lotsa fun, eh?: DAY TWO

Ron wanted to show me the countryside a bit; saw a lovely, carved house; went to a farm where they get eggs and such; got accused of bringing the cold weather to England; had soup and a biscuit at a lovely cafe in Beaconsfield. Then the train into London again (20 minutes), where I fell to writing:

It was my Italian grandfather, who didn't speak much English, even after many years in Toronto, who said to my cousin Donna and myself, on my one and only sleepover on Grenadier Avenue - “lotsa fun, eh?” - this after a huge twenty-minute scream-fest with my grandmother, in Italian, of course. I only caught the occasional “stupido”, but at 12 years old, I took this phrase and philosophy, and maintain it to the present. I apply it often.

So I'm on the train from Beaconsfield (very posh area west of London), on my way through the surprisingly sunny autumn landscape. Looks like I might not get too many daylight hours in the big city again, but hey, I can't do everything. I'll see a few landmarks, maybe go to the theatre, and of course eat at outrageous prices. My friends Kathryn and Ron have been great, putting me up in their lovely home. I love the buildings and history and houses here.

In London, I wander again, never being able to return to the same place I was just two minutes before – I can't believe how complicated the street system is. I mostly miss things – the start of a trend on this trip. I get everywhere too late. Today, it's the Tower of London. Why the hell would they close at 4pm? Oh well. “lotsa fun, eh?” More pics, and whatever is still open, and just the crowds and street sights, which are great. But before the day is out, I will meet my Waterloo, as it were.

I mean, I had to eat, didn't I? so got to Waterloo station after the theatre show had already begun, but still, I pressed on with purpose. Trouble was, no one at the Waterloo station, which is enormous and tremendously confusing, could tell me where Waterloo Road was. Really. About five Londoners said “er, I really don't know”. When I finally found it and made the long walk to the Old Vic, the front desk had closed. Sorry, madam. If I hadn't by the smallest (Zoe) chance seen the manager, and if he hadn't been such a sympathetic and lovely person (after I'd told him – whined, really – that I'd come all the way from Toronto and was leaving the next day) – why, I mightn't have got one of his free tickets. Unfortunately, Vanessa Redgrave was sick that night, but James Earle Jones and the rest of the cast were great. So my Waterloo experience ended happily, unlike Napoleon's.