Tuesday Afternoon Sept 21 2010
Woke up with a start, to the sound of buses in the nearby bus station. I forgot where I was, and more important, I forgot I was asleep. I must have passed right out. After a quick wash up, I made my way down the two thousand and twelve stairs to the pub dining area, where I enjoyed a full English breakfast, orange juice and coffee. Yodeling my way back up the stairs, I was able to rest up until I was called down to the pub, to assist my friend up to the room with a suitcase the size of a 1966 Cadillac. I exaggerate, no not really. There are no polite way to repeat the words we said hauling the bag up, up up the stairs. All I can say is, thank goodness we were not in Belgium.
Open air top of the bus ride about time today, this time, I was actually awake and saw the sites in a new way.
Went to Alice’sShop, wandered about Christ Church in the gardens, and looked at all the spires, statues and roof tops. Ate real meals and had a lovely lovely day. Beautiful weather, sunny, with passing fluffy clouds, no need for a sweater. One has to realize that one is in Oxford, UK, on the last day of Summer, thinking about wearing a sweater.
Finally passed out, gasping for air, climbing up the ten thousand stairs to the attic room, had sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate bars bought at Tesco’s, and those funny little white pain pills I got at Boots.
Wednesday Morning September 22, 2010
Lovely day, let ‘s get brekkie, shall we? We decide that for all that Oxford has to offer, there might be more of this fair country to see. Packing up, we decide to ride the two miles down the stairs in the 1966 Cadillac someone saw fit to use as a suitcase. Even with the assist of gravity, we had a struggle. Should have studied better in physics. Another lovely English Breakfast, little was I to know that this would be my last sit down meal for a long long time. Made good use of the plumbing, and remembered to spend the next several hours climbing up to get my little tiny suitcase, so easy to manipulate, and found my way to the bus station, which was not very hard, as the exit from the breakfast room brings one to the ticket office of said bus station. Queing up at the correct bay, I panic as my two travel companions were off buying fresh fruit at the farmers market. I contemplated abandoning their luggage and boarding the bus, but the good spirit sitting on my right shoulder told me to not listen to the little demon on my left, and they arrived in time for us to go.
We took off, enjoying the sites out the windows, including one Magic roundabout in Swindon. Hmmmm, Swindon? Why does this ring a bell? Must look it up some day on Wikipedia to see why. (edited to add that Billie Piper of Doctor Who fame hails from Swindon, that must be it)
Now as a New Englander, going round traffic circles is no big deal, we even have a sport of it, trying to get around without having to once yield or hit the breaks, which I am sure horrifies any visitors, but going the wrong way round scares me. Good thing I paid the bus company 7 pounds to drive me to my destination safely.
We also go through the lovely town of Bath, I was contemplating going there, but I saw no bathers at the bus station, and stayed on the bus, onwards to it’s terminus. There must have been something going on there, though, as the trains had power issues. I was correct in my decision to take the bus, never mix water with electricity.
Onwards, to the great city of Bristol. I have since found out that many people go to Bristol as tourists, there are lovely sites to see, including a bridge and a boat, but I was so excited to see another hotel next to a bus station, that I got spasms all over, and just had to check in. But it was again, before two pm, and once again, I gave a total stranger all my luggage, and this time, I decided to be the dodgy looking person sitting in the pub.
Had a pint of cider, all bubbly and sharp, and some pudding, declining on the meal, not feeling hungry at the time, and passed the time away, talking in my funny accent, which as it turned out, is not that odd in Bristol.
After checking in, I did the happy tushie dance in the lift, the lift, the lift, as I went up a measly few stories to my room, an American Style room, with en suite bath. A lift and a bath, how extravagant. I used the plumbing well, soap and water and several rinses, and Oxford was down the drain.
Everyone I knew had a private audience with some famous people, cant recall who, must not be too famous, and I was left alone for a few hours. I watched the telly, way too many American programs, could have stayed home for that, finally got some news and sports, and then decided to go out into the damp and drizzle that was Bristol this Wednesday Evening.
They have a Hippodrome in Bristol, how lovely, haven’t been to a good hippo race in a while. I know what you are saying, some of you, that it is a race every night when I am involved, but that would be mean. Do not be jealous. I took a cab over, and went in. I met someone who informed me that there are no internet sites about famous English Rock Bands that might be appearing in the vicinity that night, and that this person has traveled from the USA, alone to see said might be famous Band. This person has seen said Band a whopping several times, and mentioned several places that I have been to, and on the same very dates, how bizarre. I think this person dismissed me as a LIAR, and possibly a lunatic. Or perhaps this person likes to think that they are the only devotee to go to such lengths. I invited them to meet all the folks I knew that had been to the private audience, but I was refused, told that there were few real fans in there. I hated telling my friends that they were not real. They did not believe me at all. Good thing, we were needed in side.
Turns out there were no Hippo races going on after all, just the same old same old. I was forces to sit up near the front and center, where I behaved myself, trying desperately not to sing along, as the words are becoming more familiar. I also tried not to play air guitar, or air bass or air drums, keyboards or flute, as those parts are getting easier to do, too. I think I even might know what song will be played next.
The Band came out with great big enthusiams all around, at least as seen from my seat. They came alive half way thru the first song, and played boldly amd bouncily for the next few hours. It looked like they were watching us, in the audience, because I caught the Skinny blonde one in the center smiling as he saw mw exchange conspiratorial smiles with Someone from Holland and her linguistically confused friend. At the beginning of the second last song from the first half, we nodded to each other, and the nods went around the venue, and at the appointed point, springs were let loose from our bottoms, and wer were forced out of our seats, in unison, with great cheering. Those who did not have the luck of sitting in a seat with loose springs, faked their way thru the rest of the number, jumping clapping and waving with the rest of us. The Skinny one giggled like s school girl. Giggled, yes giggled. And looked at me and smiled. Uuuhhh. Oh my.
After this ended, for 20 minutes ( another lie) we were allowed to wander around. I talked to my not real friends, for a bit, then a nice gentleman came up to me and asked if I was an American. I told him, “Yes” He asked if all the rest of the standee’s were Americans, and I had to confess the truth, we were a loosely strung together group of English, Dutch, Canadien, German, Danish, Japanese, and Icelandic people, who meet only at these events, and are not traveling together in some large organized Tour, only the skinny ones up on the stage are that organized. We just show up. Some people plan, some are organized, some are together, but as an entity, we just show up. He told me he was the music critic for the area, and had also been to the Oxford show, and wondered how many of us were either together, or American based on our behaviour, which he found delightful. I did mention one of the imaginary internet sites to go to, for more.
Soon, bells rang, the ice cream vendors left the aisles, and we sat down in those plush seats again. Second half, more of the same. Some people changed clothing, those of us on our side of the stage stayed in the same togs were wore for the first half. Makes things easier. Enthusiasm abounded, who would think at their age? Or mine?
We continued on for another fabulous night, really one of the best this year, not that my opinion counts, I wished it would never ever stop. But it did, sadly. But not without extra vocal and musical flourishes from the stage, and a lot of foot stomping, hand clapping and cheering from the paying side of the orchestra pit.
Back eventually to the hotel, and the food was no longer being served, so I was contented with ale, and a good nights sleep. Well, as contented as anyone who just experienced a Bristol Blast.
