Tag: London

It’s changed my life

Amy O1 Comment

We had managed very recently to get tickets for the Leicester city match (more on that later) and arrived in London on Friday morning. Our hotel, the the Clayton Hotel London Wall was located in the heart of the City neighborhood, tucked back into a cute corner near a pub, coffee shop, some fast food. It’s in the business district, close to the Bank of London and the London Stock Exchange.

We had selected this hotel for its proximity to Tube lines on which the night train runs. Our flight out of London on Sunday was going to be very early and we wanted to count on being able to use the Tube back to Heathrow. Given the short notice on which we had booked our trip, hotel rooms were scarce and expensive. However, this one was reasonable and quite nice, one of the nicest we’ve stayed in in London.

When we arrived at the hotel it was well into the afternoon. I mentally noted that we should eat every meal in our cute little neighborhood and so, after dumping our stuff in the room, we wandered over to The Telegraph. I usually I try to slowly work up to fish and chips when I visit London. Not this day; I dove right in. It was very good. In particular, the chips. I know they are just chips, but I felt they were especially yummy. Naturally the fish and chips came with mushy peas, of which I am a big fan.

After that we took the short walk to the Bank of England Museum, where there is a small exhibit about the history of the building–interesting on its own–as well as the history of money in England. There was also an exhibit about the future of money. I’m not sure what I expected, but this small museum kept our attention until we were literally kicked out at 5 p.m. when it closed. I particularly enjoyed learning about the history of coin and note production as well as attempts to prevent counterfeit bills.

With regard to the future of money, my favorite exhibit was about what is lost as money becomes increasingly digital. Is it as magical to receive monetary value electronically from the tooth fairy, for example, as it is to receive coins under your pillow? As a parent, I would have loved the convenience and ease of electronic delivery, especially since there were so many times when I forgot that the kid had put a tooth under their pillow. In the morning there would be consternation about the tooth fairy’s whereabouts. This led to inflation of the standard monetary prize the next night (accompanied by an excuse from the tooth fairy). Which led, in the future, to our kids hiding their teeth from the tooth fairy so that she would not be able to find it and would have to give a larger gift the next night. Unintended consequences of monetary policy. But have to agree with the Bank of England; it’s not as magical to get tooth fairy remuneration from PayPal.

My husband and I have a long-standing vow never to attempt to view a play or performance on a first night in London. It’s just too easy to fall asleep when the lights go out. During lunch we broke the vow and bought tickets to a play, Abigail’s Party, at the Stratford East theater. Stratford is quite a ways from the City, out near the London stadium built for the 2012 Olympics and now used by West Ham Football Club. We travelled over to Stratford after leaving the Bank of England museum and, given our late lunch, grabbed a small dinner at Pizza Express.

Stratford East theater is quite small but the production was well done. The play takes place in the 1970s, where a couple is hosting a get-together in their flat for a new couple in the complex. Their event is also attended by Abigail’s mother. The title character, Abigail, is never seen in the play–she is a teenager having a noisy party in her family’s flat in the same complex. The play is driven by the passive/aggressive behavior of the hostess, perfectly played by Tamzin Outhwaite, and her toxic relationship with her spouse. It’s fun & icky, and (spoiler alert) ends in tragedy. I probably did doze off a little bit, but the music, staging, plot, and great acting mostly kept me alert. Highly recommend.

In the morning, my intention to eat only in our little neighborhood was foiled by the fact that not a lot is open on the weekend in the financial district. We ended up walking over to the Leadenhall Market, which you may recall is supposed to be the model for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter movies. There also wasn’t much open at Leadenhall market, but we did find a cute bakery called Aux Merveilleux De Fred. I had a raisin brioche and a latte and my husband had one of the most beautiful croissants I’ve ever seen. My husband often has hot chocolate for breakfast and almost always turns down the offer of whipped cream. (I know you are asking, “Can this marriage be saved?”) This time, he took the whipped cream and let me sample it. It was amazing. Only once before have I have cream that was whipped by hand with a whisk and it has the most amazing and perfect consistency. I have to believe they whisked it by hand. That, or they have some magical, secret, other way to do it. If you go, get the whipped cream. (You can ask them to hold the hot chocolate if you want.)

Our Saturday morning plan was formed by consulting Time Out London, a great source for understanding events happening around town. We ended up drawn to the Mudlarking Showcase being put on at the Museum of London Docklands as a part of the Totally Thames Festival. “Mudlarking” is the unusual hobby of seeking historical objects from the shore of the Thames (and other rivers) at low tide. Because the Thames was central to life and commerce through many centuries, the mud contains an abundance of treasures accidentally or intentionally finding their way into the river. The Mudlarking Showcase allowed mudlarkers to share exhibits of their finds, which included everything–coins, pipes, clothing, buttons, pottery and china, tools, product packaging from centuries past. What each mudlarker found was interesting, but even more interesting was the unique ways they exhibited their treasures, how they talked about their hobby, what they learned from it.

One of the mudlarkers talked us through the process of finding a trade token (we had learned about this form of currency at the Bank of England museum), how he researched it, how and what he learned about the coin, the tradesman, his business, the tradesman’s family. He had come to the hobby after losing his wife. “It’s changed my life,” he said. One mudlarker walked us through the friendly competition he held with his son (also a mudlarker and a future archeologist) about their respective finds. Another mudlarker described holding in his hands the base of a 17th century mug and very nearly chucking it back into the Thames before deciding maybe it was “something” after all.

One of our favorite London experiences, ever.

After a walk around Canary Wharf where the Museum of London Docklands is located, it was time to grab a quick lunch and engage in our perhaps less unique hobby, watching our favorite boys play our favorite sport at our favorite stadium.

London Rain

Amy O2 Comments

Often, what we’ll try to do in a trip to London follows closely what we were unsuccessful organizing in the prior trip. I had hoped to visit the Sky Garden in our December trip, but hadn’t realized how much advance notice was required during the Festive Season. For this trip, I registered for a free visit to the Sky Garden as soon as we learned we could make the trip. In reality, very little advance planning would have been required because today was so rainy. I suspect many people decided not to bother. And for sure, it would have been a better experience with a clearer view. But it was still fun and I’m glad we got to do it. We learned that while the Sky Garden does indeed have a garden, the greater attraction is the view. The garden is on the 35th floor of a tower and you can see all of London on a clear day. On a not-at-all-clear day, I really enjoyed the view of The Tower of London.


We also scheduled lunch at the Piazza, the restaurant at the Opera House that has a balcony bar overlooking Covent Garden. In the cold and wet, the balcony was less of a draw, but we enjoyed a yummy lunch anyway. Covent garden market is mostly covered. While we normally are not big shoppers, we enjoyed ducking in out of the rain. I sampled some warm tea at the Wittard of Chelsea tea shop and bought some rose tea for my daughter.


On Sunday we had planned a day that included a return to Kew gardens, so I selected a pub in Brentford called the The Black Dog for Sunday roast. It was a 10-minute walk from a museum called the Musical Museum of London, where we started our day. The Musical Museum turned out to be mostly the collection of machines that made music started through the compilation of one man, Frank Holland. The collection includes a Wurlitzer museum organ, player pianos, and some of the most interesting music “boxes” I could ever have imagined, including huge ones that play drums, violins, horns. The museum holds music machines built since the 1700s, right up to the phonograph that first brought music machinery to the masses, a great many of them still functional. We enjoyed a wonderful tour of the museum given by Edward. Highly recommend.


Our Sunday roast was also delicious. The Black Dog was a friendly neighborhood pub. We had the roast beef.


Sadly, we had to cut our tour of Brentford short with no Kew gardens because the rain had become seriously aggressive. Given how we had hit the ground in London running, we were happy for an excuse to return to the hotel for a quick nap before heading out for dinner and going to the musical, Six, about the six wives of Henry VIII. It was a good musical to attend while jet lagged. Loud and energetic.


In our visits to London, we’ve rarely left town, but I had always wanted to visit the Cotswolds, a hilly and picturesque area about 2 hours away by car. I’m too much of a chicken to attempt to drive on the “other” side of the road, so I booked a tour with Viator. We’ve used Viator when traveling to other places when we’ve wanted mostly to plan for ourselves but sometimes pass the planning (and driving) off to someone else. Our tour was Monday, the only day since we’ve been in London that it didn’t rain. That was extremely lucky. Our tour went to Burford, Bibery, Bourton-on-the-Water, and Stow on the Wold. Our tour guide, David, was extremely knowledgeable about the area and, as it turned out, a wonderful jazz vocalist. We got him to play some of his music on the bus. We had time to walk, eat, and pub, and enjoy scenery on the nicest day of our visit.


Even with the rain, we did plenty. And what we could not do because of the rain, well, hopefully that’s a seed of an idea for next time.

A note for future me: maybe consult the weather before you show up. 🙂

Pep talk from the universe

Amy O1 Comment

A lot has happened in our world since our last visit to London. My dear mother-in-law passed away recently, not long after she moved into assisted living. She was such a lovely person, it’s hard to think about her not being among us. My husband has been busy, visiting with his mom in her final days, helping my father-in-law with financial stuff, researching and writing an obituary, and so forth. My husband has also some challenges with joint pain and is in the process of commencing physical therapy. And, right before our last trip to London, I was diagnosed with noninvasive breast cancer. My 2024 has included a lot of doctor visits and two surgeries, with radiation treatment to come in a few weeks. And every time I get together with friends lately, the subject has come up, “When are you planning to retire?”

The sum of all this addition has produced at our home a lot of what my son refers to as “old people talk.” I’ve been especially exploring the idea of what makes for a good retirement, or more to the point, what kind of retirement doesn’t feel like you are just waiting around to finally die? I’ve seen examples of people in retirement who’ve look like death would be a serious interruption of some great living, and examples where it seems death already came–they just haven’t realized it yet.

A few weeks ago, I was in the office of one of the financial planners who works for my firm. I help build software for our financial planners and was visiting to get his impression of a new feature we are building. I noticed he had a Post-it note attached to his bookcase and asked him about it. He told me one of his clients had quoted it to him and he wrote it down. A good life, so the client said, requires:

  • Something to do
  • Someone to love
  • Something to believe in
  • Something to look forward to

Note that the planner is quoting a client who is quoting someone, but in googling I’m unable to come up with a definitive source to attribute. In any case, I find this simplistic list to be compelling. The people who look like they are living out a good life all seem to have those things. And the ones who have a life I do not wish to emulate are missing some or all of those things.

That’s Message 1 from the universe.

Message 2: as I navigate the cancer diagnosis, for better or for worse, I’m working with physicians in a medical group associated with a particular hospital. It has made taking each “next step” relatively easy. Dr. A’s office says “make an appointment with Dr. X.” I have barely entered my house after leaving Dr. A’s office when Dr. X’s scheduling person is on the phone to set up an appointment.

This particular group has a prior association with a particular religious order. So at the end of the endless collection of data in every visit about my health history and the history of every family member, they always ask four kind of strange questions.

  1. Do you have someone in your life who loves you?
  2. Do you have something you look forward to?
  3. Do you have something in your life that brings you joy?
  4. Are you at peace today?

The first time I was asked those questions, I asked, “Is someone doing a research project?” Now I wonder if it’s not just a more disarming way to ask people about how they are really doing. Yes, they already asked me if I live with someone because they need to make sure I can get by without heavy lifting after surgery. But does that person love me? We are at a different level now. I don’t know what they would do differently if ever I answered “no” to the questions but so far, with clean conscience, I have always been able to answer “yes.”

I say “with clean conscience” because I’ve been surprised sometimes how much my inclination has been to not be fully honest. When my husband is with me during the medical questioning, he serves as a truth meter. Once before an MRI I was asked by a medical professional how I function in tight spaces. Naturally, I behaved as though this would not be a problem at all. But my husband was present and he said, “uh, really?” In the end, it was agreed that this procedure was best completed under anti-anxiety medication. My husband is not usually present at my appointments so the truth is sometimes, let us say, under-examined.

The way I choose to look at those four questions is they must be asking because those things are medically important to quality of life. Looking at the people who seem like they are living well, I have to agree that they would usually be able to answer these four questions in the affirmative.

If we were to do a Venn diagram of the two messages from the universe, we are easily able to note that one of the overlapping ideas is to have something to look forward to.

And that is the one that would be a bit of a struggle, if not for one essential fact: We’ve been lucky enough to score two tickets to the Champions League match against Porto next Tuesday and are leaving for London tonight. As unlucky as it was to have to have a second surgery when we had thought it would only be one, it re-set the clock a bit on radiation treatment which allows the perfect window for travel.

And so, I depart for London after weeks of looking forward to the trip, with someone I love (who I have every reason to believe also loves me), to do a bunch of fun things that will bring us joy, in the hope & belief that Arsenal can make it to the next round of the Champions League. And hopefully, return to Chicago at great peace.

It’s practice for the future.

Beer run in the 23rd minute

Amy O3 Comments

After missing out on the Postal Museum Friday because it was fully booked, we scrapped our original plans to visit the Freud Museum on Saturday morning and properly booked reservations for the Postal Museum instead. The famous couch must await our next visit.

The highlight of my husband’s trip occurred at a coffee shop called Mouse Tail, just up the street from the Postal Museum. We had arrived early with hopeful hearts that we might get in before our scheduled time. Hopeful hearts dashed again, but quickly consoled with a warm pot of tea at the Mouse Tail.

As a backdrop to the highlight, my husband has become a committed student of the Italian language. He started exploring it around the time we moved to California and immersed himself completely during the pandemic. Over the past few years he has participated in Italian language classes, listened to Italian podcasts, has a standing, weekly appointment with an Italian via Italki, and participated in an Italian book group. That’s the formal stuff. Informally, he has visited Italy on several occasions, changed the language on his phone to Italian, and watched Italian movies with Italian subtitles regularly.

I understand almost no Italian. My biggest nightmare is driving with him somewhere where his phone automatically connects with Bluetooth in our car and I am tasked with removing it from Bluetooth or finding a specific app while navigating the Italian on his phone. My husband somewhat reluctantly agreed to come to London this weekend because he is taking an official Italian fluency test on Tuesday and has been studying like a madman. He hadn’t planned a break from his studying, especially after needing to be in Florida right before our trip to help with his parents’ move to assisted living.

On the plane to London, while I was sitting with my United Airlines-issued new husband after receiving our Basic Economy seat assignments, I learned after the flight that my REAL husband got assigned to a seat where he happily discovered that his seat mate was reading a book in Italian. He pictured himself speaking Italian across the pond, arriving in London well-practiced for his exam. Unfortunately, his seatmate, a native of Milan, had very little interest in speaking Italian with him. We ran into her on the Tube at the airport on the way into London. She greeted him very cordially and then quickly moved to another part of the car.

No matter where we travel, my husband is always attuned to people speaking Italian….or with accents in English that he judges to be Italian. My radar has become attuned to noting that his radar has detected an Italian speaker. He is almost always right, and usually the Italians he finds are happy to converse in Italian.

At the Mouse Tail, which was empty except for the barista, we ordered drinks and sat waiting for them to be delivered. Of the barista, my husband said, “I think she’s Italian.” I was doubtful. To me she sounded like she could be German. Naturally, my husband couldn’t resist finding out. Because although he had been soundly rejected on our flight over, every new opportunity to maybe speak Italian is an opportunity that must be explored.

She was Italian. They had a long & friendly conversation in Italian, so long that we could easily have missed our reservation time at the Postal Museum.

But we did not. We made it on time, where the first order of business was to ride a train through the Postal tunnels. The tunnels are tight, so the train is downsized. My husband is 6’2” and his head was just under the ceiling. The ceiling of the train is clear so you can see the tunnels very clearly. The train stops along the way to point out history of the Postal tunnels, details of how the trains worked, what workers did with the mail at various platforms, and safety features. The train takes about 15 minutes and then you are deposited back at the station to enjoy the exhibits that delve into more detail and allow you to participate like a worker. They are kid-friendly but interesting for adults as well.

We had reservations for lunch at the Holly Bush near Hampstead Heath, a place we had visited for Sunday Roast in the past, long ago. This is a lovely little pub. Great ambiance, nice menu, and the food is delicious and beautiful. I failed to take pictures of the food except of this amazing dessert. It claimed to be a crème brûlée, but the crème part was covered top and bottom NOT in a torched sugar crust but in a ganache-like chocolate layer that was out of this world. And covered in these lovely wafer-like leaves.

We had to rush off to the match, connecting in the St. Pancras station to the Piccadilly line. St. Pancras was thronged with people and when the first train pulled up it was completely full. We were pushed into the train where we gratefully co-existed with all of humanity for a few stops, much as a tuna coexists with other tuna in a tuna can, except for the getting-out-of-the-can-at-the-station part. It seems that some labor action caused parts of the Tube to be closed down or delayed, so people were running late into the stadium. Still, the entry to the stadium was smooth and we found ourselves in our seats in the Clock End.

Much lower seats this time, just a dozen rows into the upper stadium. And right next to the aisle, which means speedy exit for you (if you want it), but lots of people crawling over you to get to and from their seats. When you submit a ballot and it is accepted, your seats are just assigned to you and you don’t have any choice. We gladly accept these terms. And we were happy.

If you delayed getting into your seats for this match you missed all the best action. Arsenal scored two of the most quintessentially Arsenal goals you’ll ever see—read flowing and beautiful–in the first 15 minutes. The match promised to be much like the midweek match against Lens where Arsenal scored 5 goals by halftime. Fans must have felt so sure of that that when the Wolves’ goalkeeper went down injured at around the 23-minute mark, a significant number of fans headed for the concourse to get more beer. Remember, beer cannot be consumed in your seat at the Emirates, perhaps not at any Premier League match. I can’t imagine stepping away from the match at the stadium while play is still going on. When I take a bathroom break at home at a break in play, that turns out to be the most dangerous time for a goal to be scored. But I have no TV in my bathroom and there are lots of TVs in the concourse. Still, to purchase beer and drink seems like it takes more time than the average injury break. Maybe I underestimate the chugging speed of my compatriots.

Arsenal played well and was dangerous, but after the 15th minute, we weren’t able to make any of our advances on goal count. After the first wave of people went for beer in the 23rd minute, the usual wave went for beer in the 40th minute. By the time the half ended, with plenty of time added on, and I finally left my seat for the ladies’ room, the concourse was packed. I could barely get through it and back in the 15 minutes of halftime.

Our left defender, Oleksandr Zinchenko, is one reasons Arsenal have been playing so well over the past two seasons. He is a known agent of chaos in attack and he helps Arsenal sparkle. He contributed to one of the lovely goals scored sufficiently that fans were singing him with great verve. But defensively, he is less than a typical, solid defender. My husband once said, “he has a stinker in him.” And indeed he does. There will be 100 beautiful moments and then this one terrible one that costs us. Unfortunately, Zinchenko had such a stinker in him on Saturday near the end of the match where he failed to clear the ball decisively and the ball fell to a Wolves attacker who made no mistake. 2-1. After that were some nervy moments where you could see the three points slipping away. That’s how I felt, anyway. But in the 85th minute quite a few Arsenal fans left to get to the Tube early. I guess they knew it was in the bag. I didn’t know whether to feel better or feel worse when they left, so I decide to feel worse.

At last the final whistle blew, with Zinchenko having only the one serious stinker in him this week.

The Tube at Arsenal station was unbelievably backed up when we left. We walked to the tube stop north of the Arsenal stop hoping for better luck. That was also inundated with Arsenal fans trying to work their way back. We were ultimately successful and headed to a pub in “our neighborhood” for the Pie Sharing Board. What a concept. Great way to celebrate a day at the top of the league.

Ghosts, lights & going postal

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The first time we came to an Arsenal match, it was during Christmas. We had bought a package that included hotel and match tickets for two matches, a Boxing Day fixture against West Ham (that ended up being postponed because of a Tube strike) and a New Year’s Eve eve match against Newcastle. Whenever we talk as a family about favorite holiday memories, that trip to London is always mentioned. We brought Christmas tree lights in our suitcase with the idea that we might arrange them in our hotel room in the shape of a tree, but the only electrical fixture that was usable was next to a mirror over a dresser. So we hung them around the mirror, prompting songs by our kids of “Oh Christmas Mirror, Oh Christmas Mirror!”

There was actually no need for anything special in our room because London is so beautifully decorated for the holidays.

This trip is the only time we’ve been back to London at this time of year, so my husband and I were both looking forward to seeing it all decked out again. My husband has been preoccupied with his parents’ move into assisted living in Florida, so I did some minimal planning for this trip. Minimal in the sense that every moment from 2 p.m. on Friday was planned, and not one thing was planned for Thursday (all day) or Friday morning.

I had seen information on a museum I thought my husband would enjoy, the Postal museum, situated at the site of an underground railway used for many decades in mail delivery. As a part of your visit, you can ride a train through some of the tunnels that accommodated the cars that carried mail. Unfortunately, it hadn’t occurred to me that the museum would be such a popular option. When we arrived on Friday morning after a delicious breakfast at Gail’s bakery in our neighborhood, all available visitor spots had been sold out for the day.

So we went back toward the Thames and had a leisurely lunch before the play we had booked, Ghosts. Ghosts was running in the Sam Wanamaker theatre, a small indoor space inside Shakespeare’s Globe theatre. The play is performed under the light of about 80 candles, which are laboriously lit at the beginning of the play by one character and laboriously put out at the end of the play by another. Candlelight aside, this was a very dark play about family secrets. Somehow we had considered dozens of lighthearted holiday productions and selected this one instead. Holiday fare it was not, but it was an excellent production and I’m glad we chose it.

We left to walk over along the Thames to a holiday light installation at Southbank Centre. Very cool.

In fact, you could also say very cold. Bone chilling dampness made my husband realize that we were very close to Gordon’s Wine Bar, so we crossed the bridge hoping to find ourselves in the cozy wine caves. Instead, we were offered outdoor seating which might not have fit the bill but turned out to be under a huge, very functional heating lamp.

After a very relaxing glass of wine and some warming, we walked back to St. Paul’s area for dinner at Krua, a Thai restaurant. Very delicious. And, because there are so many lights to see, we took the tube afterward into the shopping districts where some of the most fun holiday light displays are.

Our route back to the hotel took us over Tower Bridge, where the most fun light display of all is visible. The top of The Shard, the iconic tower near Tower Bridge, was fully lit in dozens of fun, moving & sparkly patterns. I enjoyed seeing it all over the city, but had the best views of it from Tower Bridge. Here are a few of the way too many pictures I took.

A packed day in a beautiful, bone-chillingly cold city.

I live by the river

Amy O1 Comment

By virtue of the much-maligned (by many) but appreciated (by me) Arsenal balloting system, we find ourselves in London this morning with tickets to the Arsenal v. Wolves match tomorrow. By our calculation of odds we expected to possibly attend one more match this year after Manchester United. Maybe luck will be with us and this will not be our last visit this season.

I have moved into the hotel lobby to post this while my husband has his Italian lesson in our room. It’s a cold and damp in London and the lobby doors keep opening to the outside world, but I am in a cozy nook with a giant radiator an inch from my elbow. It’s lovely.

We arrived yesterday, taking the late flight from O’Hare to arrive at around noon. The flight here is the only part of the trip that I remotely dread, but I slept better than I ever have. I credit Ibuprofen, Benadryl, and a new neck pillow. We flew Basic Economy on United, so no seat assignments until minutes before the flight. We both got aisle seats, not together, but A-ok! The gentlemen next to me was mistaken by everyone as my spouse. He fell asleep immediately and, as far as I can tell, never woke up until we landed in London. I woke up once to two snacks on my tray, one for him and one for me, and on other occasions was left to speak for his snacks, meals, and drinks. I learned that he always wanted what I wanted two of. And that he never wanted what I wanted none of. What an odd coincidence. Once I woke up during the flight and there was a strange pair of eyeglasses on my tray. Seemed someone found them on the floor and concluded they were mine….or his. But my tray is your tray, at least until the flight attendant finds the person of the missing eyeglasses.

Our hotel this time is called Dixon Autograph, one of Marriott’s small hotels in the Tower hill area. We’ve stayed in Tower Hill quite a few times recently, but this one is on the other side of the Thames. Funny how it feels like a completely different neighborhood. And maybe more like a real neighborhood. Nice hotel, nice area with lots of pubs and restaurants.

After we dropped our stuff off at the hotel we had lunch at The Ivy. One of the things I forgot that I love about London in December is that so many of the restaurants have special menus for the Festive period. The Ivy specializes in British cuisine and whether they always do this or only during the Festive season, they were serving both lunch and tea at the hour we arrived. We just had lunch but it was fun to see the tables being served with giant, multi-level tea trays full of yummy-looking stuff. Including one item at the top that seemed to have dry ice in it. The steam coming off it was spectacular and I never saw a tea tray set on a table that was not duly photographed by the recipient. It could not have actually been dry ice, could it? I guess we’ll never know.

I had a smoked gin drink that came under a glass dome, dramatically unveiled by the waiter, and a delicious butternut squash dish with feta, pomegranate seeds, cranberries, and a spicy sauce. My husband had a scallop risotto. I had cream tea for dessert because the scones it included came with clotted cream. I cannot resist that even though there was also crime brûlée on the menu. I have never before passed up crème brûlée.

By the time lunch was over, it was already dark. We had to hurry to walk over to St. Paul’s for the Evensong service at 5 p.m. Recently, my daughter and her partner took a trip to London and she asked me to share the Don’t Miss things to do in London. One of the things I recommended was Evensong, the music-focused service held in many churches here at twilight.

I once attended a performance of Rachmaninov Vespers at an outdoor venue near Chicago. It was a fully moving experience hearing music intended to celebrate the movement from day to night while literally experiencing this change. Clouds overhead, trees swaying, the sky going from bright, to pink, to dark. It’s kind of like Fall. I love Fall; it’s my favorite season. I love the colorful leaves and crisp, bright days. But it also makes me feel melancholy. Leaving a season of warmth and light and heading to a season of cold, dark. Pretty sure all of that is why I love the tradition of Evensong.

Given my advice, my daughter tried to go to St. Paul’s when she visited London but they were doing a different service that night. She ended up going to the Church of the Sepulchre, and loved it. I wanted to go to the Church of the Sepulchre but they don’t have services on Thursday, so St. Paul’s it was. Have been to church services there, but never Evensong. It was lovely. The acoustics are terrible for the spoken word and great for the kind music sung there. Beautiful music in a beautiful cathedral.

We walked over to the Somerset house to see the pop-up ice rink there and then over to Trafalgar Square to look at the lights and briefly visit a Christmas market. London is beautiful with all the lights and decorations. But it was cold and we were jet-lagged. We took a bus back, sitting in the top front row hoping to enjoy lights. The window was iced and fogged over but I enjoyed taking pictures of the lights through the ice.

If you look carefully, you’ll see a weird version of St. Paul’s cathedral in the one above.

Acts of Hope

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We woke up relatively early and headed out to our favorite breakfast place in Tower Hill, White Mulberries. It’s just a coffee shop with typical coffee shop options (I always choose the yoghurt and granola), but the basics are beautiful, and it’s on St. Katherine Dock. Yesterday, we sat outside and enjoyed looking at the flowers and boats.

We had not done much research on what there was to do in London this weekend before we got to the airport, but while at O’Hare, I looked a bit and saw that there were a number of events around London associated with the Greenwich + Docklands International Festival. Last year we happened to be in town for the festival and enjoyed it a lot. Mostly acrobatic performance art, or at least that is my recollection. This year’s theme was “Acts of Hope.” Anyway, we selected a few things that looked interesting to attend and, after breakfast, headed over to Greenwich on the very fast (and, it turned out, a bit splashy) Uber boat.

That was a tactical error, because it turned out that, while there were many events around town this weekend that are part of the International Festival, the festival at Greenwich was, in fact, last weekend. This was readily apparent when the boat (which held very few people for a Festival weekend), pulled up to a subdued and relatively empty dock. We regrouped a bit and visited the Greenwich market before planning how to get to a play called Sliding Slope which was over at the Royal Victoria Dock, no place close. After a long bus ride over to the O2 center, we walked over to the cable car entrance where I first understood that we were actually going to take a cable cars to get across the river. I am desperately afraid of heights, but I was more afraid of missing the performance, so cable cars it was.

Sliding Slope was interesting. Marginally based on the North Sea Flood in 1953, it depicted a group of people gathered on a submerged rooftop living out their final days as seas rose due to climate change. Dark content for a (mostly) sunny day, but thought provoking and interesting.

After a brief respite back at the Doubletree, we took a bus over near St. Paul’s where we found a cute pub built by Sir Christopher Wren, The Old Bell. It was supposedly built as living quarters for the stone masons completing reconstruction after the Great Fire.

We had a quick pint before heading out to Sir Christopher Wren’s possibly more famous project, St. Paul’s Cathedral. This was to be the site of another Greenwich + Docklands International Festival event, Resurgam. We had attempted to see this the day before, but with the train delays we experienced, we arrived only as the performers were taking a bow at the end. Resurgam is a vertical dance performance by an American company called Bandaloop, starting high on the South side of the cathedral and ending at the bottom. The performance, Resurgam, was named for the inscription that appears on that same wall, meaning “I shall rise.”

What can be said about this? It was beyond magical. Beautiful dancing, beautiful music, on a beautiful building. It was not lost on me what a coward I am for being afraid of the cable cars, when these dancers were doing this. My hands were wet with sweat in some form of solidarity. Solidarity, that is, if they felt any form of nervousness. They did not appear to.

We walked over the Millennium bridge afterward with throngs of happy people who had enjoyed the performance toward our first stint, at Shakespeare’s Globe, as groundlings. The play was As You Like It. And what can I say but I will never try to experience a play at the Globe any other way. We were standing on the left edge of the stage with our arms resting on it. Yes, we stood for about 2 hours, but there was nothing tiring about it. We were in that play, seeing every twitch on the faces of the actors. Loved the play, loved the music, loved the experience. I even collected an apple from one of the actors, shown below.

And though it had been a big day and quite late when we returned to the hotel, I couldn’t begin to settle down to sleep. Maybe the plane ride back to Chicago?

New tricks

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I concluded my last post by commenting that Arsenal tickets would be in short supply next season and that turned out to be accurate. The historical source of all of my tickets except one—a season ticket held by a former colleague in the London office of my former employer—dried up this year. Too many people wanting tickets from that source. So we turned to the club and got “Red memberships.” This allowed us to participate in a lottery for tickets to home matches. New Trick #1. We’ve entered the lottery religiously for every match, and found success for only one so far—this week’s match against Manchester United. We’ve never before attended this match.

We’ll be in the “Clock End” this time. Our former tickets were in the North Bank, opposite the Clock End. I have mixed feelings about this. Arsenal has often been more productive in the second half, right in front of the North Bank goal. But we’ll be in the stadium, no?

News of getting the match tickets came late, about 3 weeks in advance. Flights were more expensive than usual and we ended up flying on United, a later flight than normal, closer to natural bedtime for someone living in Chicago. Maybe we would be able to sleep on the plane.

And, we selected a new hotel. Last year, there was something that made me long for familiarity. Maybe it was due to coming off the pandemic. We visited several hotels we had been too before, revisited many restaurants we visited before, and visited several attractions we had visited before. This year, time to mix it up. Our hotel this time is the Doubletree Tower Hill. Yes, a neighborhood we’ve stayed in many times. The hotel is nothing special, but location is great. The photos I’m taking are dominated by the Tower of London, the Shard, and Tower Bridge.

Because our flight was late into London, we checked into our hotel later than usual and had a shorter first day in town. That allowed us to be EARLY to a place we’ve never before been able to get into: Gordon’s wine bar, supposedly the oldest wine bar in London, which may make it the oldest in Europe. New Trick #5 (or maybe we are up to 6 by now). Gordon’s has operated since 1890.

When we arrived we were told there were no available tables in the wine cave, but were given a number on the waiting list. #1. Can’t beat that. We ordered at the bar while waiting for a table. I had a small glass of amontillado, having no idea what it was. The bartender promised it was “meaty” and had high alcohol content. I selected it because of the Edgar Allen Poe short story and because it actually did come from a cask. In googling it today, I understand it’s a sherry.

When we were seated in the very cool wine cave, I somehow convinced my husband to try the British Sharing Board, a board of Stilton, cheddar, a scotch egg, and a pork pie, accompanied by cornichons, jam, bread and butter. A scotch egg is kind of like a hard boiled egg in a ball of sausage. I’ve had one before at the Borough market. Warmed, on a bed of arugula. This one was served cold. I love love love cheese. However, the acquisition of the Sharing Board is a New Trick unlikely to be repeated. Somehow, I married a guy who is just not that into cheese.

We left Gordon’s and took the bus over to the Serpentine South gallery in Hyde Park to see an exhibit called “Webs of Life,” by Tomas Saraceno. The draw for me was seeing art made via—ok, they called it—a “collaboration” with spiders. Put your head around that for a moment. It was extremely beautiful and impactful. Intricate, varying spider webs beautifully backlit in a dark room. I desperately want to share photos of the exhibit, but we were required to check our phones before entering. This was to acknowledge the damage to human and animal life of materials and processes producing lithium batteries, which was also a focus of the exhibit. We were given the card below “from the artist” in exchange for checking our phones.

We took a long and fruitless train ride to view another attraction, arriving just a bit late. We will try again on Saturday.

Exhausted, because even the flight that leaves Chicago at about our natural bed time still requires sleeping sitting up, something we have consistently failed to successfully achieve, we went back to our hotel. Where we could be blissfully horizontal, a decidedly old trick.

We’ve got Granit Xhaka

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Or, at least we still did by the end of the last match of the season, which took place Sunday under sunny skies. By the time I get off this plane, I would not be surprised to hear about his plans to move on. But I hope not.

The mood at The Emirates could have been anything after the way we capitulated the Premier League title. I didn’t expect it to be quite that cheerful. But extremely cheerful it was. 

With regard to our time in London, after we visited the Troubles exhibit at the War Museum, we also visited the exhibit about video war games. Like all the exhibits, it was excellent. I am predisposed to think negatively of video games like many people of “my generation,” but there were plenty of things about the exhibit that gave me, lo these many years later, a grudging appreciation of what a video game provides a participant that cannot be replicated in a book or a movie. And though I do not love that war is replicated in video games, I have to agree with the exhibit: we have long simulated war in play.

We also took a tour of the London Opera House. We have stopped in before when there were no tours, but it’s way more interesting to hear about the history of the Opera House with a very enthusiastic guide and see behind the scenes. While we were touring, a rehearsal was in session and it was cool to hear the performers working on the show. I especially enjoyed hearing about how the sets are created and controlled, and how they evolved over time to become particularly flexible and easy to shift to support a production. And made a note of how awesome it would be some sunny day to have a drink in the Opera café overlooking the Covent Garden market.

After that, we walked over to the Albert & Victoria Museum. I cannot in good conscience give any review. We were exhausted and unable to appreciate it. We decided to find the most significant 10 works, but quit well before that. Another time….

Sunday morning we got up and went to the Mattins service at St. Paul’s cathedral, across the street from our hotel, the Lost Property. It was something else to be in a service like that, in a building like that. The service was mostly choral music. The acoustics of the cathedral are not made for understanding the lyrics, but they are perfect for making you feel like you are experiencing something incredibly special.

The match was later than usual, so we hit up the Princess of Shoreditch for Sunday roast at lunch time instead of dinner. Delicious as always. Then we walked to the match. Long walk. 

I’ve mentioned the Arsenal player Granit Xhaka in previous blogs. For many years after he arrived in 2016 he picked up a lot of red and yellow cards. I remember Arsene Wenger saying, as a means of explanation, he really doesn’t know how to tackle. When you are a top professional, not being able to perform an activity essential to your job is probably not a thing you want your manager to notice about you.

Still, he’s been a starter for the entire time he’s been with the team, usually playing the entire 90 minutes, and has been remarkably healthy for a Gunner. I can’t think of many times he’s been out for injury. 

While he has always seemed to have enjoyed the trust of the Arsenal manager, across three of them no less, and has been a leader among the players, he has not been a fan favorite. There was just always a sense that we could do better. And frustrations with the cards and defensive mistakes. 

All of this culminated in the situation I described in He’s sleeping on the couch now, where as captain of our team he was encouraged/booed off the pitch by fans and responded, let’s say, not well. 

After that event, he was stripped of the captaincy by then-manager Unai Emery and was seemingly on his way out of the team. He said his bags were literally packed and ready to be shipped when our current manager, Mikel Arteta, convinced him not to leave. 

His path to redemption has been nothing short of outrageous.

Because of his early propensity to get carded for fouls, fans now feel a sense of shared defensiveness when he gets a card. It’s started to feel like his reputation and not his actions have caused unfairness by referees. In fact, when someone on another team gets away with a minor foul, everyone–not just our fans–will ask, “Now, if that had been Granit Xhaka, would it have been a yellow card?” 

Fans also started to get a grudging appreciation of his mastery of the dark arts, especially his ability to draw fouls just when we need them. He has this one patented move where he falls with the ball magically between his arms once he hits the deck. It is for sure going to be called a foul by the opponent or a handball by Xhaka. It gets called a foul by the referee every time. My husband says to to hapless, alleged fouler on the TV, “You’ve been Xhakaed.” And Xhaka is now able to get into an argument on the field with an opponent and take it all the way to the edge of the line, when in the past he might have come unhinged and well over the line.

Most importantly, Xhaka has become a critical part of how Arsenal play now. He is much more mobile and involved offensively. His passing is significantly improved and critical to the success of the team. He’s scored goals.

As a result, he’s become a serious fan favorite. Last year, after so many years in the team, he was endowed by the fans with his own song. 

We’ve got (clap clap) Granit Xhaka

We’ve got (clap clap) Granit Xhaka

When interviewed, he’s been open about how much that means to him. 

Everyone talks about how much he changed to be able to win support from the fans that he never had, but I would argue it’s equally true that the change is about the fans. We are able to take the occasional bad with the mostly good, and have appreciation for what our team, including Xhaka, delivers.

He stayed when it was hard, and we fans stayed when it was hard. We worked through our respective stuff and came out better–for ourselves and each other.

It’s clear: Not only have we got Granit Xhaka, we finally “get” Granit Xhaka.

Unfortunately, he’s out of contract soon and, rumor has it, wants to live elsewhere for family reasons. Or, alternate rumor, wants a longer contract than Arsenal are willing to give him at his age. Rumors aside, there are probably many reasons. In any case, it was believed that Sunday’s match was his last one in an Arsenal jersey. 

He had a marvelous day Sunday. Not only did he score the first two goals, he was fervently sung throughout the match. He was taken out of the match with about 15 minutes remaining, and the cheering and singing of support was deafening. In contrast with St. Paul’s Cathedral it is easily possible to understand the lyrics sung in the Emirates. He even got a new song on Sunday when he was substituted. Well, new lyrics to a common tune.

We want you to stay
We want you to stay
Granit Xhaka
We want you to stay

Oh yeah, there were 3 other Arsenal goals. The match ended 5-0.

We end the season with remorse for what we failed to do, but with happiness for what we achieved and optimism for the future.

I’m already scheming about tickets next season.

They will be in short supply.

Touring with James Joyce

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It was cheaper to fly into London and then to Dublin, and we had a very long layover. In an effort to have a quick adventure in London, we investigated checking our luggage early but were rebuffed by Aer Lingus. In the end, we took it with us and took the Piccadilly line to Gloucester Road. We had a coffee and pastry from Gail’s Bakery and then lunch at a pub we’ve visited before, the Heredsford Arms. Yes, dessert first, then main. Life is unpredictable. The blueberry and custard brioche was worthy of that order. Then back to Heathrow. 

We were in Dublin for four nights total. How we organized our time was very much focused on something important to my husband. As a young person he became acquainted, and ultimately obsessed, with the Irish writer, James Joyce. His Masters studies were focused on Joyce and his Masters thesis was about “The Dead,” a short story in Dubliners.

When our youngest child was born almost 22 years ago, we foolishly went to the hospital for a scheduled c section with a too-long list of possible boy’s names and a too-long list of possible girls’ names. After our son’s birth, we were able to throw out one list, but the remaining list had not settled a serious family political issue. My husband had been named for his father, and there was some desire and some pressure to follow suit with our son. (Meanwhile, our 3-1/2 year old daughter told everyone the baby’s name was “Trickely Thomas.”) Looking at our newborn son, we decided he most looked like a James. This was not the multi-generation family name that would have brought the happiest family resolution, but we went forward with it. My mother-in-law had come into town to care for our daughter during the week of the birth. I don’t know whether she really believed this or was simply making peace, but she told the family our son was named after James Joyce. Everyone knew how much my husband loved James Joyce. It was accepted. 

James Joyce grew up in Dublin in the late 19th century and though he left Ireland early in life, most of his works were set in Dublin. When he wrote Ulysses, he told an interviewer that it had been his intention for anyone to be able to visually reconstruct Dublin simply by reading his book. His wishes were granted for the people who are able to undergo the effort required to read it, but it is entirely possible that the writing of this celebrated book did truly preserve for the rest of us parts of Dublin that may not have survived. For example, 100 years later, it is still possible to visit a cafe mentioned in the book and buy a Gorgonzola sandwich, just as one of the characters in the book did. 

A few months before we left for this trip I tried to read Ulysses, about two men living one day in Dublin. I couldn’t get past the first page. So you get the picture. We were in Dublin, one of us loving James Joyce and understanding Dublin through his literature and one of us knowing very little about him.

Using James Joyce to guide our journey was still a great way to tackle Dublin. We started at the James Joyce Centre associated with Trinity College, where we took a wonderful walking tour to see some of the sites important to James Joyce, the emerging writer, and to plot points in his books. I would guess I was one of the few people on the tour who was not a Joyce lover and what I loved best was seeing my husband with “his people,” including our excellent guide, Josh, who grew up in Buffalo, NY and fell in love with James Joyce and Dublin so much he never left.We also visited a Martello tower along the coast that Joyce lived in for a few days and where he set a scene in Ulysses. My husband was quickly adopted by the volunteer tour guide, Nile, clearly a Joyce fanatic, while I enjoyed the beautiful scenery and watching people swim and laugh in a pool in what looked like a very cold sea—something people had long enjoyed doing, even during the time Joyce found himself there. We also visited the Museum of Literature Ireland, which has a great exhibit on Joyce.

We visited every James Joyce site we could find on the map we had received at the James Joyce Centre by the time we left Dublin. As my husband was taking a picture at one of the sites, he said, wistfully, “I just wish there was someone I could share these pictures with.” The person in his life who had loved James Joyce as much as my husband, Professor James Frakes at Lehigh University, passed away many years ago. 

I dedicate these pictures of my experience touring Dublin through the lens of James Joyce to the people in our lives who become captivated by something or someone, changed by it, guided by it. We may not ourselves understand that something or someone, but we can honor it, and love them even more for it.

With no regard for James Joyce at all, we also visited Howth where we hiked along the Cliff walk, visited the Guinness factory which concludes with a pint in a rooftop bar, strolled in St. Stephen’s Green, and visited the General Post Office Museum focused on the Easter uprising of 1916. Highly recommend all four.