Gord opened a bank account here when he arrived a month ago. He was told it would take six weeks for the check to clear! I find this fascinating! To paraphrase my mother, "Someone has the use of the money and it's not us." Today we went in to the bank to add my name to the account and to see if the money had been deposited. No, it wasn't. The woman helping us said that they have to send the check back to our bank for authorization, then our bank has to send it to them, or some such nonsense. But even if they sent it on the Queen Mary, it shouldn't take this long. But this wasn't the worst of it. To add my name I had to provide lots of personal information. I felt like I was applying for a loan or something. Aren't we giving THEM a loan? Anyway she asked if I worked and what I was planning to do in London. That's when I learned the horrible truth, that, to them, I am referred to as a "homemaker." Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with anyone who calls themselves that. It's just that I have never thought of myself as one, nor would anyone who has ever seen me function at home think of me that way. I mean, I'm hardly ever there for one thing! Can't I just be "retired" for now? I thought about lying and saying I worked at a museum . . . and the harsh reality hit me in the pit of my stomach. I don't work at a museum any more. What is it going to be like when I get back? Well I just can't think about it right now.

So after that trying experience we went over to the Queen's Gallery at Buckingham Palace. We listened to the commentary ("common tree") on the audio guide and spent a delightful two hours looking at Italian art of the 15th through 17th century. It included a good selection of works on paper in addition to the oil paintings. My new favorite 17th century artist? Her name is Artemisia Gentileschi. We spent so long in the Gallery that we ran out of time to see the Royal Mews, but we did visit the public rooms of the palace itself. There were some nice paintings in there as well, by such artists as Frans Hals, Jan Steen, Vermeer, and Van Dyck.

It was supposed to rain today but it didn't (not until late tonight anyway); however when we left Buckingham Palace it was quite chilly.

There is something indescribable about the various body odors assaulting you when riding in the subway during rush hour.

Meg, this picture of the Red Bull car is for you.

I was wrong about the number of pastry shops . . . there's another one across the street that I hadn't noticed because we haven't walked down that side yet.

This morning we continued with what has turned out to be our market weekend. No photos, though, because I forgot my camera at home. Probably just as well. We started out in East London from the Liverpool Street tube station. From there we walked down Petticoat Lane with lots of vendors selling purses, clothing, watches, fresh produce, etc. Stopped at a seafood stall and shared a seafood mix of shrimp and crab claws covered with chili sauce--kind of greasy and spicy for first thing in the morning, but my book suggested it so there you go! It was pretty filling and actually not too bad.

Then it was on to the Spitalfields Market. Now this was a nice market--much more eclectic, relatively higher-end stuff--it looked like a lot of young designers out with their new designs. I didn't buy anything but I kept thinking my daughters would love it. We stopped for coffee and then went on to the Sunday (Up)Market close by. This had items similar to and sometimes identical to what was at Spitalfields, but also had some interesting food, including Ethiopian (and an Ethiopian vegetarian one too, Katie). Unfortunately we were too stuffed from the seafood earlier, so didn't try anything.

That market ended at Brick Lane--another market that was more a flea market cum garage sale. It included more household/hardware things, electrical equipment, and the like. By this point even I was tired of looking. I must say that Gord very kindly did not complain at all about spending his morning doing what he probably likes least! We went home and decided not to do the Thames Festival later. All we could manage was going grocery shopping in the late afternoon. (Note to Maris: I did think about walking to Harrod's, but that will have to wait.)

We continue to get asked for directions, and today was no exception. We steered two American couples, wanting to know if we knew of any pubs in the area for dinner, to our Elephant and Castle (of course we haven't tried the food there but I did look at their menu once and it looked pretty good). I hope they weren't disappointed.

Update on our six pairs of train tickets: Virgin Trains (Sir Richard has his hands in everything!) had no record of any tickets sold to us. I couldn't access my credit card information online because their system was down for maintenance but got through by phone tonight. The credit card company didn't have any charges from Virgin, they just had six requests for authorization to make the charges. Problem solved.

There are literally four pastry shops within a fifteen-second walk from our flat. And even more down the street and around the corner. I want to know why everyone is so thin here! It doesn't seem fair. I haven't indulged in a pastry yet from any of them, have been walking every day, and have yet to lose any weight. Oh well. Enough of the self-pity.

Saturday morning and, guess what? It was another beautiful day! I can't believe how lucky we are. We walked around the Notting Hill neighborhood just north of us and through Portobello Market. No photos--I didn't want to look like all the other tourists. I made my first purchase (aside from the three books at the British Library)--a coral necklace similar to one I had seen in Paris last year (remember, Peggy?)--only this was one-tenth the cost. Hmm, at least I THINK it's coral. . .

I was up on the rooftop terrace again reading and snoozing a bit while Gord worked in the study. Later on we went up to the top of what used to be a department store but is now H&M and Marks & Spencer. There is a five-acre rooftop garden up on the sixth floor, with a restaurant in the middle. It had fountains, flowers, ponds, ducks, flamingos--very odd, but pleasant nonetheless.

Stopped in at our pub for a pint. I had a Natterjack and Gord had a Fullers London Pride, and for an encore he thought he would try a new one--Strongbow--that turned out to be cider. I had always wanted to try cider--it's well named because it did actually taste like apple cider. (I wouldn't order it again, though.) After dinner we were going to go down to the Thames to watch part of the Thames River Festival, with fireworks and all, but then Gord pointed out that today was Saturday, not Sunday. Oops. We'll try to catch it tomorrow. Instead we spent hours online trying to book train tickets to Liverpool, but couldn't get them to go through . . . or so we thought. Next thing I know, there's an email from our daughter at home indicating that the credit card company had called because there was some suspicious activity on our card. So I called them to find out that we had purchased six pairs of train tickets! Every time we "tried" to purchase them it would put us back to the beginning and there were no confirmation numbers or anything to indicate we had bought them. The office is closed until the morning--hopefully we'll be able to straighten out this mess.

It occurred to me that I am not usually one to partake in beer and, although I've only indulged a few times so far, this might be contributing to the fact of my not shedding pounds. But, darn it, is having three pints in 2-1/2 weeks really that bad?

Reading: Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2007

I don't know what it is about us and London, but when we were here in 1996 they had the Mad Cow Disease scare, and now there's Foot and Mouth (not foot in mouth).

Gord was working at home today and, until we figure out how to install wireless, only one of us can be online at a time. I usually work on my blog in the morning because Gord is working on his laptop at night, but this morning I took my book up to the roof and had a nice hour or so in the sun.

Today's itinerary was the Tate Britain. I thought I was so clever in working out the best way to get there, combining the underground and a bus. But, when I emerged from the subway at Westminster, the road from which I was supposed to catch the bus was under construction (i.e., closed) and the bus route had changed (I'm not sure where you get that information ahead of time). So I walked the rest of the way.

The Tate has an interesting logo, well it is really multiple variations on a blurry TATE (some more blurry than others). I don't get it, I'm not sure I like it, but somehow it works. There are four museums: Tate Britain, Tate Modern (both in London), Tate Liverpool, and Tate St. Ives. The Tate Britain is the national gallery of British art.

I started out with a tour of the current exhibition, Hockney on Turner Watercolours, which is a rare opportunity to see some of Turner's watercolours. Part of the exhibition included David Hockney's selection of some of Turner's works (hence the title), as well as the new acquisition of Turner's The Blue Rigi, Sunrise 1842. The funds for this acquisition were raised by a unique scheme. Visitors paid 20 pounds to buy a "brush stroke" of the painting, and I think they had a computer image of the work and your donation allowed you to put your name on the brush stroke you purchased, or something like that. The docent said the work cost 4.95 million pounds (I think--4 point something at any rate). Anyway, I was pretty underwhelmed by the tour, not because of the docent but because I'm not a fan of Turner. I was trying to figure out why I don't like his stuff--I appreciate that he had amazing talent, and his technique makes his watercolours look like oil paintings sometimes, his skies are impressive. Is it the colours? No, I like other artists who use those hues. Do I not like landscapes? No, I don't think that's it. Are they too blurry and I like crispness (and that's why I wear glasses)? Well I like some of the Impressionists so that can't be it. I don't really know why. I wanted to like it.

Then three of us took the tour of their twentieth century art and that was more interesting to me. Henry Moore, Barbara Hepworth, Jacob Epstein, Lucian Freud, Francis Bacon--now there are some interesting folks. I can't say I liked ALL of it, but it was certainly much more gripping. I'm sure many would disagree.

After that I toured the rest of the permanent collection--Thomas Gainsborough, Joshua Reynolds, William Blake, John Constable (maybe I really DON'T like landscapes). I think my favourites were the Victorian era and later stuff--Millais, Rossetti, Holman Hunt, Waterhouse, Burne-Jones--I kind of liked the realistic style of painting. I'm looking forward to the Millais exhibition they're having in a couple of weeks. Whew--it was an exhausting visit.

FRIDAY

I'm told that if I really want to impress a Brit, I have to listen to the radio drama, The Archers. Apparently it's on Radio 4 every day in the afternoon, but they replay the week's episodes on Sundays. And if that's doesn't fit your schedule (which it doesn't) you can listen to the episodes online. It's been on for years and there is quite a following. I just might have to check it out. Then if I get hooked I can listen to it online when I get back to the U.S.

Today, I joined Gord's class on a walking tour of Chelsea led by Richard who has been doing the Beatles walking tours for fifteen years. We saw the hotel where the Beatles' stayed when they recorded their first album (in one twelve-hour day, no less), where Keith Richards and Mick Jagger had lived, the city hall where John and Yoko married, and the current London home of Eric Clapton. More than just pointing out these places and others, he gave a sense of what it was like on King's Road and environs during the sixties.

Gord and I continued on to Leicester Square to buy theatre tickets for tonight, and then we lunched (can you say dim sum-ed?) in Chinatown. While Gord went to a faculty meeting I went home, did some laundry (isn't this exciting?) and worked on my blog.

The play was wonderful. We saw The Emperor Jones by Eugene O'Neill, a wonderful play unfamiliar to me, and it was a great production. The lead was extremely talented, the set design, the lighting, the music (no it wasn't a musical but there was music in parts), the choreography were all outstanding.

Tomorrow it's the Portobello Road Market.

There are many unique flavours of crisps (potato chips) here, I remember from last time, and they haven't changed. These include Roast Chicken and Herb, Honey Roast Wiltshire Ham, Four Cheese and Red Onion, in addition to the regular Salt and Vinegar. I'll try to keep a running list. We haven't tried them but I'll keep you "posted" (so to speak).

Today I did the Islington Spur walk from the Secret London book. It was good to be out walking but it was probably the least exciting of the four or so walks I've done. Just as I was thinking that my feet are the most comfortable when I wear my Dansko clogs, I twisted my ankle slightly because of some uneven pavement. Then a few minutes later I did the same thing three times in about 15 seconds. Besides feeling very foolish, I'm thinking I need some shoes that have ankle support.

I then went over to Camden to do a Regent's Canal boat cruise. Fortunately I was early because I must have walked around for 50 minutes trying to find the place from which to catch it. Camden Market was full of people, but nobody seemed to know where to find the Jenny Wren. I finally found the tourist office (that was a challenge in itself) and the young woman giving me directions didn't know her left from her right. I was just about to give up when I saw it. The ride was very nice, passing through the zoo in Regent's Park, then past these beautiful mansions, and ending up in Little Venice before making the return journey. The water itself is very murky and had litter floating around in it occasionally (beer cans, empty crisps bags) but the guide said that by December it is clear and you can see down to the bottom. I don't think I'll want to take the boat ride in December, even if they offer it, however.

The director of the institute came over for a couple of glasses of wine in our rooftop garden before the three of us went out to dinner. We happened upon a very nice Italian restaurant down the street. Ended the meal with some vin santo . . . slept very well thank you.

The plan was to visit the Royal Academy, then do one of the Islington walks, before meeting up with Gord at 4:00 (or I should say 16:00). But . . . there was this outdoor flea market on the way to the Academy and . . . well, you can probably guess the rest. I spent a long time looking but made no purchases. It turned out to be Press Day at the Academy for an exhibition that is due to open tomorrow, but I think most of the press were up in the exhibition I was in, Impressionists by the Sea, because it was VERY crowded. (I thought that if they were up there I should be allowed into the other one, but the guy guarding the entrance to that exhibition had the nerve to tell me otherwise!) I don't blame the press for being there, as it was a very nice "hang" (a word a docent later kept using, as in "when they put up the new hang"). There were five rooms devoted to exploring the painting of the northern French coast between the 1850s and the 1890s, including works by Boudin, Courbet, Monet, Manet, Whistler, Gauguin, Renoir, and Cassatt. I looked at it for about 45 minutes and then went back later for a very nice docent tour. In between I took a tour of the newly restored John Madejski Fine Rooms, filled with portraits, and learned about the history of the Academy and about Palladian architecture.

The Academy is located in Burlington House and next door is the Burlington Arcade which just happens to be where Laduree is. Well I have so far been able to pass up the pastries at the patisserie below our flat but, I have to confess, I could not pass up buying macaroons at Laduree this afternoon (but at $2 a pop it will be my last time . . . at least until I get to Paris!--and to be honest when I tasted them at home several hours later they weren't as good as I remembered them).

I was meeting Gord at the British Library and there was no time to fit in the Islington Walk. I got on the subway (the Underground as it is affectionately called here) at Picadilly Circus and as we were approaching the Holborn stop they announced that they wouldn't be stopping there because of a security alert. That's fine except that they also said the station had been evacuated. SO WHY WERE WE PASSING THROUGH THERE? I wondered. Well, obviously we made it through just fine but it seemed to take a very long time, with the train slowing down to a crawl.

But do you want to know the really interesting thing? With my life about to end, did I think about my family--my kids, my husband, parents, siblings--and my friends? No . . . I thought about this damn blog and how I could start out today's entry! (Now before you start wondering about my priorities, I want you to know that I really wasn't thinking that my life was about to end . . . only a very small glimmer of a thought in the very back of my mind was entertaining the possibility of that happening. But it did get me thinking. This blog is taking over my life. Am I doing all of these things here in London because I have to for the blog? Because I've now set a pace that I have to live up to? But no, I did the same thing when we were here in 1996 and I didn't have a blog then. I really am doing all of these things because I want to, not because I have to. So I'm glad we got that straightened out. I feel much better now.)

I met Gord at the British Library, got a quick tour, and bought some books in their shop (so much for my library card and not buying books!). I'll have to get back there to visit their Sir John Ritblat Gallery to see the manuscripts and documents they have on display. (I remember when it was part of the British Museum, Gord and I thought we could whiz through that section before we got to the other parts, and we ended up in there for three hours!). We then walked to Drummond Street for some Indian food. When we got back home, Gord thought it would be nice to visit our pub, but when we walked down there it was so crowded we couldn't stay. We'll have to make sure we get there early tomorrow . . .

I have decided that whenever I think the food shops are too expensive, I should just go into the nearby Whole Foods store. I wandered in today and they make the Waitrose and the Marks & Spencer stores seem almost reasonable! It is a very nice, multi-level store and I always wanted to live near a Whole Foods (well, not always--I've only known about them for the last four years or so). However, after converting from pounds to dollars, I know this is just not going to become my store of choice, not in London anyway.

I am now a card-carrying member of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea Library--a nice library that is conveniently just around the corner. After joining, and then waiting in a long queue at the Post Office which is quite a bit further away, I realized that I probably didn't have time to go to the Royal Academy, and that's when I ended up in Whole Foods. I had spent a somewhat lazy morning working at home and, with the change in plans, got back earlier than usual and was able to spend more time reading about all of the places I won't have time to see now! (I know it's crazy, but I can't help it.) If I had known, I could have at least taken my friend Ginger's suggestion in a recent email and gone out to Hyde Park and rented one of those deck chairs to read my new library book in the park in the sun. Oh well, it's supposed to be nice again tomorrow.

There are several storefronts in the neighborhood with photos of flats and homes for rent. We thought we were paying a lot but there were some advertised for 800 and 1,200 pounds a week, and then Gord noticed that one of them was listed at 15,000 pounds a week (which is over $30,000!). I thought he had misread the label, but no he hadn't. I bet whoever rents that can afford to shop at Whole Foods. . . .

Reading: Looking for Maya by Atima Srivastava