Monday, April 19. Discuss Henry VII in class. Lie in bed and complain about writing my paper.
Tuesday, April 20. Hampton Court Palace visit!
Like everything else in England, Hampton Court Palace is ginormous. We tragically miss all the coolest features, and instead stumble upon a medieval kitchen with real medieval kitchen smells (meat pies, peacock, soup), a room full of tapestries, a game of Fox and Geese, and a reenactment of Queen Kateryn's preparation for her marriage to King Henry VIII, who, by this point in his marriages (number six), has open ulcers on his skin that smell really terribly. Yes, this is the education my money is buying me!
Henry VIII and Kateryn reenactors adjust their caps. Too historical!
Very creepy wall-to-ceiling painting in the stairwell.
Jenny + tapestries.
We spent more time outdoors: in the hedge maze, watching a game of real tennis (worth checking out on wiki, apparently the "real" in real tennis = confusing and illogical) and the gardens, all of which were "breathtaking," quoth the Shuffels.
Hedge maze FTW.
Will takes in the view.
Mollie's breath is literally taken away.
No one wants to say goodbye.
Later that evening, we see Enron, a third-tragedy, third-politcal and economic satire, third-(if you can even imagine this) musical extravaganza - it sounds absurd, but it was an exciting performance, with light sabers and dance sequences and puppets. Plus, it gave me some hope for my future, because the playwright is in her mid-twenties, this is only her second play, and when the show finishes it's run here, it's touring on Broadway. Talk about rags to riches.
Wednesday, April 21. Will and I spend a lovely afternoon in Piccadilly, where we finally make it out to the Warhol installation at the Olivia gallery. It's much smaller than I expected and doesn't have a ton of information about the art, since it's more suited for people purchasing art than those viewing it, but there were some great portraits that I've never seen before, including a silkscreen print on paper which was just amazing, and the infamous neon silkcreen of Queen Elizabeth II, plus these cool "living portrait" screen tests that Warhol shot in the Factory studio of different famous/nonfamous faces. It was pretty much to die for. Then we mozy down to Green Park, spend a 1.50GBP each to sit in lawn chairs for an hour (they literally exploit every opportunity to rob you here - Will says, "Relax, we're in London," so I guess sitting in lawn chairs means we're living it up), and enjoy ice cream, pigeons, people-watching and hopefully each other's company.
"Luxury lawn chairs? Yes please!" ~Will Connelly
Love birds? Easy pun, sorry. Seriously though, it's pigeon mating season and the males were pretty aggressively stalking the females.
For the evening, Jenny, Mollie and I walk to Soho and Carnaby Street (!!!) Everything's closing down as we arrive, but we still manage to drool over some fantastic shoes in the windows.
Thursday, April 22. Because I can't sleep for fanciful dreams of Carnaby Street, Jenny and I return after class to see how hoppin' the scene is in the daytime. The people here are not your average stuffy, London business types - everyone has something a little less conservative, a little more irreverant about their appearances. The men are wearing suits, but their ties and socks are wild prints. The women are lot bolder too: bigger hair, bigger fashion statements. This same aesthetic goes for the shops around Carnaby. There is a great vintage store that is like classier version of Ragstock, and Jenny and I have a lot of fun trying on dresses with shoulder pads and fake eyelashes. There's also this neat shoe store called "Irregular Choice," where the trainers have neat trinkets in them and the heels are really funky, chunky and geometric. It's a little bit like how Vivienne Westwood or Betsy Johnson might design shoes for Lisa Frank. At our last stop, "Office," a more conservative shoe shop, I get a pair of sensible, yet still FABULOUS, gray Oxford-style shoes. The play tonight is Posh, which unfortunately does not chronicle the life of my hero, Victoria "Posh" Beckham, but instead, gets down to the nitty gritty of a secret boys society at Oxford called the Riot Club. It's beautiful and tragic, and the cast is like 85% men under the age of 30, also a plus!
Happy weekend, darlings <3
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