Broken record: we wake to cloudy, rainy, windy and cold weather. And September was supposed to be mild and sunny.
The wife cooked breakfast in the flat for the last or next-to-last time and promptly shattered the French Press "coffee maker" supplied by the flat. I looked all over the net and could not find one store that sold them anywhere near us. Oh well, tell the owners and take our lumps.
Today is the second play on our vacation agenda: War Horse, at the New London Theatre.
Caught the Jubilee Line west to the Picadilly Line east and exited at the Holborn station into a driving rain and a million people. This rain and mass of humanity is frankly getting old. It's a good thing we fly back to the states on Friday because we're getting burnt out.
The play, War Horse, was fantastic.
I was a little skeptical as to how they could pull off a puppet-horse in the play, but they had every detail down, to the twitching of the horse's ears to swishing of the tail to pawing of the ground with the hooves. You quickly forgot that there were actually three people inside the horse costume.
If you have not seen the play or the movie, you should. By the end of the play, I had tears streaming down my face, as did my wife and countless other patrons.
I wonder what that looked like: as the actors were taking bows at the end of the show, to look out at the crowd and see practically everyone with tears running down their faces?
It's good to "feel."
When we got out of the matinee, guess what? It was still raining.
We caught trains back to the flat, deciding to blow off trying to ride the London Eye in the rain and wind. Maybe next trip, if there is a next trip to London, which is rather doubtful.
After a short rest at the flat, we caught a bus up to the O2 arena and had dinner at the Wagamama next door. Then back south and one last nights sleep in the Greenwich flat.
To borrow a phrase, London is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here.
The wife cooked breakfast in the flat for the last or next-to-last time and promptly shattered the French Press "coffee maker" supplied by the flat. I looked all over the net and could not find one store that sold them anywhere near us. Oh well, tell the owners and take our lumps.
Today is the second play on our vacation agenda: War Horse, at the New London Theatre.
Caught the Jubilee Line west to the Picadilly Line east and exited at the Holborn station into a driving rain and a million people. This rain and mass of humanity is frankly getting old. It's a good thing we fly back to the states on Friday because we're getting burnt out.
The play, War Horse, was fantastic.
I was a little skeptical as to how they could pull off a puppet-horse in the play, but they had every detail down, to the twitching of the horse's ears to swishing of the tail to pawing of the ground with the hooves. You quickly forgot that there were actually three people inside the horse costume.
If you have not seen the play or the movie, you should. By the end of the play, I had tears streaming down my face, as did my wife and countless other patrons.
I wonder what that looked like: as the actors were taking bows at the end of the show, to look out at the crowd and see practically everyone with tears running down their faces?
It's good to "feel."
When we got out of the matinee, guess what? It was still raining.
We caught trains back to the flat, deciding to blow off trying to ride the London Eye in the rain and wind. Maybe next trip, if there is a next trip to London, which is rather doubtful.
After a short rest at the flat, we caught a bus up to the O2 arena and had dinner at the Wagamama next door. Then back south and one last nights sleep in the Greenwich flat.
To borrow a phrase, London is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here.
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