Railways, Royalty And Rock Music
After a leisurely breakfast and a sleep-in we were ready to hit the road this morning. Grateful that our prayers had been answered and Maisy was feeling a whole lot better, we slip-slop-slapped and embarked on the new day.
On a previous trip to the UK (just Ross, Toby and I), Toby had dazzled us with his ability to navigate the London Underground with ease, earning himself the well-earnt title of “Tube Champ”. It became apparent today that this highly coveted title was in fierce contention, with Molly vying for a shot at the crown. Much to Toby’s surprise, Miss Molly placed herself in the navigational hot seat and ventured out to the front of our pack, leading the way with unparalleled confidence. Adhering to Molly’s instructions, we had ‘minded our gaps’ and firmly planted our derrières on a train. With seconds to go before take off, Molly gasped “This is the wrong train! Get off!” We had made it by a whisker. Not perturbed, she strode ahead and found the correct train for us to board. Crisis averted. The reigning Tube Champ has seen a chink in her armour though, and we couldn’t help but notice a dry smile pass his lips as he studied the Underground map and swotted up for his next move.
We’d decided to do a city circuit on the Big Red Bus today so we could get our bearings and see where we wanted to spend more time. We’d opted for the “red tour”, which boasted a ‘live English guide’. That was a relief – we really hadn’t wanted a dead one. Though a wealth of information, our guide, while she was live, was actually French. She suggested it would be the perfect time for us to alight the tour bus and view the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. A must-see for every London tourist. That sounded like a splendid idea. As we turned the corner and neared the approach to the Palace, we realised we were not alone. An understatement indeed! It looked like the Beatles were about to come and play! There were hundreds, no, THOUSANDS, of eager royal enthusiasts who had joined us for a bit of mid-week pomp and ceremony. In a sea of selfie sticks held aloft, we managed to glimpse a bear-skin hat or two as the procession marched by to the beat of the drum. Through the gilded gates we squinted and tippy-toed but alas, there was a guard-house slap bang in front of us, obscuring every bit of the parade. I heard an American suggesting that guard house should be burnt down! Only Maisy, on Ross’ shoulders, got to see what was going on. We sent up the camera so she could get a snapshot for us! Can’t say we didn’t try.
I was feeling a little paranoid about losing someone in this heaving multitude and after stopping for a quick photo, I turned to find myself devoid of my family members with not a clue which way they’d gone. Feeling like a lost kid st the Easter Show, I wandered aimlessly across the road and called out Ross’ name as loudly as I could. Apparently they could all see me and eventually we were reunited. Phew!
Ross had sussed out the brochure for the Red Bus and had decided we should switch to the ‘blue tour’, which went further afield and seemed like a better option. Unlike the ‘red tour’, there was no live guide, just a recorded voice we could listen to through headphones. This was good for the first couple of stops but the accompanying music was punishing! Interspersed with the English national anthem, ‘Greensleeves’ played in a constant loop and in a Pavlovian way, just made us crave icecream. The traffic around London was diabolical and we seemed to be on that bus for way too long. The combination of the musical loop assaulting our ears and the fact that we had the distinct feeling we’d seen the Marble Arch at least half a dozen times, had us feeling like the Griswalds stuck on the roundabout…”hey look kids, Tower of London, Big Ben. Hey look kids, Tower of London, Big Ben. Hey look kids, Tower of London, Big Ben…” We had to get off that bus!
In an amazing coincidence, two of Sam’s uni friends, who he’d planned to catch up with later today, strolled past the bus while we were stopped in traffic. Thinking it was them from behind, he yelled out their names and could hardly believe his eyes when they turned around and it was them!
We had fun exploring Regent St and the shops along the way. A requisite visit to the famous Hamleys Toy Shop was lots of fun. Totally enthralled by the Harry Potter section, Maisy was very excited to spend some of her money on Hermoine’s wand. It was pretty cool. Hamleys was so interactive & there was so much to look at and play with. I had a crack at some karaoke just to be silly and when a kind Shop assistant came over & discovered we were Australian, he insisted we (notice the ‘we’) all join in a rousing rendition of ‘Down Under’. He’d gone to so much trouble. It was the least we could do. I grabbed the mic, thinking my family had followed me over, only to turn and find they’d plonked themselves on the floor and had their phones aimed squarely at me. Little buggers! A little crowd formed, probably in disbelief that I could be so woeful, and I’m sure I saw a few of my fellow countrymen cringing with embarrassment. The only way I could’ve made it worse was to have initiated an “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi!”
We found a great little spot for lunch in one of the cute cobbled laneways. There are hanging baskets full of bright colourful flowers absolutely everywhere around London and groups of people sitting on lawns, grabbing a couple of pints with friends. The city has an abundance of green space and sprawling leafy trees on every street. The atmosphere is so summery and relaxed.
After pounding the pavement for a while, Toby’s leg needed a rest so we made our way back underground. The station had spiralling stair cases that stretched down, down, down into the nether regions of the city. It went so deep, it felt like we were journeying to the centre of the earth. One peculiar thing we’ve noticed here is the ‘Keep to the Right’ rule that operates in the Tube. Our natural instinct is to drift to the left, especially if we are struggling to keep up the pace but a breech of this rule can almost be a matter of life and death. These Brits take the fast lane extremely seriously, especially on escalators, and one wrong step out into the mass of bodies hurtling themselves down the left could mean losing a limb. We almost have to chant it as a mantra upon entering the fray: keep to the right, keep to the right, keep to the right.
Back in February when Midnight Oil announced their upcoming world tour, I jumped online to check the dates to see if they corresponded with anywhere we’d be visiting on our trip. I nearly fell off my chair when I realised they’d be playing in London while we were here! I was so excited to have scored some tickets and after all these months of waiting, tonight was the night! We offered to bring the kids but the offer was met with turned up noses and a polite decline. How could they not love the Oils? Our own offspring! Where did we go wrong? Only Sam, who had actually attended a Midnight Oil gig in utero (it really does get in) took us up on our offer. The other kids had a night in with a takeaway pizza.
Dinner in a crowded English pub in Hammersmith with a bunch of other Aussies was fun but took a little longer than expected. We entered the Apollo Theatre with minutes to spare. Our seats were amazing. We were 6 rows from the front and the atmosphere was electric. Sam was definitely the youngest in the crowd by a long shot but he had a ball. They sang EVERY song we could’ve hoped for, playing for a solid 2 and a half hours. We danced and sang ourselves hoarse along with the 4000-strong crowd, outstretched palms with splayed fingers flying high in the stalls. As we sang about the Western Desert living and breathing in 45 degrees, it felt like 45 degrees in the theatre! We were drenched. Peter Garrett did us proud, his signature dance moves lighting up the stage and his discourse on the evils of Donald “the Dumpster” Trump, the dangers of global warming, the rights of the Aboriginal people and our abuse of the environment, sharpening our social consciences anew. What a band! What a night!
With sore legs and a hope that our Rexona hadn’t let us down, we joined all the other happy concert goers and headed home. Boarding the train, we were amused to hear the guard on the PA saying: “Come on carriage 1. You are letting us down. You’re not all going to fit. You’ll have to get off”. We were amused afresh when, after every stop, the posh train voiceover lady announced: “This train, all stops to Cockfosters”. We had a chuckle every time.
