In Londinium

In Londinium

 

"The Prince of Wales," as I recall
In London’s West End theatre district a few years back (Wikimedia Commons public domain photograph).  No, this is not a Latter-day Saint visitors center.  But the same play is still being performed there, in the same Prince of Wales Theatre.

From the “Sometimes, You Can Only Laugh” Department:  As usual on such occasions, I didn’t sleep on the non-stop trans-Atlantic flight from Salt Lake City to London.  Instead, I read Agatha Christie’s first novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, in which she first introduced the Belgian detective Hercule Poirot — I can’t recall having read it before — and then, to my shame, watched five episodes from the first season of the current television series Watson, followed by listening to a mixed selection of country and classical music during our final approach to London Heathrow.

We reached our hotel — the DoubleTree By Hilton (London – West End), in Bloomsbury, near the British Museum (so not altogether a roach motel) — just before noon.  The plan was to catch a few hours of sleep and then to take in an evening play.

It was a good plan.  A sound one.  Except for the jackhammering that commenced about ninety minutes after we’d shut out the lights and that then continued without much let-up until roughly 3:30 PM.  (We had set our alarm clock for 4:00 PM, so that we would have time to stroll over to the theater (or theatre), grabbing a bite to eat along our way.)  And — oh yes, I mustn’t forget this! — except for the piercingly high-pitched fire alarm accompanied by a flashing strobe light that erupted in our room about an hour before the jackhammer ceased its ministrations.

I know.  I know.  Some of you will be thinking to yourselves “Oh, the poor dears.  Suffering so, in London!  Cue the violin music!”  (In a sense, it’s analogous to what some would call “a very first-world problem.”)  And at least a few over at the Peterson Obsession Board who monitor this blog with slavish devotion and who gave their lives over to Cthulhu at impressively young ages will be ecstatic at the thought of my receiving at least a tiny portion of my just desserts.  And their faith in the view of me that they have so assiduously cultivated over the past fifteen or twenty years will be confirmed by the fact that, at certain points between about 12:30 PM and 3:30 PM, London time, this song was going through my mind over and over again and I was contemplating homicide.  “When a man is tired of London,” Samuel Johnson is reported to have said, “he’s tired of life.”  I can now confirm his sentiment: I was tired in London and I was certainly tired of somebody’s life.

London's Phoenix Theatre
A view of the Phoenix Theatre in London, not very far from the Tottenham Court Road tube station

We did, in fact, attend the play, after grabbing some really good thin-crust pizza at a little street cafe en route to it.  My wife, a theater major, had already booked the tickets.  The play was Stranger Things: The First Shadow, at the Phoenix Theatre on Charing Cross Road.  It’s a theater with almost a century of history behind it, having opened on 24 September 1930 with the premiere of Private Lives by Noël Coward, who also appeared in the play, along with, Gertrude Lawrence and Laurence Olivier. Noël Coward had a long and repeated association with the theater, and the foyer bar was named for him on his seventieth birthday in 1969.  More recently, Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods ran at the Phoenix, as did Michael Frayn’s wildly funny Noises Off and a revival of Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Name Desire.

To my own considerable surprise, I didn’t fall asleep — heck, I didn’t even feel sleepy — during the play, which lasted slightly more than three hours.  Of course, my wakefulness probably wasn’t hurt by the fact that, with all of its special effects (e.g., lightning, gunshots, crashing thunder, screams, growls, shouting, and the like), Stranger Things was even more noisy than our hotel room had been.

BBC HQ UK sidled;amsopephjsijs
Its high quality notwithstanding, and despite its enormous global popularity, the Interpreter Radio is not entirely without competition. Here, for example, is the BBC’s “Broadcast House” in London. (Wikimedia Commons public domain photograph)

Here is a trio of new items that have recently appeared on the never-changing website of the Interpreter Foundation:

Hyde Park Chapel, London
The Hyde Park Chapel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, on Exhibition Road in South Kensington, London (Wikimedia Commons public domain photo)

And, finally, lest the mood here become too optimistic and bright, I share a couple of specimens retrieved from the effectively inexhaustible Christopher Hitchens Memorial “How Religion Poisons Everything” File™:

Posted from London, England

 

 

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