The Woman Who Used to Live in My House

It’s pretty cold here. But now I’m in pajamas in bed and can barely remember that chilliness because of all the other great things I will now recount.

This morning, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral, poked around a bit there and got to hear the chorus, and then experienced an Occupy London tent city firsthand right outside. Prep for coming home, I guess.

We jogged over Millennium Bridge to the Globe Theater. Set a couple hundred meters from the site of the original hailed Shakespearian hall, this unique building was reconstructed in the last thirty years as an as-exact-as-possible model of how the first Globe did things. Since I have a predilection for British Middle Ages and literature, this tour was exceedingly great.

We skipped the Tate Modern because we didn’t have time really, and I don’t fancy Modern Art at all anyway. Europe has made me incredibly jealous of America’s lack of old things and though this museum has a funky old factory building, it’s lower on my ‘Great World Sites’ priority list. 

We booked it to Waterloo to get the next train out to Windsor and caught one fairly fast, sinking into the seats and putting our feet up.

As we were eating our supermarket feast of bread, cheese, and apples (aka my diet), I struck up a conversation with a very smart-looking young woman. Unsurprisingly, (as we already happened on the queen) she was Northwestern alum! Working full-time consulting and living a super-glam life in London! Hello, future dreams! Que coincidencia!

We got off at Windsor-Eton Riverside and I was reunited ever so joyously with my au pair who I hadn’t seen since I was five. I am now older than she was when she lived in our house and took care of the three Groners.

We spent the afternoon braving London rain and touring Windsor Castle. The Queen was there at the same time as we were, just doors away. She is actually following us around. Her gun, sofa, and china collections are sure to delight any visitors. The best room was the green reception room, mostly just because I like green things. All the rooms were very garish, but in a good way. Just like Versailles, and the Napoleon Apartments, and the Casa de Pilatos…

On the way out, we took requisite royal guard pictures. However, there was a horrible and obnoxious and bizarre group of Asian tourists taunting the poor guard, taking photos in the strangest poses, and not thanking him for it. When I went up, I apologized to him and commented that the last man looked like a moronic ballerina and it was weird.

Now, remember the moment in the Wizard of Oz when the Tinman calls out to Dorothy. I was Dorothy, this guard was a Tinman, grey-suited and frozen.

So, you can imagine I was shocked when he responded to me. He said, “You could’ve done something about it.” Somehow, without moving his lips (since those furry hats have ridiculous chinstraps), he continued to have a conversation with us as we took a few frames. He was an adorable Prince Harry lookalike type and I really should’ve stuck around or asked what time his shift ended. Oh well.

Lucy took us back to her flat in Slough and showed me many many pictures of times I hardly remember in a house that doesn’t look the same with a family that looks much younger. She says we were just lovely, lovely, lovely and she had a lovely time. Apparently, I was the most difficult child, as Adam didn’t say or do much and Rebecca was barely three. I do know I was exceedingly bossy and believed I was about thirty years old. While I may now have discovered youthful enthusiasm, I cannot say the bossiness has been reversed. In some settings, I’d call me assertive and efficient. Tie those with enthusiasm and you’ve got one helluva young professional, right? Right? (Insert reassurance here, as European journeys make us all worry about our futures…)

Meanwhile, Lucy came back to London after a year of Clinton, USA T-shirts, Disneyland, and TGIFridays and got a job at an audio tech office as a receptionist. Now, she runs the place. Very impressive. Living the American Dream but in London, she also made us the best dinner ever, of a radish and rocket salad, baked tomato pepper gnocchi, and toasty garlic bread. I missed non-Spanish variety diets, specifically including gnocchi! She also showed us Queen Victoria’s water closet, now housed in the back of a pub, and informed me that ‘pasty’ is not pronounced paystee but paahstee. Oops. American accents make more sense, but sound less charming. Everyone here is as charming as their accents, including the random men on the train from Wales who told us we should go and explore the world as young women because it brings them joy, and have a Merry Christmas. Uh, okay. Thanks - you too!

We came back to our place in Clapham, exhausted. And so is this blog, again.