On Friday after breakfast, we bounded down the stairs of the hotel and greeted Warren with huge bear hugs and exclamations of affection. He told us to grab our "brollies" (UKish for "umbrella") if we had them, and we set out for the Tower of London. The Thames River lazed along on our right as Warren's voice droned narcotically over the PA system, including an entirely uncalled-for description of what it means to be drawn & quartered (breakfast, anyone??). It was around this time that Warren unleashed another salvo in his fierce marketing siege by reminding us that we could buy his book for 10 quid and also that he couldn't reveal any information about Jack the Ripper unless we booked his East End walking tour on the subject. He did illuminate a bit of British slang that would become a linguistic focal point for the group throughout the trip, pointing out with disgust that young Brits tack the phrase "innit" onto the ends of all of their sentences for no particular reason. Needless to say we embraced this instance of language degeneration and employed it constantly, innit.We arrived at the Tower and were treated to further WAW ("world according to Warren") elocutions, except this time they were delivered in a steady rain, which--for me at least--made them even more enjoyable. We proceeded into the Tower and among the features inside was an exhibit with the "crown jewels"--various swords, scepters, maces and crowns featuring more bling than you could shake a bloody stick at. We spent a few minutes at a nearby souvenir stand after the Tower of London and boarded the bus for the Globe Theatre across the Thames. At the Globe, we bid a fond adieu to our leader, our homeboy, our British brotha from anotha motha, Warren.
The Globe Theatre is a faithful replica of the version in which so many of Billy Shakespeare's plays were performed back in the day. We browsed an exhibition with various costumes, props, and information about the Globe's history before an excellent guided tour of the theatre itself, where we were able to watch a rehearsal for Macbeth (the scene immediately following Banquo's murder: 'never shake thy gory locks at me!'). So, that was fantastic.
After the Globe we met Carl the bus driver and set out for Charlton Athletic FC, where we had tickets to see the CAFC Addicks vs. Exeter City. Entering the stadium was like walking into a cathedral of sorts for me--awesome! As soon as we emerged from the tunnel a giant flag was passed over our heads bearing the team's logo. The air thrummed with the sound of singing fans and beating drums, and the air crackled with excitement.
We proceeded to our seats, which--unbeknownst to me--were in the first and second rows. You could smell the soil and the grassy pitch. Brilliant, innit. While the game was a 0-0 draw at halftime, Exeter struck midway through the 2nd half and emerged with a 3-1 win over the hosts, but we could sum up our experience there in one word: WIN
We found Carl parked nearby after the game and embarked on the convoluted crawl back to Earls Court. Met for a quick dinner at the hotel, and then it was off to navigate the tube system and bring the group down to Piccadilly Circus, the Times Square of London (although, to the untrained eye, at least, free from the rampant prostitution and drug traffic of its Big Apple counterpart). We roamed around different shops and cafes, and just absorbed the atmosphere of the heart of London on a bustling Saturday night. At 11:00 we regrouped and took the tube back to Earls Court and it was off to bed in preparation for the next day's trip to Dover and Canterbury!
The video below is a group of (French?) students having some kind of sing-down... I was baffled of course, but as I have reviewed the footage several times, it has nudged me to the brink of PSYCHOSIS. Watch at your own risk. And let me know if you can interpret the meaning of the lyrics, innit.
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