Drake Day

So much to say about today.

Firstly, it's August 20th. Seven years ago today, d came over from the States, to live. On emonth and nine days later, we were married. So happy Augustiversary people!

Went out after oatmeal this morning, to see a show called Potted Potter, as mentioned yesterday. We were slightly disconcerted to find out we were allllmost the only two adults unaccompanied by at least one screaming child. Of course, we should have realised this would be the case in advance, because the show was put on by two children's TV presenters. But the show was well pitched, with lots for the kids, and quite a handful for the parents and other adults too. So sue us, we played volleyball-quidditch, had panto-style laughs, and enjoyed a little satire to boot.

We pretty much decided that today was a tourist-day, so we decided not to go home until after the evening show we were booked to see. So we had a wander round in the rain, had a lunch at our standard Tex-Mex place off Trafalgar Square (The Texas Embassy, if you're interested). The idea was to have a good solid meal but not to feel stuffed. That worked, then we went book-shopping, which is always enjoyable.

However, before we'd actually picked anything up at Waterstones Trafalgar Square, my stomach was cramping. Jussssst about made it to the head of the line for the bathroom when all Hell broke loose, and I lost the little lunch-bulge I'd gained at the Embassy. More wandering, more book-browsing (we finally picked some up - rationalising them as a holiday expense - at Waterstones Fleet Street), then d had a similar attack, and we had to find somewhere that was a) open, and b) had a working bathroom. Prets in the City are all generally closed on the weekend. A Costa was open, but had a broken bathroom. A pub we tried was closed, so she too only just made it into the bathrooms at a second pub, while I broke 'pub law' by intently studying the wine list and buying absolutely nothing.

Decided, as is our occasional wont, to have a bus adventure - got on a random bus (this time, if you want to know, a 172 to Brockley Rise), just to see a new part of the city. As well as which, d slept, I read some Stephen King. In Brockley, the driver threw us off, but we pretty much begged, and he picked us back up immediately, and took us back to the heart of the city. Had a light bite at a Cafe Rouge, then realised that all our adventuring had left us pushed for time to get to Middle Temple Hall for a performance of The Tempest. As it turned out...very short of time. We saw signs for the show all around the perimeter of the building, but ended up having to walk all the way around it, sneaking by security...who fortunately, weren't there, and then adventuring our way around something of a maze within the Temple complex to find it. We got to our seats with about two minutes to spare.

For those who think it's a bit weird that this self-avowed atheist is going to Temples to watch shows, relax your pretty little head - This particular Temple is where barristers in the UK are called to the Bar - it's a legal institution going back to at least 1500. It's also, incidentally, where Shakespeare's Twelfth Night was first performed. Ever. Anywhere.

Antic Disposition's production was....OK. Prospero was engaging, Aeriel was genuinely mesmerising, Miranda was frankly annoying and inaudible by turns, and perhaps the most pleasingly odd thing about it all was that a tall, lanky young man with a big chin played Trinculo the Jester...apparently as the Eleventh Doctor Who. I'm not kidding - tweedy suit, red bow tie, demented hair and a fez! Not to mention a thoroughly 'drunken giraffe' approach to movement that has become practically signature.

More interesting than the play or the performance though was the location itself. It's difficult not to be overawed by Middle Temple Hall. Certainly, we failed. Portraits of kings and lawyers going back through the ages stare down at you from most walls - including a giant genuine Van Dyck portrait of Charles I that was right behind us the whole time. A table hand-carved from a single enormous piece of oak pretty much ran the width of the room, and was sailed up the Thames on the order of Elizabeth I, and had to be brought into the building before the building was completed, because it would never be able to get in once the walls were up. That, we learned rather casually, was 500 years old.

Then there was the really impressive stuff. Several signatories of the American Declaration of Independence were called to the Bar there at Middle Temple Hall, for instance. Did I already mention the Twelfth Night thing? OK, get this - there's a desk there, made from a part of The Golden Hind. Sir Francis Drake's Golden Hind. In fact, as it turns out, this is the desk on which barristers are admitted to the Bar in this country.

A little intimate history for you. No-one seems exactly sure what it is, but my dad (technically my step-dad, so there's no blood thread to me, but he's the only dad I have left, so excuse me if I don't split hairs...or indeed heirs) has some sort of lineal connection to Sir Francis. My folks' house is full of replica Golden Hinds (my mother rolled her eyes last Christmas, when we added to the collection). So to be in the same room as a piece of the actual ship - not the big replica on display in the city - was strangely moving, and we wished he could be here with us to put his hand on the thing - which incidentally is both beautiful and impressive, not a little intimidating and heavy with both weight and meaning. It was like touching not only world history, but possibly-tangential but deeply meaningful family history too.
"Wow," we said to each other as we finally stumbled out into the dark and headed home.
"Just wow..."

We're going to carry on like this for quite a few days, I imagine. Just ignore us, we're Drake-struck.