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LAST PLANE HOME - PART TWO: Inevitably, having been so completely and utterly fatigued the previous night, I awoke at some absurdly early hour of the morning � I�d estimate 0500 or thereabouts. And, being me, I started reading. After a clean-up and a breakfast, I finished the book (alright, I admit � I started reading on the plane, not just that morning) and got prepared for our first attack on London-town. Destination choices were broad � somewhere in London was about as specific as it got to start with. Cost wasn�t an issue � we�d arranged ourselves �TravelCards�, which allowed unlimited access to the London public transport services for a once-off cost. Convenience, however, was a factor, and as it transpired, one of our first stations in the city proper was Liverpool Street � not far from Tower Hill. So, why not? The Tower Of London it was. My initial enthusiasm dwindled somewhat upon first examination � by all appearances �castle� was really quite a misnomer, it�s function being largely ceremonial. Quite frankly I�d be surprised if it stood up to a siege of a single catapult, with an adequately guarded crew. I guess that�s what comes from reading too many fantasy-fiction books; most of the castles described therein are impressive stalwarts of massive stone blocks that could withstand sieges of many years. In the Tower�s defense, however (something�s got to defend it, after all) it hasn�t actually been attacked before, which could account for it�s apparent laxity. Anyways, what it lacked in impressiveness as a structure, it made up for in attached history, and more than overcame with the crown jewels. A great deal of them are obsolete now � though to suggest deconstructing them and selling their components would probably be some sort of heresy to preserve-happy Britons � but they were all certainly impressive. Most spectacular perhaps is the mind-blowing 534-carat diamond � to give some perspective, you�d be lucky to buy a single carat diamond ring for less than $4000. Oh to have lasers playing through those facets � you�d have the best (and most expensive) mirror-ball in the world. The near-perpetual rain started as we lunched at the New Armories café (who didn�t even rip us off too much). We left soon afterward, and huddled under the intriguing protection of some unnamed behemoth office building�s glass façade. We then proceeded onward, yet moderately undecided, to Oxford Circus, where we could link �home� ward if we so desired. What followed, predictably, was a couple of hours browsing through various department stores, that are a plentiful sight all through the area surrounding Oxford Circus and Marble Arch. By and large, it was rather interesting, and a better way to take advantage of our circumstances than heading back to base and laying about for the rest of the day. It was getting on for rush hour, however, and the decision was made to return before everyone else had the same urge. Once back, I busied myself writing up notes on the previous days, and it was an inverse recurrence of yesterday as Martin busied himself in falling asleep. Evidently, it had taken longer for the miles to hunt him down � not to mention he slept more on the flight over. Come dinner time, I gave up after a couple of attempts at waking him (half-heartedly I admit � after all, I knew from the previous night what it was like to be rousted so, so I was more than willing to leave him to it) but Mum had other ideas, and he managed to stumble down to fill himself, before gracelessly retiring once more. And fair enough too. The rest of us sat around making light conversation and becoming mildly inebriated before heading off our separate ways, allowing me to finish my notes in peace. Heading on for 2300, however, I decided it was well past time to move quickly on if I were to function tomorrow. London: The Second Wave � 7/4 An early night does not guarantee a good sleep. This amazing scientific discovery was revealed to me upon waking at 3 or 4 in the morning. So much for heading to bed in order to function the next day. And so it was with sleepy eyes and aching head I had my breakfast, and left for the bus-stop. It had been established that standard practice was to take the 212 bus to Walthemstow, and the tube into Oxford Circus. Total cost: free with TravelCard. A small note on the TravelCard, and how essential it is for a visitor to the London area. Not only do you get free trips on any official public transport service � including the subway, buses, and trains (but only within London), many of the main tourist attractions give 20% discounts, and you also receive a 30% discount on scheduled Thames Riverboat services � provided you present both your card and the Smartsave leaflet you receive with it. And it�s not just the tourist attractions, either � some pubs and restaurants are included in the 20% off, �Tkts� sells half-price tickets to West-End shows, and HMV even offer �1.50 off �13.99+ CDs. You can make back several times what you paid for the card in a single day, if you�re good enough. Speaking of HMV � it was one of the placed we�d bypassed yesterday, but I felt obliged to pay it a visit, even if I didn�t pay them anything to do so. For those unacquainted with HMV, it�s a very large entertainment store, selling CDs, DVDs (music and movie), VHS, and Games (PS/Xbox only I think). Two stories � one ground, one basement � each with the floor space of a small library. The average CD price was �10 � approximately $27 at the time (about the same as back home in other words), but DVDs seemed much pricier � one that was only $50 in NZ was �30. So, to get to the point, I didn�t get anything there, nor anywhere else that we browsed through that day. After a quick subway shuffle, we boarded the Docklands Light Railway � a fully automated railway system � and proceeded down-river to Greenwich. Dad in particular, and I to a lesser extent, wished to see the Royal Observatory, for which Greenwich is best known for (being where the Greenwich Mean Time line of 0� W/E was established). Mum and Martin aren�t so keen on the sciences of Chronology and Navigation, so they opted for doing their own thing � something they undoubtedly found more interesting, at least. The Royal Observatory sits amid a large park, perched atop what might well be the only hill in the London area (certainly the only one not buried beneath urban sprawl), which provided excellent views of the London skyline, which by themselves made the long walk up to it worthwhile. I even managed to catch a glimpse of the now out-dated Millenium Dome. As for entry into the observatory itself, the process is at best farcical. As we approached the gate, we were told pleasantly that we had to get our free tickets in order to enter. Who else, may I ask, finds the idea of having to get a free ticket somewhat absurd? As Dad pointed out, however, it is likely that A) it allowed them to keep a tally of visitors (which a simple mechanical turnstile could have done just as well), and B) to lure people in to buying tickets for the planetarium show, while they happened to be at the ticket booth anyway. Once through the gate, you are first confronted with the Meridian line and the official GMT clock. Coincidentally, although still obstinately set to NZ time, my watch was only a few seconds behind that of GMT. Recently, to lend a touch of impressiveness to the set-up, they�ve added a powerful blue laser emitter that spears approximately 10 miles Northward along the Meridian line � at night, at least. Apparently, anyway � can�t say that I saw it (though I can�t say that I looked). What followed hence was a longish tour of varying interest � once things got technical it was good, but to start with it was a typically British look at the living quarters, and a reconstruction of how it would�ve looked some few hundred years ago. I�ve always held the preservation of such things in antiquity (outside of an Anthropological Museum) to be a moderate exercise in foolishness, but no matter. When the displays turned to the evolution of chronology in the quest to make an accurate timepiece, I woke up again, for casual interest�s sake if nothing else. As is always the case in such places, we exited through the gift shop, and as per usual bought a couple of postcards. Then began the trek down through the grounds back to the front of the Naval Museum at the forefront of the area (which we avoided visiting � can�t say the history of Naval activities holds much water with me) where we met the other half 5 seconds before our arranged time. Coincidence, or something more sinister? {insert X-Files intro here} Anyway, it was with moderate fatigue that we proceeded back into the town itself in search of revitalisation by way of a coffee shop. What we happened across was a concept that seems surprisingly commonplace in the UK, but an almost complete rarity in NZ � that of a coffee shop within a book store. This cunning innovation invites one to browse the shelves, take a break for a coffee, browse further, have a light lunch, continue browsing, then pop down to the local for dinner before heading home. I could quite happily spend an entire day there. But alas, a day we did not have, and so we trained out way back across the city, indulged ourselves on another sumptuous dinner provided selflessly by our hosts, and without further ado, crashed � lacking even enough fuel left to burn. London: The Victory Lap � 8/4 The last day before that all-famous chocolate festival � Easter. It was also the last day for us to use our TravelCards before they expired. It was also the last convenient day for Dad to pick up our rental car. In short, a veritable festival of �lasts�. Just needed Leonardo Da Vinci, and we could do the Last Supper � but no, he�d come down with a bad case of �dead�. Pity, that. Anyway, the plans were made; the parents would head off to get the rental, and Martin & I headed back into the big city. We took the usual route, so far as taking the Victoria Line was concerned, but left a station or so earlier and switching lines in order to get to Covent Garden. Such is the size of London that stopping at the next station over and walking the rest of the way isn�t really an option � even supposing you�d be able to find your way, you�d be looking at walking the length of a small town to do so. This whole rigmarole was necessary in order to visit one of the places Martin wished to see � the London Transport Museum � and with my usual apathy I was willing to accompany him. The cost to get in was about �4 � would have been more but for the Smartsave discount � strangely done but I�m not about to complain (surprising, I know). The museum wasn�t too uninteresting I suppose, with it�s largely total history of bus services, trains, taxis, and tube. The conception of the automated Docklands Light Railway service was probably the most interesting in my mind, along with bits and pieces of the subway � in particular the bits that keep the train on the tracks, and the pieces that stop the tunnels from collapsing. It wasn't a complete waste of money - it was something different anyway - but I was rather chafing to go, but Martin insisted on waiting for a free "Tube Simulator" - think MS Train Simulator with more restriction, no scenery, and 1990s graphics. But never mind. We escaped from there in due course, and made our ay back to Oxford Circus, where I revisited Marks & Spencers in order to grab a book I'd seen there a couple of days ago - "The Ultimate History of Porsche". I'm not completely fanatic about Porsches - certainly not as much as my mate Richard is (the book's currently in his custody anyway) but the history is quite interesting. Besides, it's a M&S specific edition, and I haven't seen anything even similar yet, so meh - for only �10 I thought it a bargain. From there we rushed back up the road to McDonalds, whizzing through the 'express' - basically a drive-thru for pedestrians, for those who are having takeaway anyway. We just took it outside and sat down against the wall - probably prompting a few strange looks, but who gives. Having finished, we set off again up to where we were to meet the parents - Martin had a 'quick' look in "The Gadget Shop" (I'd call them "Gizmos" myself - gadgets are usually useful in some way) and I skimmed through the behemoth Borders across the road - 4 stories, with a StarBucks on the 3rd (or 2nd if you use their stupid system, where they count the ground floor as a '0' floor, and start counting above that). But there was supposedly no time to lose, so we headed back to meet the parents - 7 minutes late, admittedly. As it turns out, they were late by 10, but no matter. It was then a hop, skip, and a tube ride to Waterloo and the London Eye. A poignant example of modern engineering, the massive Eye was constructed lying horizontally on pontoons on the Thames, then pulled upright by cranes and pulleys. It sounds fantastic, but they did it - somehow. The queues looked absolutely horrendous, but my mother, as it turns out, is an astute queue-jumper, with only a slight mislaying of the truth along the way. And indeed, it wasn't so much a lie as a subtly maneuvered misunderstanding. No need to wonder at my sometimes disreputable nature - did I even have a choice? (Not that I'm complaining, mind - it probably knocked a good hour of waiting clean over the covers into the river) So on we hopped, and were treated to the corny near-humor of British Airways (owner/operators of the Eye) as they presented the experience as a domestic flight. But, no matter how considerably pathetic that was, it in no way spoiled the view (the rain hardly needed any help anyway) and I have the photos to prove it. After our descent (where surprisingly we weren't told to have our tray-tables locked and our seats in the upright position) we bought the inevitable postcards and made a swift escape back to Chingford. There we met some more relatives - Liz and David, with their three children Ben, Will and Charlotte (eldest->youngest). Will didn't offer much in the way of conversation, and I suppose I should admit I didn't really make an attempt at conversation with Charlotte, but it was good talking to Ben, who was heavily into cycling - particularly off-road, if I remember rightly. So anyway, after some menial chit-chatting, we buggered off to dinner at "The Baker's Arms" (not literally speaking, thankfully), which was to become our accommodation the next night, as Barbara and Don were hosting friends - but I digress. We ate, we drank, and we might even have been merry, and inevitably we left and weaved our way to the cars and back to the house, and retired for another night. |