Les Misérables

45. See Les Misérables

12 hours since I left the theatre, and I am sitting here conducting the soundtrack into thin air at my desk, unable to concentrate on anything else.

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!

Six weeks shy of my 30th birthday and I have finally been privy to the wonder that is Les Misérables, enjoying its own 30th year on London's West End.

How did it come to take me so long? I have known much of the music from various choirs, orchestras, singing lessons and piano books across the years but had never seen them put together. I missed the opportunities when it, on rare occasion, would be performed in Adelaide.

In 2012, I refused to watch the movie featuring Russell Crowe and Hugh Jackman. I wanted to see it on the stage first. I didn't know if I would like it, but dammit, I wanted to see it.

By 2014, I had crumbled, and watched the [abomination] of a movie. Now I had a fair idea at least of the plot and how the music I knew so well fitted into the story line. I read as people complained that there was no speaking in the movie, and shook my head at the stupidity of humankind.

Fast forward to arriving in London in June 2014. Here was my chance: Les Misérables was performed on the West End, every night, and had been for 30 years. And I waited. I waited for discounts and special deals which never came.

When it came time to write my bucketlist for the last few weeks I have left in London, I put Les Misérables at the top. Dan and I had been saying for the longest time that we should use his theatre tokens on Les Mis, but we continuously forgot to take them into the city to buy the tickets.

Finally the day came. Tickets had been purchased a few weeks before, seats D 1 & 2. My day at work was less than ideal, but I was looking forward to that evening. I rushed out of work towards a restaurant near the theatre, blathering away to Dan about how excited I was and occasionally breaking into song.

On my own
Pretending he's beside me
All alone
I walk with him till morning
 
The Queen's Theatre is a beautiful theatre right in the heart of the district. I was worried about Stall seats because I often struggle to see past people, but the stage was high enough that the people in front did not obscure my view.

The show
From watching the movie, I had a sort of idea what the plot was, so I wasn't going in blind to the story line. Les Misérables is quite a complex narrative spanning multiple narratives across many years, culminating in Paris in 1823 with the uprising of the French Revolution. If you don't already know the general story line, then this blog post is probably not for you!

To be fair, I couldn't really remember what happened. And so I watched with baited breath and anticipation as the plot continued to unfold. We had the understudy for the main character Jean Valjean and honestly, he was so incredible that I felt it was a disservice for him to be the understudy.

Javert was a suitably stiff and stoic character, with a permanent frown whose staccato tone punctuated his unwavering commitment to hunting down Jean Valjean. The tragic Fantine grew higher and higher in my regard, and I loved the beauty and relaxed aura she possessed at the very end when she returned to Jean Valjean. Cosette felt a little over performed, but still possessed an incredible soprano voice and Eponine, the beautiful Eva Noblezada who I had seen previously in Miss Saigon, was wonderfully heartfelt for her rendition of On my own.

I giggled a few times throughout - not least because of the Master of the House, the wicked and immoral Monsieur Thénardier and Madame Thénardier and the small moments of comic relief are truly a relief in this ultimately tragic tale.

Conclusion
At the end of the show, after joining most of the crowd in a standing ovation, I turned to Dan and said,
"Can we see it again? Like, now?"

I have now spent all morning listening to each of the songs again, desperate to commit the words to memory. Les Misérables has now joined my list of favourite musicals, and has gone from a show-I-guess-I-should-see to a show-that-I-must-see-again-and-again.

Til next time,
xx

Dismaland

On 27 August, I was lucky enough to nab tickets to Dismaland, an exclusively limited Banksy exhibition that would only be running for a number of weeks.

Each week, the tickets would go on sale for the following week and each week, these tickets sold out within 4 hours.

So I was quite surprised and ecstatic when, after pressing refresh furiously, I made it through. I grabbed two tickets for a grand total of £10 for Saturday 5 September and rejoiced.

Saturday 5 September
As I had managed to get through to purchase the tickets, Dan organised our transport there. Dismaland was held on an abandoned block in Weston-super-mare (or Weston-Super-Mario, as it was henceforth named) which is a good two hours out of London. Transport was significantly more expensive than the tickets themselves, which is mildly ironic, but everything about the day was well worth the cost.

There were three ticket times you could choose from, and for each wave the previous group had to leave. 11am, 2pm (closing at 6pm), reopening at 7pm. We chose the 2pm time slot as that afforded us the most time in the park.

After a number of excited hours on the train getting to Weston-Super-Mario, we alighted and paused outside the station. Many of the train passengers began walking in a certain direction and so we decided to follow. Very soon, however, we realised that Banksy was indeed showing us the way.

The pavement was graffitied with signage pointing us in the right direction (making sure to use safe walking crossing and pedestrian lights) for the about 15 minute walk to the fairground. We were running a bit early, so we made our way down to the beach. Yes, beach! At no point did it occur to me that I would be seeing beach, nor sandy beach, and so I had a small homesick moment as I realised I had seen very little (to almost no) sandy beach in over a year. Soon, this gave way to wonder as Dan pointed to the landscape across from us, commenting "That's Wales."

A little bit before 2pm we began wandering towards Dismaland, just in time. The queue formed long behind us and we waiting impatiently for the time to roll around.

Inside Dismaland
I saw people ahead of me being turned away from ticket and ID checking. What's going on? I thought. I finally got to the front and realised our ticket inspector was being a tool and forcing people to join the back of the other queue. I passed over my ticket, not sure what to expect. Bored, he looked at it, scrunched up his face, cocked his head in the direction of the entrance and said, "Piss off."

I did as I was told and entered the first building which was set up like airport security. Except everything was made out of cardboard. I approached the security station.

"Stop smiling." The attendant glared at me. I couldn't wipe the grin from my face.
"Look into that camera there," she said, pointing to a cardboard camera affixed to the wall. I attempted to still my face. "Look into it 5 seconds. We are watching you. Stop smiling."

Finally, I was allowed to enter and, as I waited for Dan's interrogation, two more security personnel surrounded me.
"What have you got in your bag?"
"My coat and tissues, mostly, I'm sick!"
"Urgh! Get out of here with your germs!" and Dan and I burst into the bemusement park.

We didn't quite know where to start. There was a huge line forming on our left and so, true to the human condition, we decided to join it. While in the line, I wandered to the programme stand.
"May I have a programme please?"
"I suppose so," was the bored and uninterested reply. He then asked me if I was Australian. "Bloody long way to come for wind and rain," he said and handed me the programme.

The queue was for a long hall along the left hand side of the bemusement park. Once inside, it was an incredible exhibition of sculpture, paintings and miscellaneous, including a few unassuming Banksy's.

Pretty certain this was art too.

After the hall, I was desperate to go on the Ferris Wheel and after a short line up we clambered aboard. My hands were shaking from my fear of heights, when the ferris wheel suddenly started up backwards and incredibly fast. I found it rather terrifying, but it also afforded an amazing view of the park, across the beach and all the way to Wales. A number of terrifying circulations later and I was back on solid ground, legs shaky.

We were ready for a sit down, and grabbed ourselves a couple of ciders and nestled down at the 'cinema' - a roughly-hour-long loop of short videos on every subject from diving giraffes to the wonders of ageing, to hard hitting international themes.

From here, we had a look in a circus tent which had a real live(dead) unicorn. Next to it was a pond with remote control boats. Cool! I thought, and we put our pound in and started whizzing the boats around. It was then I realised...the boats were filled with people. There was one boat that looked suspiciously liked a police boat. The boats were filled with refugees and there were a handful of dolls lying face down, drowned, in the water. This was only days after the poor small boy was found on the beach and I felt incredibly sad and uncomfortably and ceased to spin my boat around.

Powerful stuff. Thought provoking. To cheer up, we jumped on the carousel - another first for Dan! After the ticket girl begrudgingly gave us our tickets and told us not to fall off, the carousel set off - backwards. After a minute it ground to a half and then started off the right way around. Up and down and up and down - I felt like a kid again!

We also had a look inside the main Cinderella castle, one of the major Banksy works. Once inside, it was pitch black - the illumination coming from strobing flash lights. Cameras. Paparazzi. Cinderella's carriage was upturned, Cinderella hanging out the window. An allusion to Princess Diana, by any chance?

A video posted by flossycomet (@flossycomet) on Sep 25, 2015 at 12:32am PDT

By now, it was almost time for our Dismaland experience to be over and, a quick picture through the Selfie Hole and we shuffled our way out of the door.

***
I feel very lucky to have been able to experience Dismaland and for it to live up to expectations. The staff were perfectly in character, I could imagine them going home each evening, excitedly telling their friends So I was a total arsehole to this family today... The art was beautiful, interesting, thought provoking, hard-hitting and exceptionally well done. And, a little fact - once Dismaland was over, it was dismantled and all the materials used to built shelters for refugees at Calais. Cool, huh?

Dan and I finished the day with fish and chips on the beach (which made me feel strangely homesick!) before settling down for the long train journey home.

xx

Unfuck the system.

Edinburgh Fringe Festival

14. Go to the Edinburgh Fringe

I had given up on it. I was broke and I had left it far too late to get accommodation in Edinburgh. I was recovering (emotionally and financially) from my Summer of Fun when Britbound suddenly posted a registration of interest - would anyone be interested in a weekend trip to Edinburgh on the last week of the Fringe.

I was slightly beside myself. Yes, I did want to go. No, I couldn't afford the deposit. Yes, could you please save me a space?

For those one or two people I didn't speak to at length about this (and for those who have heard it all already, just skip down a couple of paragraphs), I will explain why I was so desperate to attend the Edinburgh Fringe. My little home, little Adelaide, hosts the second biggest Fringe festival in the world. Second to Edinburgh. It is the only time of year that Adelaide can proudly puff out its chest and feel good about itself (before it promptly goes back to sleep for the remaining 11 months of the year). The Adelaide Fringe is a magical time of year, with fairy lights and hidden alley ways, art and artists, plays, theatre and comedy, comedy, comedy.

Being a Fringe aficionado, I wanted to see how Adelaide's big brother did things, and so I was off to the Edinburgh Fringe.

Friday 28 September
The mode of transport for the Britbound trip was via coach. Coach is easily my least favourite form of transport, but beggars can't be choosers and coach was by far the cheapest option at this time of year. I met the rest of the troupe at Victoria Station and we boarded the near-empty bus. Twelve had registered but only 5 joined the tour, with the sixth never showing up (Does she exist? Who is she?). With our intrepid leader Jordan at the helm, we spread ourselves across the bus, a double seat to each of us, and settled in for the 10 hour bus journey ahead.

We passed the time with some hilarious personality tests (I like my men enormous, grey and wrinkly, in case any one was wondering), dozing, complaining about the length of the journey and testing our knowledge at pub quizzes (note to self: enter pub quizzes). As we crossed the Scottish border, passing gorgeous rolling hills and the greenest of green grass, we started having a look at what shows were on that evening. Why not try to grab a show the moment we arrive?

There are two noticeable differences between Adelaide's Fringe and Edinburgh's, both due to demand and sheer volume of people.

1. The daily show cycle begins at 5pm ends at 4.59pm the following day. That's a 24 hour period, every day. Adelaide's Fringe is closed during the day of most week days, and tends to end around 2-3am each night.
2. Free shows. In Adelaide, we only get free shows (really) if performers are handing out free tickets. In Edinburgh, there is an entire programme dedicated to free shows, with shows running constantly throughout the day and night. These free shows then ask a small donation which you are at liberty to pay or not (I usually threw some coins in). I was overwhelmed by the free shows, and decided that I would spend most of my time trying these out.

We walked through the streets of Edinburgh to our hostel, The Hostel, got settled, then jumped back out onto the streets to make our way to Cowgate, where the majority of the free shows were being held.

The Free Sisters (renamed for the duration of the Fringe from The Three Sisters) was a multi-level pub with a rabbit warren of rooms, all of different sizes and capacities. This is where I would spend the majority of my time.

BattleActs!

Comedy just got nasty.

This was one of my highlights of the Fringe and the first show to be seen, too! BattleActs! consisted of 3 improv actors on stage who took audience suggests for scenes to act out. But to make things more complicated, there were certain rules. For instance, in this scene, no one is allowed to use the letter 'e'. Or every sentence has to begin with the next sequential letter of the alphabet. And who ever does the best, is the funniest or just down-right does an excellent job collects the points. Highly recommend.

As we were all completely exhausted from a long day of doing nothing, we turned in after the show ready for an early start in the morning.

Saturday 29 August
First thing this morning we made our way to Edinburgh Castle to do a spot of sightseeing. On the way, Ann mentioned that she was going to do a whiskey tasting after the tour and I wholeheartedly agreed to join. I don't even like whiskey, but when in Rome, eh? Er..Edinburgh..

We arrived at the castle early, meaning we managed to bypass most of the queue. There was an incredible view from up here, and we all split up so we could peruse at our various paces. Anna and I made our way through the prisoners latrines, and rooms dedicated to medals, war and bagpipes.

We all returned to the entrance at roughly the same time and, as we were to be waiting for Sally to rejoin us for the whiskey tour, we wandered down the hill to check out the markets. They were a little small but it filled in the time. There was an armoury shop nearby, and I was excited to see Eddard Stark's sword, Thor's hammer and Legolas's blades.

Back up, up, up to the castle, collecting multiple free vodka shots along the way, it was time for the whiskey tasting at The Scotch Whisky Experience.

Quiz time, kids! What's the difference between scotch and whisky?
Absolutely nothing. Scotch is simply Scottish whisky, and has been called thus so it can be differentiated from other kinds of whisky. Scottish whisky is unique because, similar to Belgium with their chocolate, it is highly regulated and must maintain a certain quality level.

Sally, Ann and I jumped into our barrel ready for our Whisky Experience. The barrel ride (aside from letting us sit down for a while!) explained the process of making single malt whisky. After the ride, we were escorted into a room where it was explained how the different flavours come about.

As we entered, we were given a sheet of paper with four distinct colours. We soon learnt that these were scratch and sniff panels, and each referred to a district in Scotland and the exaggerated aromas and flavours that that district creates. At the end, we put our glass on the corresponding colour to receive a nip of that region's whisky.

I chose, possibly ill-advisedly, red for the Islay region. The strongest, and the peatiest smell. Lowland region was vanilla, Highland was strangely banana and fruit flavoured, Speyside was quite floral and Islay blew ones face off with smoke. We all went Islay.

Next, we were herded into a room with thousands of bottles adorning the walls. They had been collected here and many were so old, the scotch had evaporated to almost nothing. Here, we learnt how to taste the whisky properly. First, stick your nose in the glas and breathe as deeply as you can.

Shudders, coughs, splutters, exclaimations of "Shit, I think I'm drunk off the fumes."

Ok, let's try that again. The second breath was much easier. Next, take a small sip and let it roll around the mouth for a few seconds. We were being herded to the next room where we were promised more and interesting bottles, and so I downed the remainder of my whisky (with a shudder) and with my very, very warm belly, proceeded to the next room.

Here we were greeted by some fantastical bottles. A miniature grandfather clock. A Scotsman, complete with kilt. A chess set, each individual piece a shot of whisky.

Our tour guide explained, "The bar here boasts the second largest collection of different whiskys with over 400 to choose from. The first largest..well, that's in our basement bar. We have to be both number 1 and 2!"

We finished the tour with a few more free shots (oh wait, that was mostly me...) and, with our bellies grumbling, it was time for lunch. I can't recommend the Scotch Whisky Experience enough - it was excellent fun and the guide was knowledgeable and hilarious.

Next stop: Lunch. This would prove exceptionally difficult as we were a troupe of 5 and it was dead on lunch time - every where was filled. We returned past the free shots of vodka, and after the whisky, we weren't sure if it was alcoholic or not. We tried about 5 or 6 places before finding one that had space outside. Oddly enough, it was a gorgeous day and not what I had ever expected of Scotland, notorious for being grey and rainy (even more so than London).

Lunch was an obvious choice: on the menu was a "Wee haggis" with a side of neets and taters. This was to be my first taste of haggis, and I was quite excited. In case I didn't like it, I ordered the wee haggis as entree, with a pie for mains.

The verdict? I thought it was rather delicious. It wasn't encased in the stomach lining, and was more of a mushy smush on top of the potatoes and turnips. The texture was a fraction offputting; it felt like it stuck to the top of ones mouth. But all in all, I enjoyed it and finished the whole dish. I was completely and utterly full, and lamenting the pie I had also ordered.

After lunch, we split up to go our separate ways. I was painfully full (quite literally in pain), but decided to join Larissa to see a show. We saw two shows back to back, while I became progressively drunker to try to quell the pain in my belly.

The Coin-Operated Girl - A Sex Worker's Real Life Revelations of Frivolous Fornication
Here's the truth about sex workers, their clients, and the hilarious, heart-warming and often bizarre moments in a unique career.Not my favourite show of the Fringe, but refreshingly different with a couple of laugh-out-loud moments. More than anything, I enjoyed her passionate and educated opinion on sex work, women's rights, freedom of body and that women should be allowed to do as they wish safely and without judgement. It was eye opening and gently amusing.

Paul Savage: Tired and Emotional
Paul Savage can't sleep. It's been 20 years and insomnia is turning him into a lunatic. Share in the ludicrous, pointless, insane ramblings his sleep-deprived mind subjects him to.Struggling with sleep myself, I felt I could relate to this show. Some of his rambles made utter sense to me, as one lies there staring at the back of ones eyeballs trying not to think, and trying desperately to sleep. Some of his jokes were quite geeky, which appealed to me, and I giggled my way through his hour. I gave him £5 as I very much enjoyed his show and in return he gave me a comic book. 

After this show, we decided to meet up with the rest and try to get them to another show that evening which was compared by the lady who hosted The Coin-Operated Girl. It was a disaster.

Single Comedians Trying to Impress You
[Can't find it in the booklet...which may explain a lot...]
In a nutshell, it was supposed to be a variety act with comedians talking about their sex lives. None of the comedians turned up, and the host was left by herself. She told us the show had been cancelled but, upon seeing us all standing outside, decided to try to wing it none-the-less. Let's just say it should have been cancelled. Awkward conversations ending with a girl taking the stage to discuss how she managed to leave a cult. The end didn't come soon enough. Crash and burn.

After the failure of the last show, we weren't sure what to do. Some were keen to head back to the hostel, but Jordan, Gabriel and I decided to stay on.

A variety show - the name escapes me.
I can't remember the name of this show but it was one of the best ones I saw in the Fringe. We sat in the front row and consequently were picked on. I was picked on for working in the field of social media, for which I "probably get paid really well for not having a real job". One of the comedians had spent quite a bit of time in Australia and enjoyed having us in his front row. The show ended with a comedian who played the guitar who was hosting a show later that evening, and so we decided to stick around for that one.

At this point Dan arrived in Edinburgh and joined us for the last show. It was sadly not a good a show, which we should have picked up on by the time it was on - but that isn't always an indicator of a bad show.

Another variety one - the name also escapes me
This was hosted by the comedian from the last show and was clearly a gathering of the much smaller comedians trying to break into the scene. Up first was a Japanese girl who was constantly heckled by a drunk man up the back. This flustered her so much she ended her set very quickly, and thankfully the man also left. The other two comedians were marginally funnier but still not amazing. It ended soon enough and it was time to make our way back to The Hostel.

Sunday 30 August
Most of the Britbounders left early this morning to go to Loch Ness to try to spot Nessy. I was in Edinburgh for the Fringe, knowing full well I would be returning to Scotland one day, and so I opted not to join. As Dan and his friend Dion had arrived in Edinburgh the night before, I decided to head with the up to Arthur's Seat, a hill on the outskirts of the city with 360 degree views of the landscape.

After a quick breakfast, we started the trek towards the hill. Upon arrival, we couldn't decide which way to go, and so I said "Let's take the stairs!" not realising that I may have chosen the most difficult route to the top. It was steep, the first section took us about 20 minutes to reach the first set of stairs. From there, another 20 minutes to the top. The stairs were jagged rocks and the final flight was simply a leg-wide gap between high rocks.

Puffing, we made it to the top, and the view was indeed spectacular. Suddenly, we heard a guitar strumming, and realised a quartet had brought their instruments to the top and were serenading those who had completed the climb. The day was simply stunning; glorious blue sky, little puffy white clouds, bright green rolling hills, the city spread out on our left and the ocean to our right. We claimed victory and Arthur's Seat in our name!

Down the steep hill and it was time to bid Dan and Dion adieu. I grabbed a pie from Auld Jock's Pie shop while I tried to figure out what to do next. On my walk to the pie shop, I had wandered through the main strip where I was given what felt like hundreds of fliers for shows happening in the next couple of hours. While I ate my pie, I perused the fliers, and settled on a musical. The actors had excitedly approached me along the strip, babbling "We have just found out we won an award!" (the name of which escapes me) and so, after some to-ing and fro-ing, I decided to see Departures: A song cycle.

Departures: A song cycleEight strangers stand at a nondescript railway platform on an unremarkable weekday afternoon. As their train is delayed further, they put down their crumpled Metros, pocket their bleeping smartphones – and begin to share their secrets, hopes and fears.This was the first and only show I paid for, and it only came in at £10. It was based on stories by real people interviewed waiting for the London Underground. The songs had a very Sondheim-esque feel to them and with 9 distinct themes it was fascinatingly woven together. The characters were the disgruntled train employee, watching the passengers, a young businessman who is dreaming that there must be more to life, a young girl who looked after her cancer-stricken mother, a Polish migrant looking for work to support his wife and small child, a brash mother, a hipster, a feminist looking for love on Tinder, a depressed teenager and an elderly gentleman who feels he is invisible in today's society. In all, it was deep, amusing, well sung and well written.

After the show, I wasn't sure what to do next, but found my way back to The Free Sisters, grabbed a leaflet and decided to see another free show. Jordan had said this guy was funny, and you just start laughing "the moment you look at him". So I gave it a go.

James Dowdeswell's Perfect PubGeorge Orwell wrote an essay on the perfect pub. A fictitious pub called the Moon Under Water. With the help of the audience, James designs the perfect pub. James has a lazy eye, which explains Jordan's comments. He referred to his eye on a few occasions when he was picking on members of the audience - "No, I'm looking at YOU OVER THERE", pointing dramatically off into the distance. The show consisted of taking audience suggestions for what we want in a pub, interspersed with quick witted comments and other pub-related stories by the comedian. Unfortunately with my fear of public speaking, I spent much of the first part panicking he would pick on me and so I didn't pay a lot of attention to what was being said. The audience were very conservative at first, wanting "more chairs" and "well priced alcohol", but we eventually made it to "water slides" and "breasts dispensing different types of ale depending on the colour, size and type of breast". 

After this I met up with Natalie my housemate and we saw one final show.

ShaggersThe worldwide hit show returns with a line-up of superb and varied comedians from all around the Fringe doing material based around the hilarious, cheeky subject of shagging. I had seen Shaggers advertised at the Adelaide Fringe but hadn't been to see it. As it was a free show here in Edinburgh, we thought, why not? It turned out to be a goodie. Compared by one of the comedians from the great show the night before, with 3 additional comedians, they all regaled us with stories from the bedroom. One of my favourites was a question posed of a man in the audience. "Who would you rather have sex with: Scarlett Johansson with a penis, or Alf Stewart from Home & Away with a vagina?" It took a bit of working through, but the audience member finally relented that it would have to ScarJo with tackle. It was a rather hilarious show and I do recommend it.

And that's all, kids! My final show. Nat, Gabriel and I met up with the rest of the troupe for dinner. To finish, we decided to partake in a ghost tour of the underground tunnels of Edinburgh. We finished our dinner and raced to the office, to find it dark and locked. We almost gave up, but decided to try the starting point. We made it there just in time and, scrounging together all of our cash, had just enough and were raced around to join the back of the group.

Our guide was a hilarious and theatrical gentleman and the tour was enlightening, amusing, and in many parts chilling. We climbed down the stairs to the underground cellars where Burke and Hare, the famous body snatchers, were said to have kept the bodies. Each of the rooms we entered we found out a bit about the beings that haunted it. I kept my cool rather well, but my fear of the dark did leave me particularly jumpy. There was a group of girls who kept squealing and this allayed my fears somewhat, more serving to irritate me instead.

We finished the night on a frightening note, and made our way back to The Hostel for one last snooze before jumping back on the bus to return to London on the morrow. And what a journey it was going to be.

Monday 31 August
There's not a lot to say about the bus journey aside from it being absolutely awful. The driver was rude and aggressive. We should have had 12 seats between the 6 of us - it is what had been paid for - but he had overpacked the bus to the point of us having to argue to get a seat at all. There was a spare seat in the middle and I asked if I could please sit down.

My rage swelling, I was in a talkative mood and proceeded to natter away with the gentleman sitting beside me. What was supposed to be an 8 hour drive took 12 due to traffic, our driver stopping for unknown reasons and just generally driving slowly. I talked to Chris for approximately 8 of these 12 hours and so that helped pass the time. Probably a good 2-3 of those hours was dedicated to complaining about how bad this bus ride was. We were convinced we had entered purgatory - limbo, and that we had always been on that bus and we were forever more going to be on that bus.

We finally made it back to Victoria Station (after passing my house 45 minutes previously), I jumped on a tube and arrived at my home at around 10.30pm.

***
It was an excellent weekend with a variety of shows of varying success rates. I was deeply impressed by the free shows on offer at Edinburgh Fringe. With over 3000 shows on the books, Edinburgh is definitely Adelaide's big brother (although Adelaide will always hold a very special place in my heart).

Til next time.
xx

1984

Big Brother is watching you.

Not all that long ago, I read the famed book by George Orwell: a bleak, depressing tale that resonates all too well in today's society. This stage production, I can safely say, is one of the best plays I have seen to date.

Tickets cost a mere £19.84 (see what they did there?) and, with no interval, it was 101 minutes of edge-of-your seat sensory overload.

Let's start with the book. The only deviation from the story was the beginning and end designed to bring the play into today's age to keep us ever thinking, "Are we truly free?" These new characters discovered the 'diary' of Winston, and decided that yes, indeed it was based on horrific true events but that they are now free from that past.

Or were they?

The small cast who played multiple roles led by the every-man Winston Smith, protagonist, thought-crime offender, lover and hypocrite and the upright and uptight Julia was impressive and utterly engaging. As I did with the book, I held out a little bit of fruitless hope for them. Silly me.

The set was incredible: it was a layered design, with the safe bedroom scenes acted off the stage and ironically displayed to the audience via a giant screen. Room 101 was an enormous, plain white set, which became progressively splattered with blood. It is better to describe it as a horror play, with the torture looking (and feeling and sounding) all too real. Strobe lighting was used to distract and confuse, with high pitched feedback designed to make us uncomfortable as we were unable to escape the squealing in our heads.

1 hour and 40 minutes later, we walked out of the theatre, hushed and contemplative.

War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.

 Big Brother is watching you.

Hamlet with Benedict Cumberbatch

A year ago, I checked my emails. I tend to do this quite regularly, but this morning was different. In my inbox was an email from Timeout (I highly suggest you join their mailing list, by the way) advertising that tickets would go on sale this morning at 10am.

Tickets to what? A stage production of Hamlet starring Benedict Cumberbatch.

Curious, I clicked the link and instantly joined an online queue. In my great wisdom, I hit refresh, and was suddenly thrust back to number 5000 in the queue. I decided to sit tight, and promptly forgot about it.

At 3pm that afternoon, my browser changed windows and I realised I had finally gotten through to purchase tickets. I spent some time finding two tickets next to each other (as by this stage, most tickets were single seat only), not knowing where I would be on 21 August one year later.

***
A few weeks before, I vetted Daniel as I wanted to make sure my spare ticket went to the most deserving person.
"Are you free on 21st of August?" I asked.
"Do you like Shakespeare?" I pointedly enquired.
"What is your opinion of Benedict Cumberbatch?"

Suitably impressed with his level of enthusiasm, the extra ticket was his. The tickets had sold out in that one day, and were now as valuable like gold.

Friday 21 August
After a delicious dinner at Gin Joint at the Barbican and a sneaky beverage outside, we made our way into the hall. I had, of course, misread the time and we were bustled to our seat about 1 minute before it was due to begin. We had a restricted view in the stalls on the right hand side of the stage (but what can you expect, being number 5000?) but the seats were still very good. In this position, we were unable to see the back of the stage but had a perfect view of the staircase, centre and left-side action.

Signs were posted everywhere and staff held bilboards stating that mobile phones were to be switched off. It is normal behaviour for it to be mentioned once, but it is my belief that a lot of the people in the audience were not regular theatre goers and were there simply for Benedict Cumberbatch, and therefore were not aware of theatre etiquette (even though you would think it would be common sense). Reminders not to use phones during the play (the light is distracting), not to film and not to take photos were repeated.

Hamlet was on the stage when the curtain rose, playing with a record player (another confusing item that threw out the time period), and everyone craned their neck to see Benedict Cumberbatch as well as they could. Our seats lend itself to a perfect view of this portion of the stage, and so I drank my fill.

The main curtain rose and the first thing I noticed was the set. Despite the tickets only being £30 each, a lot of time and effort had been spent designing intricate and elaborate sets and props. It was all set in one room, with a staircase to the left allowing for further stage areas. I struggled to decide what time period it was set in - some characters wore jeans and t-shirts, others wore what looked like period costumes with flowing dresses or tuxedos and the set design lent itself to a more old fashioned era.

Confession time: I studied Hamlet at university. And to be completely honest with you, I never finished reading it. I enjoyed the booked we paired with it more, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and that has become my favourite play. However, the opportunity to see Benedict Cumberbatch in the flesh and a mild interest in Hamlet was enough for me. I am not a Shakespeare afficiando, and I know that there were mixed reviews written about both the play and Cumberbatch's performance.

All I can say is: I enjoyed it. I thought he did a marvelous job, and was unexpectedly laugh-out-loud funny in places. I didn't feel he was overacting as some of the reviews claimed; to me it felt almost natural, the Shakespearean iambic pentameter.

In addition, I was pleasantly surprised to find another actors face that I recognised. In the intermission, I ran to buy a programme and, flicking through, realised that the uncle was portrayed by Ciaran Hinds, who plays Mance Rayder in Game of Thrones.

The second act saw exactly the same set: open space, set of stairs on the left, but now the entire space was filled with dirt, gravel, stones, rocks and wood and left me thinking, Thank god I don't have to clean up after this.

All in all, an enjoyable performance with great casting and sets, great use of lighting and slow motion to portray Hamlet's internalised conversations. The audience were well behaved (for once!) and many crowded around the outside gate for a glimpse of the man at the end of the show.

xx

Monty Python, the Holy Grail and the Magna Carta

I finally broke the dry spell.

It had been a really long time. A really long time. Since all the way back in February.

I was starting to get a bit agitated. A bit restless.

But I got lucky.

I spotted the tickets to the 40th Anniversary screening of Month Python and the Holy Grail on Twitter, being shown to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the Magna Carta at the British Library with Michael Palin himself guest speaking.

After months and months of no action, I finally saw a show.

***
I just happened to be filling in time in the morning, scrolling mindlessly through my Twitter feed when I spotted an ad for the Monty Python screening. Without further ado, I purchased two tickets that included the Michael Palin session, and then asked Daniel if he would like to join me. I figured there was no way I could miss out on seeing a Pythoner in the flesh - and we all know how much impulse control I have.

Tuesday 18 August
We made our way to the British Library and joined the queue in a comfortable embrace. As we shuffled forward, minding our own business, we suddenly heard a gruff voice beside us proclaiming loudly, "No Canoodling!" We jumped and moved apart to see a man in horns, a long coat and a staff glaring at us as he moved on past.

Spotting the ruckus, a Knight of the Round Table approached us with his clapping coconuts, motioning for me to take them. Brandishing said coconuts, he instructed me to move them at the pace at which Daniel, who was now acting as a horse, was to travel. I started clopping to coconuts quite slowly, and sped to an impossible pace.

I returned the coconuts with a giggle, and we continued forward in the line, where Tim the Enchanter awaited us, with nasty big pointy teeth. It was all a very silly start and already set us laughing.

We entered the almost full hall, not realising that people had been entering for some time. Luckily, we found two seats next to each other near the centre aisle with a great view of the stage. The seats were so comfy and made me wish that lecture theatres of my youth were this comfortable.

Michael Palin Q&A
The Q&A lasted almost an hour and was not only hilarious but informative. I felt the interviewer liked the sound of his own voice a lot, and many times I wished he would get to the point because I wasn't there to listen to him - I was there to hear Michael Palin. The interview truly came into its own when the interviewer threw questions to the audience (and ultimately shutted up).

With ease, Palin slipped into old and familiar accents used through out the movie, recreating scenes and giving us insight into how Monty Python and the Holy Grail was written, filmed, funded and promoted.

"My friends are getting married," one questioner asked, "You've been happily married for decades - do you have any advice for my friends?"

To which Palin responded, "Marry my wife!" 

All too soon it was over and time for us to wind our way out into the courtyard to settle down to watch the film.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
While I ducked to the bathroom, Daniel found us a great spot in the middle and near a food stall, allowing us to lean against it. I had expected us to be sitting on grass, but the screening was held in the concrete open aired piazza, a first for the library. We commended ourselves for bringing a picnic rug, a couple of cushions and a blanket and settled down for the film to start.

I discovered that I had never really watched the movie with anyone who was a fan. Here, surrounded by Pythoners, I discovered a whole new level of hilarity in the film. I, and everyone else, sang along while Brave Sir Robin ran away, said Ni!, and we all counted to three (not four, and five is right out) when the Holy Hand Grenade was launched.

It was a fun, well run evening by the British Library - even if the link between the Magna Carta and the Holy Grail was rather thin. 

Poor impulse control triumphs again!

***

NB: I realise I've made a lot of references in here that most sane people will not understand. Watch the movie, if you dare, although I don't think it will make much more sense!

xx

I'm on the telly, Ma!

37. Be part of a live audience for a TV show

Last week I wrote a bucket list. It wasn't long before I could make my first tick.

A friend was going to be part of a live audience for a show called The Last Leg. I googled said show and learnt that it is hosted by Australia's own Adam Hills, with co-hosts Alex Brooker and Josh Widdicombe.

“Adam Hills is really funny,” I said, “that’ll be heaps of fun!”

The following day, I received a message telling me where to meet as someone has pulled out and I can have the ticket. I’d started getting sick again and so I wasn’t sure if I should go but in the end figured, #yolo.

Can’t believe I just wrote that. And I didn’t actually think yolo.

Well, maybe.

The Last Leg began as a talk show to recap the events of the day during the 2012 London Paralympics to bring further awareness to the games and treat the athletes with the same level of respect as the able-bodied ones. It was so successful it spawned a further 4 series after the conclusion of the games and recaps the weekly news. It is filmed live, which means it goes to air immediately on Channel 4 in London (so no editing!), and then screened in Australia on Wednesdays at 9.30pm.

I met the troupe early and, over a couple of beverages and some food, got to know those I hadn’t met before. I was very excited and before long we joined the cue “by the black gate”. We had arrived early enough to get ourselves a blue wrist band and to be allowed in the first wave. Mini fist pump! See, they over allocate tickets to make sure the audience is definitely full, so you still have to arrive early to ensure a seat. To give you a bit of an indication, the show wasn’t to begin filming until 10pm, with doors opening a little after 9pm, and we were well and truly in the line at roughly 7.30.

Once inside (after a number of nervous toilet stops because once the filming starts - that’s it!) we were ushered to our seats. Our group of 6 were seated behind Adam Hills which gave us an obstructed view of him, but could see the other two presenters and the special guest with ease. Tonight’s special guest was…Russell Crowe. Big, big star, funny, but ultimately a bit of a bully. But we all knew that anyway. We made sure that all phones were well away so that he couldn’t throw one at us...

While we were seated, a comedian warmed up the audience. I wish I could remember his name, but it has escaped me. Edit: @TheLastLeg read my blog and informed me his name is Mark Olver - thank you! He identified which country we were all from (lots of Australians, as to be expected), discovered the worst place in all of England to live and played cupid for a single 26 year good looking man, who was looking for a younger lady, brunette, who liked cheese.

It was time for the show to start. We practised our whooping and cheering and clapping. The presenters had come onto the set to say hello, and so they could walk off...and on...again. My face was already sore from smiling and the show hadn’t even begun yet!

The theme song played. The presenters walked in through a smokey mist to our hollering and applauding. Then the presenters walked off again, to enter once more - this time without the theme music because Australia’s ABC couldn’t afford the rights to the song...

And then the show got under way. As it was broadcast live-to-air, the filming took an hour, with ad breaks every little while where we could stand up and stretch our legs. The comedian would return and keep us lively and entertained, before we were whooping and cheering the return after the ad break.

The presenters covered such topics as Russia’s military aircraft sightseeing over the UK, obese people collecting benefits and included a Gladiator sketch between Alex and Russell in which Russell, as I could see the original script on the teleprompter, took many creative liberties.

It was finally time to wrap up the show and by now my throat was hoarse and my voice long gone. The night ended with the crew filming the adverts for Australian TV, in which Adam repeated the same line and changed the day depending on when the ad would be shown - Wednesday, tomorrow or tonight. Unfortunately the teleprompter displayed Friday instead of Wednesday, and so we had to film them all again (as Adam joked, he did a Ron Burgundy. In fact, at this moment the person in charge of the teleprompter then wrote, “G’day, my name is Ian Beale...”, and Adam read it out, before dissolving into a fit of laughter at what he had just done.)

And thus, with one last round of whooping, cheering and furious clapping, the night was done. We formed an orderly queue and shuffled our way out of the set.

Watch the episode here.

xx

The Scottsboro Boys

Ding. An email pops up from my boss (who sits immediately to my left).

This show is ending soon and it’s just so so good. 

Definitely try and see it before it closes. Honestly, I’ve seen it twice already and I’d go and see it again.

I had seen discount tickets released through TimeOut but they had to be purchased before midnight. I'd forgotten to mention the time constrained nature of the ticket buying to my friends, so ended up missing out. I decided I wouldn’t see the show and didn’t think any more of it.

A week later, I was playing with my phone as I was struggling to sleep. I noticed that TimeOut had re-released some more tickets to the show that had to be purchased before midnight and on impulse, I bought two. It was 11.45pm.

***

The Scottsboro Boys depicts the story of 9 black youths in 1930’s Alabama who were falsely accused of raping two white women. They were tried and found guilty, repeatedly, all because of the colour of their skin. It is based (and extremely closely) on a true story which you can read in detail here.

This was The South when racial segregation was still in full swing.

It is a very dark subject matter, presented with a humour and lightheartedness that did not detract from the gravity of the topic. The almost entirely black male cast played all the black, the white, the male and the female characters with irony and exaggeration which drove home the absurdity of the situation: to be denied basic rights simply because of the colour of ones skin.

At times, I felt bad laughing, but that was the intent: laugh at it, but learn from it at the same time.

The cast were incredible. They sung in harmony in a large range of different styles, they danced and tap danced, they were emotive and funny and gut-wrenching and tear-inducing then BANG, they made you laugh again. The elderly (and only) white gentleman of the cast was a little underwhelming and, upon a bit of research I discovered he was the Grand Maester in Game of Thrones. I feel a bit bad saying he was a rather doddery on the stage, but thems the truth.

The set was simple - a series of metal interlocking chairs that could be shifted to suit the location; bars for jail or the court room.

Finally, the end. I had to pick my jaw up off my lap. I had a sneaking suspicion...I will say no more.

Thought provoking, ironic, difficult, funny, the production is ending next week so get yourself along to see a show on the other end of the spectrum from the likes of The Lion King and Wicked.

Rhapsody in Blue by Candlelight

Once upon a time, I played the piano and played it reasonably well. Then life got in the way, I played for my piano teacher’s funeral and music became an ever-present sadness but a part of me I thought I had tucked away forever.

Until I started working at Imperial College London. Imperial runs in conjunction with the Royal School of Music, and two floors up in the building that I work in is a suite of piano practice rooms (albeit poorly cared for and largely out of tune). Over the last few months, I have tentatively begun playing again; simple pieces and those that I once knew like the back of my hand. Chopin’s Nocturne in E, Moonlight Sonata, Fur Elise. Pieces I could download from the public domain. Recently, I bit the bullet and bought one of my favourite books of piano arrangements I had back in Australia. I am only playing once or twice a week, my hands begin to ache after a short while, and I find my forgetfulness distressing but I am slowly and surely gaining a little bit of confidence and some of my old ability is returning.

Muscle memory is an incredible thing. Watching my hands move while my brain has little to no idea what is going on is fascinating.

So when I saw a very inexpensive classical piano recital advertised through one of the discount websites, I decided to grab two tickets (and then find someone to go with me afterwards).

It was held in the imposing St Martin in the Fields church right in the heart of Trafalgar Square (which I thought was the Coliseum due to it’s impressive frontage and walked past it a number of times). After being shunted from area to area, Becki and I were finally able to pick up our tickets from a strange man sitting at a makeshift desk with “Groupon” written in texta on a piece of paper. 

Back upstairs we looked at our tickets and realised they were not next to each other. Really? After showing the tickets to the attendant, who had a very what-do-you-want-me-to-do-about-it and frazzled air about her, we stood, unwilling to be seated apart.

There was a lady standing behind me waiting to be seated, and on impulse I inquired what her seat number was. It was the adjoining seat to one of my tickets, and so I asked if she would be kind enough to swap with one of my tickets so that Becki and I could be seated together. The other seat was not far away, but on the other side of a barrier. After a bit of hesitation, she agreed to switch tickets and for that I am grateful. Thank you, lady! To be honest, I think where she ended up had a better view, so I hope she wasn’t too upset.

We were seated almost directly above the grand piano where the pianist would be facing towards us. This did not lead to a clear view of his hands, but we could see his slightly balding scalp very clearly.

The programme ran as follows, with a slight digression:

Beethoven: Moonlight Sonata
Schubert: Impromptus Nos 2 and 3
Grieg: Wedding Day at Trolhaugen
Liszt: Hungarian Rhapsody No 2
Debussy: Clair de Lune
Chopin: Scherzo No 1
Chopin: Revolutionary Study
Chopin: Black Key Study <- I believe this one was not played, instead swapped for the Fantasie Impromptu
Chopin: Military Polonaise
Rachmaninov: Prelude in C# minor
Gershwin: Rhapsody in Blue

Of these, I had played the Beethoven, Grieg, Liszt, Debussy, Chopin’s and the Rachmaninov. The pianist was Warren Mailley-Smith (who I think might have used a profile picture from a few years previously?) and he took to the floor as a hush fell.

He was, of course, very good. One has to be to play to a reasonably large crowd, very difficult pieces, by memory. He felt a tad rusty at first when starting the Moonlight Sonata (only because I know it intimately), but then again - would I have been able to do it? No. So I am not one to judge. Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody was one of my favourites - a rousing tune it is and brought back fond memories of my time in Budapest. All of the Chopin’s made my fingers move of their own accord, in particular the Military Polonaise which was one of the last pieces I was learning before I stopped. It is not easy.

The concert ended with a rather strange speech made by a man who biographied the life of Gershwin, which basically reiterated everything written in the programme. He eventually stopped talking and the pianist was allowed to play. 

One of my favourite parts of attending classical concerts is watching the crowd. Some people (the elderly or boyfriends and husbands) get the best sleep of their lives. Others are slouched in their chairs, boredom painted across their faces. A select few are poised entirely upright, ecstasy painted across their faces - these are the ones who, in the interval, walk laps around and inspect the piano. I spend as much time watching the people as I do looking at the piano. 

It was a pleasant concert and the playing was very good. I found his slightly balding head top a little off-putting (I know, how shallow of me!) and at the conclusion of most pieces he bounced the final chord - in two instances I thought he was going to fall backwards right off the stool. But I’ll say it again - could I do it? Not then, not now, so my upmost respect.

Except maybe reign in the violent end-note ricochet...

Finally, thank you to Becki for joining me. As bizarre as it was, I hope you had a reasonably enjoyable evening.

xx

Always with the selfie with the tickets. It's a thing now.

Let's get nutcracking

“It won't be Christmas without going to the ballet,” they said. “Go see The Nutcracker."

Well, I think a few of my Christmases came at once with those gentleman ballet dancers and their shapely bottoms.

When the opportunity to see The Nutcracker came up, I jumped at it. I’m not entirely certain why I was so excited - I was more apprehensive that I wouldn’t enjoy it as dance is not normally an area of the arts that I am particularly fond of. But, when in Rome - or London, as it were - the ballet and The Nutcracker are synonymous with Christmas and so I ended up at London’s Coliseum.

You see, I was a ballerina, once. My poor long suffering mother has sewn thousand of sequins and battled yards of tulle to create my costumes. I think my stand out performance was the time I took to the stage as a duck.

Professional ballerina

So not only am I a skilled dancer, The Nutcracker is also one of my favourite suites of music. I studied it in high school, played it on the piano and as part of the orchestra on the cello. In all my time, though, I had never realised that the music and the ballet were devised together - that the ballet was not choreographed to fit the music, but that they were written as a whole.

And so, ticket in hand and friends at my side, we pushed our way through the crowd to take our seats.

The sheer strength, agility and precision of the dancers was incredible. The children, too, were impeccable, and I couldn’t help but think how much of their lives must be dedicated to dance.

When the two primary dancers took to the stage - I could see why they won the starring roles. Not even the slightest of wobbles when up on pointe (and please forgive me as my terminology will be completely off), legs at complete and perfect right-angles; not too high, not too low.

Granted, I was somewhat fixated on the gentleman dancer’s supremely muscular upper thigh region. They must pour themselves into those tights, or they are spray painted on. Either way… The ladies costumes were beautiful too, long flowing dresses for the first act, which moved to sparkly tutu-d numbers for the 2nd.

When it comes to the finer points; I cannot discuss these as I do not know enough. I was surprised at how much I had to concentrate (again, I’ll be honest, I was very tired and a little worried I may have to fight sleep). I had researched the basic premise and could follow well enough, but it was interesting to have to focus so strongly on the body language to know how the ballet was progressing. And another thing that I found, which is going to make me sound like an utter fool, is how much of a story there actually was. I guess I had always considered ballet…just…to…be…dancing? It had never crossed my mind that they are actually telling a story. 

And so I’ve been to my first ballet. I’m quite sure it won’t be my last, but I think I will stick to ballet’s where I know the music so I feel more of a connection to the dancers and storyline.

As the wonderful, late Robin Williams once said:

Ballet - Men wearing pants so tight you can tell what religion they are.

I can’t get their scrumptious bums out of my head.

xx

All the happenings and the doings, from red poppies to gender bending

Old boss you was rite it was the left kidny i was goin to hoperate agin close to your ospitle just as i was going to dror mi nife along of er bloomin throte them cusses of coppers spoilt the game but i guess i wil be on the job soon and will send you another bit of innerds

Jack the Ripper

O have you seen the devle with his mikerscope and scalpul a-lookin at a kidney with a slide cocked up.

It was a dark, still night. There was a gentle drizzle falling and our hoods were pulled against the chill of the cold air. Hands in our pockets we stood, transfixed, as in the glow of a street lamp our tour guide described in gruesome detail the horrific murders by the notorious serial killer, Jack the Ripper.

Throat slashed to the bone.

Sliced open, guts removed and thrown over her shoulder.

Womb missing.

Positioned knees up, with her personal affects arranged around her bloodless corpse.

We stood where her body was found. She was just one; in each case the mutilations more gruesome. We retraced Jack's footsteps as he ran away from the crime scenes.

Luckily, I did not faint during the graphic retelling - we had been warned in case we were a sensitive nature. Now, I am of a sensitive nature, but I'm also horribly curious, and now I endeavour to research as much about Jack the Ripper as I can which will likely result in a month's worth of nightmares. Was it the Freemasons? Were they covering it up? Why only prostitutes? Was it a doctor - the precision of the slices…was it a mad man? Were the women being silenced? 

***

Of late I have been quite the little London tourist. Jack the Ripper tour, preceded by a delicious curry on the famous Brick Lane (butter chicken, naturally). 

A couple of weekends prior, I saw the fireworks at the affectionately known Ally Pally - Alexandra Palace - in (dis)honour of Guy Fawkes. I had to research this as well - why the bonfire? Why the fireworks? He was hanged. It didn't make any sense! The fireworks were lovely if very cold, and my attempts to warm up by drinking copious amounts of mulled wine and cider didn't work. Nicole and I had staked a place early in the day with barely a soul to be seen. Come 7pm, we had children tripping over us, people trying to sit on our blanket and just..people..everywhere. 

"Be as big as you can, Nicole!" I said, "Let's stretch our legs out."

At one point, I even tapped a man on the shoulder as he had moved directly in front of my folded legs. "Excuse me, but my legs go there." I'm such a bitch.

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason, why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot

The Tower of London. I'm sure you all saw it in the news; over 888 000 ceramic poppies were laid in the moat to represent each of the lives lost in WWI. Thanks to Nicole and her friends, I was given a ticket to see inside the castle walls. It was a wet, rainy day. I was testing out my new raincoat, and it kept me nice and dry (£4, charity store - think it's a kids size). Naturally, London's underground was at a standstill due to engineering repairs on the tube lines". Damn you, London underground. I both love you and hate you and like you and loathe you! Grrrrr.

The amount of people visiting was unbelievable. We waited in the rain by the little clock symbolising that a tour was to start in 5 minutes, when it was announced that due to the weather, no tour would be running. No matter, we would read the signs - all of them!

The Tower of London has a very interesting and long history. We saw the bedchambers of age-old kings, and scratchings in the walls where prisoners were held. We saw artefacts and weaponry and the beautiful red poppies through the windows. At one point, we thought it would be a good idea to join the queue to see the Crown Jewels - the line is moving fast, right? An hour and a half later, we were at the front of the line under the "No photography allowed" sign. I'll admit, and I had wanted to see the Crown Jewels, that I was a fraction frustrated. Nevertheless, the jewels were beautiful, the crowns, tiaras, rings and sceptres, the beautiful gold workings on the punch bowls and other ceremonial dishes.

On the tube on the way home, I flipped to the news on my phone. "Huge crowds have been to see the Tower of London poppy garden despite warnings to stay away until after half-term and to avoid a Tube station closure."

Oops. That explains the sheer number of people, then. Typical ;)

Seeing as it has been almost a month since my last update, there have been a great number of little things that have happened too. Of course, I've seen another two shows; Forbidden Broadway (my face hurt from laughing so much) and Matilda - a masterpiece with obvious music and lyrics by the love of my life, Tim Minchin.

I attended a travel company's brochure launch, and slapped down my £10 deposit on not one, but two, half-price tours (the 2nd one may have been assisted by cider). I'm putting plans in place for my epic trip of next year once my contract is up. So far, the sketchy details are:

• A week (or two?) in Greece. I'm desperate to see the history and culture and I love the ancient mythology.
• 9 days in Egypt. Yep. That's a thing that's happening.
• A week in Italy, where I will eat until I look like a piece of pizza.8 days sailing the Croatian islands, jumping off boats and celebrating my 20-somethingth birthday (Still south of 30!)

And then back home to London where I will be well and truly broke and exhausted.

There has also been Halloween. Gender bending, I donned a beard and went as a lumberjack. Every girl needs a beard! When my beard became too itchy, it became my chest hair. It even became 80's bush for a little while… this is what happens when Sasha drinks too much cider, kids! I'm surprised at how big Halloween is here in London. Lots of kids trick-or-treating, and so many people dressing up! The BritBound Halloween was great fun as usual, and we sailed up and down the Thames with Big Ben and the London Eye as the perfect backdrop.

Oh golly. So much has been happening, and there is so very much to come. December will probably be the death of me. I love you all. Remember that, ok?

Exhaustingly yours,

xx