise that we could walk to from our flat. To that end, we packed a picnic lunch and wandered over to Little Venice, where we had lunch by Browning's Island (named for Robert Browning, who spent the last years of his life there). We enjoyed lunch, at least until a really bad-mannered Weimaraner (you know, one of those dogs that William Wegman fetishizes for calendars and coffee-table books) wandered over, gave a longing look, and grabbed Aline's sandwich out of her hand. Bad dog! No calendar layout for you. (Maybe Wegman could pose the little monster in an orange jumpsuit for a mug shot.)

Anywho, we then got tickets and took the canal boat for a couple of hours. You start out sailing past the other canal boats:



Then down below one of our favorite restaurants, Cafe Laville:



From there you head into Regent's Park, passing the Sultan of Brunai's house and the second largest private park in London:



Then past Blowup Bridge (so named because two canal boats passing under the bridge happened to be carrying a cargo of gunpowder, and chose that unfelicitous moment to simultaneously detonate). Nonetheless, it obviously remains a romantic spot.



The tree next to it still has a crack all the way up it from the blast:



Coming out through another tunnel, you head into the next village:



And finally, past a pirate castle. How do I know? See if you can guess. The brits aren't noted for their powers of camouflage:



But they aren't terribly frightening pirates, as they mostly get together in their own little club:



After we returned, we went over to the Cafe Laville for, you guessed it, some tea. All in all, a pleasant enough day for Aline to decongest.

The King of Bling and Tea at the Queen's

Bill writes: On Tuesday, we went to the London Museum for an archeology lecture entitled "The King of Bling." This was given by the archeologist that somewhat accidentally discovered an Anglo-Saxon Prince's burial site and treasure trove under some shrubbery in Prittlewell.

Afterwards, we went over to Kensington Gardens. Next to Kensington Palace is The Orangery, a sort of Queen's official tea residence:



Deciding what to have is a wonderful problem (and for those with any table manners at all, no, I wasn't taking photos of the meal as I was eating--this was care of a long zoom lens from well outside The Orangery):

The View from the Top

Bill writes: Yesterday we went to Woolsey's for lunch. The only reason I mention this is not that the food is remarkable (although it is very good). Or that the location is excellent (though it's on Picadilly next to the Ritz). No, it's that it has the most wholly remarkable wait-staff I've ever known. They are prompt without being officious, friendly without a bit of obsequiousness, and entirely knowledgable about everything they serve. Aline asked our waiter what the difference was between two coffees--the machianno and the machado. The waiter explained it in terms of size, strength, flavor, ingredients, and preparation method. Compare that to asking the difference between a grande and a venti at Starbucks, where you're answered with a condescending shrug. I wonder if Woolsey's has the best staff in England. They're certainly my favorite.

Aline adds: They are my favorite too! When I went in there alone for tea one day (Bill was off on a guitar-hunting trip), they happily sat me at a wonderful table in the middle of the restaurant (my women friends who travel alone on business know how unusual that is), and asked me if I wanted a newspaper to read. I go there every chance I get!

Back to Bill: By the way, and for no other reason than I took the picture and so here you go. This is the view of Regent Street from the top of a double-decker London bus:

Ode to my purse

Aline writes: OK, this isn't actually an ode, but I just have to rave (in the sense of to speak or write with wild enthusiasm) about my purse.


As some of you know, when I bought this last year, I was attracted by its cheerful color and pleasing shape. What I didn't know was just how practical it would be here in England. It has one of the best inventions of the modern purse, a cell phone pocket. But it can also hold 2 pairs of glasses, wallet, brush, odds and ends, iPod and headphones, London map book, and an umbrella.


And I can even add a bottle of water (strongly recommended on hot days in case you get trapped on the Underground. Seriously. Last week people got stuck on a train for 2 hours and the temperature in the car got up to 115 degrees - they broke the windows to escape! But I digress...


Some of you doubters out there may believe that I couldn't possible close it. But here is the proof.


Finally, it is the perfect pillow in the park or on the beach (here at Brighton):


I feel sorry for all those men who don't or won't use this most wonderful invention.

Bill adds: Hey, I would. Well, if it came in black. And had a padded adjustable shoulder strap. And a utility loop for a canteen and a compass. Now that would be manly.