London Calling, Post 4 – Old dead guys and knitting trivia! Hurrah!

So, I saw the Queen again. Yawn. That’s not my sentiment, I think it’s hers.

My day started by taking the Tube to Trafalgar Square, where I intended to breeze on in to the National Gallery. I knew the Queen was attending the National Service of Thanksgiving at St. Paul’s Cathedral, and that it started at 10:30. I kinda forgot about the giant screens set up all over the city to broadcast it, including one in Trafalgar Square. So this is what I was greeted with when I got off the Tube.

I stopped to watch a bit of the service, and realized how awkward it is to watch congregants sing hymns that they don’t really know (I knew it – “Guide Me, O Thou Great Redeemer”. But I didn’t sing along). Especially when they’re projected on enormous screens in public places. I think the Queen felt a little awkward too.

Poor thing – I think she’s worn out. Think about it – she’s 86, and she’s been partying hard for four days. Plus her husband’s in the hospital. Cut her a break, people, and choose shorter hymns! I just looked up information on Prince Philip, and found out he’s turning 91 on Sunday. And he was rollin’ on the river for four hours Sunday in the rain – in full uniform! You GO, your Highness!

The crowds stuck around for several hours, waiting for the Queen’s processional through the city back from St. Paul’s to Buckingham Palace. I didn’t wait – I’d pretty much reached my capacity for crowds and headed for the National Gallery.

The National Gallery is full of masterpieces, not the least of which was the interior decoration. I felt like Margaret Hale at the Great Exhibition! (Throw your hands up for that BBC adaptation! Anybody? Bueller?) My favorite part was the Impressionist collection, full of Monet, Degas, Renior and Van Gogh. My knowledge of Impressionist art stems from yet another BBC miniseries dramatizing the beginnings of the movement, starring the same actor who played Margaret Hale’s love interest. Because, as we know, there are only 30 British actors working in movies and TV at any given time. (Think about it – you know it’s true…)

After getting my fill of oil paintings at the Gallery, I muscled my way through the crowds to St. Martin in the Fields Church for a lunchtime concert. Guards were cutting people off from using the church’s portico as a shortcut, but I got to feel like an insider as I told him I was going to attend the concert.

The concert featured a piano trio playing selections by Beethoven and Faure – two of my favorites. I like listening to Beethoven when I write, so this was awesome. Except for the cellist, who kept throwing her head like a panicky horse whenever she played. It got especially bad when the music picked up after a decrescendo, when she’d rear back like the notes were jumping off the page to come get her. Once I shifted my focus to the violinist, who had to keep her head still by virtue of the instrument she played, it was a much more enjoyable performance. And you can’t beat the atmosphere!

I picked up some lunch in the Cafe in the Crypt, beneath the sanctuary. It’s a really cool setting, once you get past the creepiness of walking on graves. And the food is good. 🙂

Then it was back across the street to the National Portrait Gallery, featuring – you guessed it – portraits! I’d visited this gallery before, but enjoyed it so much I went back. Though my Rick Steves guidebook used to describe it “as interesting as someone else’s yearbook”, I think it’s pretty cool. History is always more fun for me when you can put faces on it. Or when people put crazy faces on it, like the statue of Victoria and Albert that has them styled as a medieval knight and a lady of the court. It’s pretty fun. Last time I was here, I was struck by the piercing gaze of 19th-century author Laurence Sterne – I think we had a moment between us, me and Larry. He might have a rival, though, once I discovered the painting of 19th-century artist James Barry, who was painted with the most amazing topaz eyes. Maybe this is why I’m still single – no one I’ve met can rival dead 19th-century guys I’ve only seen in paintings. This does not bode well for my matrimonial future. Huh.

After I had my moment with Mr. Barry, I was drawn to a painting in the next room of a blonde man with a handlebar mustache in desert military gear. Honestly, I went over to the portrait because I thought he looked like an old boyfriend. 🙂 The plaques beside his painting told me he’s Field Marshall Horatio Herbert Kitchener, a World War I hero who spearheaded a campaign to have women make hand-knit socks for soldiers. The traditional sock patterns had a sewn seam in the toe that was uncomfortable in combat boots, so Kitchener published a pattern with a seamless, grafted toe that became known as (say it, knitters!) the Kitchener Stitch! (Anyone who hasn’t knit socks won’t think this warrants an exclamation point, but it totally does! Knit slip purl, purl slip knit…)

I figured it would be tough to top that, but then I found a drawing of Robert Browning, who has been one of my favorite writers for several years. Imagine my surprise when his drawing showed him looking suspiciously like Maggie Gyllenhall. No joke, you guys – dead ringer…

Once I emerged from the Portrait Gallery, I found that the crowds were now dispersing after the Queen’s procession and that a full-on rain had set in. This necessitated a wardrobe change (flip-flops + rainy cobblestones = recipe for trying Britain’s National Health Service) so I joined the huge crowds headed to Charing Cross Tube station to zip back to my hotel. ‘Cause it was time for “Phantom”!

The theatre (note the British spelling!) certainly promised great things, being Her Majesty’s Theatre and all! The interior was just as gorgeous as any I’d ever seen, and the show was amazing – until the actor playing the Phantom got completely campy. His voice was fantastic, but his characterization was so over the top. (I know, right – she gets to see “Phantom of the Opera” in London, and she’s whining about the ACTING? Pretentious, much?) So we’ll just say that it was marvellous overall, and I’m glad I saw it. The theatre (spelling! hee!) only had about five empty seats that I could see, and has been packing houses like that since 1986 around the world.

Tomorrow it’s off to St. Paul’s Cathedral – I’m planning to climb all the way to the top of the dome, since I’ve been working out and all. But prayers for my cardiovascular endurance would be much appreciated. 🙂