[This post is reconstructed from semi-coherent posts and tweets on Facebook and Twitter. Social medial experts call it microblogging. I call it leaving a trail to remember I was there. If you want to read about the newspaper account, click here. If you forgot who or what Winston is, click here. If you want to read past installments click here.]
9:00 AM ish
This time no growing din awakens me. I’ve been semi-unconscious most of the night, waking fully every two hours to look at my iPhone clock. Sometime in the night I realize my bed has a gentle right sliding slope. I won’t roll out of bed but there’s still a sense of it on the edge of my consciousness. I literally roll out at 8AM for that much needed shower. It’s a cute octagon shaped stall with a water pressure problem. My shower turns into a sort of drippy whore bath. I’m not phased; soap, wash cloth and water, even in the sink is all I need. This is an old house after all. Happy in nice clean clothes, it’s time to get to that good English breakfast.
Winston stirs. Bacon!
My nose leads me to the dining room. Breakfast seems to be a catch-can affair; I finally flag down a harried server who sends a plate flying out: springy scrambled eggs, powerfully salty fat ham, half rip tomatoes and good ole pork and beans without the pork. It’s just what I remember. I recall reading real Brits actually don’t eat this. Furtively observing fellow roomers reveals the location of the mysterious tea bags: in a large tin labelled “TEA.” Right.
Fortified I attempt to powerwalk to the Tube station except that the all downhill trip coming has turned into an all uphill trek going. This saps the power of the walk quickly. It’s a cold clear London morning. Young Brits in suits stride by like I’m standing still. I’m either old, out of shape or both. I’m the only one in the station puffing like a train. Sigh.
I arrive at Leicester Square too early for the Lottery and have a walk about. The main half price kiosk in the park is gone; a whole area has been cordoned off with a high green fence with signs saying “OLYMPICS.” There’s a great deal of construction going on all over London for the Games next year. At least six smaller kiosks have sprung up along the main square. I pick one and buy a ticket to see Butley the next afternoon with Dominic West and Paul McGann. McGann was an old crush but want to see the play and report back to the fandom for old time’s sake. I’m a sentimental gal; after all I have my ticket to see David Tennant. Returning to the theatre, I pick up my lottery number and waited for 10:00 AM. Winston sticks his head out of the bag in interest.
On the dot, the manager, Mr. Awesome, comes out with his helper and starts pulling numbers. He will lottery 20 tickets at half price. He must have lost count because I don’t think he gave out 20. I hold my breath along with a fellow tourist. Alas I lose by one number but she won a ticket. He calls out that a few returns and mostly standee tickets will be sold and to queue, naturally opposite from me. I’m near the end of the line. I consider giving up but decide to stay for the hell of it. Finally I approach the box office.
Me: Hi. I suppose you’re only selling standee tickets now right?
Ms. Friendly: Yes.
Mr. Awesome: Weren’t you here yesterday?
Me: Yes, that was me.
Mr. A.: *reaches around a corner* Here’s another ticket.
It’s a ticket for the next day’s matinee.
*Murmur behind me*
Ms. F.: *low voice* You’ll have to pay half price for that.
I think she doesn’t want the remaining people in the lobby to twig onto this.
Me: Gladly! Thank you!
Winston: *curls back up in doggy shock*
I leave the theatre now the owner of TWO Much Ado tickets, replacing the two dead ones. So I can see DT tonight and again tomorrow afternoon – the same time I’ll see PM. Uh oh. The Butley ticket is nonrefundable. Winston looks up expectantly. I head back to the kiosk.
Me: Hi, you remember I was here about 15 minutes ago, don’t you?
Nice Young Man: Oh yes.
Me: *happy waving ticket* I just got a ticket to see Much Ado!
NYM: Oh, congratulations!
Me: *sweetly* Is it possible to switch times for this Butley ticket?
NYM: Sure! *patiently cancels and switches*
Heh heh, sorry pooch.
My Karma is SMOKING hot.