Perusing Pemberley and other Madcunian Madness
Alright, I'm here. New flat. New routine to adjust to. New perspective on London, which is quite similar to the old perspective I had, only a bit closer to stuff. And somewhat dingier, though I can't be bothered to care.
After two weeks living it up in Finsbury Park with The Divine Miss Michelle and my friend Chad (who fondly refers to it as Finny P), it was time to move on. It had been a good two weeks, and made me better understand why people who move here from other countries like to stick with their own kind (while flat-hunting, the amount of ads requesting only Aussies or "Saffas" or Chinese flatmates was staggering). A few weeks doing it Chicago-style was a comforting experience.
So on Sunday morning, they kindly helped me lug my stuff down to Camden on a very crowded number 29 bus through some maddening construction traffic. They deposited my things, said hello to some of my new flatmates, gave my room, kitchen and especially back garden their approval, and that was it! And I immediately set to work unpacking and trying to find room for all my stuff. I was a lot happier on Sunday than I was on Saturday. Saturday I had stopped by to pick up my keys, drop off a few things, and had found a damp, smelly, dingy, empty room. The whole flat was empty, so I didn't meet anyone. I decided I hated it and I was going to be alone and had a minor panic attack. Sunday was better though, and as my stuff filled the room and I chatted with new flatmates, I got a bit more adjusted to the idea of living here.
In the late afternoon Christine came up and I met her in Camden for some dinner and shopping. I hadn't seen her in ages as she'd run off to Greece for holiday, so we caught up over drinks and pub food. Then we meandered through the markets looking for shoes and hats.
Monday I went back to work, and found I'd cut down my commute by at least 20 minutes, which is splendid. Then Tuesday morning I went to campus, sold off my AACR2 (woooo!) to an incoming library school student, and then headed over to Euston to catch a train up to Manchester.
As the prospect of returning to Chicago becomes a more substantial idea with a timeframe and everything, I am starting to feel pressure to whittle down the list of things I haven't done yet. One thing I hadn't done yet was see Mr. Darcy's house, which is goofy, I know, but it's right there! I wanna see! Another thing I hadn't done in awhile was see Graham, and since they're both right there, a short train ride away, I decided to take advantage.
It was a sunny day when I left London, but by the time I'd taken a very, very delayed train to Stockport, caught another train to the small town of Disley, and started my 1/2 mile hike from the train station to Lyme Park, it had started to pour rain. This was great fun for someone who's umbrella had just broken and had to be chucked out. The park and the house were lovely though and it had mostly cleared up when I got there. A shuttle took me the mile from the gate house to the main house, and the driver was tremendously excited to show me a huge herd of deer that had recently shown up on the property. And it was pretty cool. I'd never seen so many deer in one place!
The house itself is a lot smaller than I'd thought, and only the outside is recognizeable. It was staffed by loads of elderly Trust volunteers who couldn't wait to tell me all about the boring history of the house. I was too bashful to reveal that all I wanted to see was where Mr. Darcy lived. Also, unfortunately, half the house was having its roof worked on and therefore under scaffolding.
The more traditional Pemberly view:
Which was unfortunately more like this when the trees weren't blocking it:
Lovely garden and views:
I then spent a good time wandering through the gardens and enjoying the scenery, and looking at the lake where they filmed the famous wet shirt scene:
It might of been this lake:
. . .though, again, too embarassed to ask anyone!
So after that was done, and after a long day of travelling, I headed back in the direction of the train station. The shuttle driver was kind enough to direct me to a short cut towards the train station, which was helpful because the second I was on my way, it started to pour again. Plus, this short cut took me up my old nemesis, the steep hill, and then down some crazy path down rickety stairs through the woods, where I apparently got stung by a nettle! It totally hurt for hours.
I wearily settled in on the train back into Manchester, where I arrived just in time for the evening rush hour. This being my third time in the city, I skillfully managed my way from the station to Piccadilly Gardens to find my bus and headed down to Fallowfield where I'd booked a room in a dodgy, but cheap B&B. The decor of the room had changed little since the late-60's, had a bath, but no shower, a rickety near-death bed with lumpy mattress, and a TV with no reception. But at least it wasn't over an hour outside the city and over a disco! My luck at finding accomodation in Manchester appears to be improving?
I flopped down on the bed and just lay there for about an hour recovering my strength from all the travel until Graham called saying he could come over and asking for directions. So he came for a visit and we caught up with each other since it had been a few months. It was incredibly nice to see him again.
The next day I'd planned to spend most of my day downtown, since Graham was spending his day off running loads of errands and rehearsing with his band. So I headed back into town with a list of things to check out. Unfortunately, none of them worked out. The exhibit I wanted to see had already closed, and the library I wanted to visit was being remodelled! But I ended up stumbling across loads of other, fun things to do, and all of it free.
I found an exhibit of contributions to art, fashion and music by talented under-25-year-olds going on at Urbis, the urban art museum I had last visited with Diana back in December. I also walked down to the library I had wanted to visit, and took a look at the outside since even that is pretty to look at. I browsed and ate lunch at the massive Arndale shopping centre. Then I found the more artsy Northern Quarter district and meandered around there, shopping and visiting the gallery where Diana and Jay were based back in December, but I had never gotten to see.
Then, at a loss for what to do next, I stopped in a pub. I had just read Iris Murdoch's Under The Net and was fascinated by how the main character, having nothing else to do, would just wander through the streets of London, and every few sentences stop at a pub for a drink. It actually reminded me a lot of Andy and I when we'd spend the afternoon together, except it wasn't the middle of the day (usually) and I wasn't alone. The idea of going to a pub by myself was a bit frightening, but as I had nothing else to do and I stumbled across a place playing some really good music, I thought I'd be brave and have a go. So I ordered a pint, pulled out a book, and sat in the corner being very anti-social. Was the best I could muster!
After that, I'd run out of ideas. I wasn't hungry enough to have dinner, everything seemed to be closing for the evening, and it was starting to rain again. So I decided enough was enough, and made my way back to the hotel where I took a much needed nap. Later that evening, after he was all done with his obligations, Graham stopped by again to hang out and say goodbye.
I had to leave bright and early the next morning to make it back in time for work. I headed back downtown, and got a train, and, very, very tired, promptly fell asleep most of the way into London. I got back with only an hour to spare, and had to go straight to work, getting rained on once again, only to find that the bloody thing was closed for the day due to double booking and we were going to have some pointless training session instead! Total waste of time as the training was all with very brand new people and I had been there over a month and learned nothing new.
Friday I worked at Special Collections again, which is happily now within walking distance. It's beginning to feel rather pointless there, as my job is basically finished and they seem to be hunting for things for me to do. I think my days there are numbered! In the evening, I met Chad, Michelle and some other old classmates for drinks down near Waterloo station, which was very lovely. I didn't realize how much I missed everyone! It felt like old times a bit. They've all got jobs now, though, and I've just given up trying. It made me feel like they were all being productive and using their degree and I was just wasting time. So I told everyone about my plan to hang in London and travel until the end of the year and delay real-world job finding until the new year, and managed to make them all jealous somehow.
Saturday I just recovered from a long, busy week until Michelle texted me and asked if I wanted to come over for dinner with her and Chad. It's nice of them to take care of me, especially since Chad can cook very well, so being with them means I get a nice, home-cooked meal every once in awhile! I met one of Michelle's friends Victoria, who also came by, and we drank wine and talked about how amazing music is all night, and then all decided to go see Modest Mouse play Koko in November.
It was after midnight when I made my way home, with a practically new drying rack they had found in someone's rubbish pile and were lending me since I'd given mine away thinking the people who lived here before were leaving theirs. So as I drowsily rode the night bus home, feeling self-conscious for it being the middle of the night on a Saturday and I'm lugging a drying rack on the bus, I find myself surrounded by a group of European college students drinking straight from bottles of rum and loudly singing and dancing as one of them played the conga drums. The rest of the bus seemed to be pleasantly enjoying this display rather than annoyed. Then as we get closer to Camden, I watch as two regular-looking blokes get on the bus, and as they pass me, I discover they're only regular-looking from the waist up. From the waist down they're wearing patent-leather short shorts and brandishing handcuffs, chains and whips, and no one around us blinks an eye!
I think, this would happen only in London, and where else would I rather be?
After two weeks living it up in Finsbury Park with The Divine Miss Michelle and my friend Chad (who fondly refers to it as Finny P), it was time to move on. It had been a good two weeks, and made me better understand why people who move here from other countries like to stick with their own kind (while flat-hunting, the amount of ads requesting only Aussies or "Saffas" or Chinese flatmates was staggering). A few weeks doing it Chicago-style was a comforting experience.
So on Sunday morning, they kindly helped me lug my stuff down to Camden on a very crowded number 29 bus through some maddening construction traffic. They deposited my things, said hello to some of my new flatmates, gave my room, kitchen and especially back garden their approval, and that was it! And I immediately set to work unpacking and trying to find room for all my stuff. I was a lot happier on Sunday than I was on Saturday. Saturday I had stopped by to pick up my keys, drop off a few things, and had found a damp, smelly, dingy, empty room. The whole flat was empty, so I didn't meet anyone. I decided I hated it and I was going to be alone and had a minor panic attack. Sunday was better though, and as my stuff filled the room and I chatted with new flatmates, I got a bit more adjusted to the idea of living here.
In the late afternoon Christine came up and I met her in Camden for some dinner and shopping. I hadn't seen her in ages as she'd run off to Greece for holiday, so we caught up over drinks and pub food. Then we meandered through the markets looking for shoes and hats.
Monday I went back to work, and found I'd cut down my commute by at least 20 minutes, which is splendid. Then Tuesday morning I went to campus, sold off my AACR2 (woooo!) to an incoming library school student, and then headed over to Euston to catch a train up to Manchester.
As the prospect of returning to Chicago becomes a more substantial idea with a timeframe and everything, I am starting to feel pressure to whittle down the list of things I haven't done yet. One thing I hadn't done yet was see Mr. Darcy's house, which is goofy, I know, but it's right there! I wanna see! Another thing I hadn't done in awhile was see Graham, and since they're both right there, a short train ride away, I decided to take advantage.
It was a sunny day when I left London, but by the time I'd taken a very, very delayed train to Stockport, caught another train to the small town of Disley, and started my 1/2 mile hike from the train station to Lyme Park, it had started to pour rain. This was great fun for someone who's umbrella had just broken and had to be chucked out. The park and the house were lovely though and it had mostly cleared up when I got there. A shuttle took me the mile from the gate house to the main house, and the driver was tremendously excited to show me a huge herd of deer that had recently shown up on the property. And it was pretty cool. I'd never seen so many deer in one place!
The house itself is a lot smaller than I'd thought, and only the outside is recognizeable. It was staffed by loads of elderly Trust volunteers who couldn't wait to tell me all about the boring history of the house. I was too bashful to reveal that all I wanted to see was where Mr. Darcy lived. Also, unfortunately, half the house was having its roof worked on and therefore under scaffolding.
The more traditional Pemberly view:
Which was unfortunately more like this when the trees weren't blocking it:
Lovely garden and views:
I then spent a good time wandering through the gardens and enjoying the scenery, and looking at the lake where they filmed the famous wet shirt scene:
It might of been this lake:
. . .though, again, too embarassed to ask anyone!
So after that was done, and after a long day of travelling, I headed back in the direction of the train station. The shuttle driver was kind enough to direct me to a short cut towards the train station, which was helpful because the second I was on my way, it started to pour again. Plus, this short cut took me up my old nemesis, the steep hill, and then down some crazy path down rickety stairs through the woods, where I apparently got stung by a nettle! It totally hurt for hours.
I wearily settled in on the train back into Manchester, where I arrived just in time for the evening rush hour. This being my third time in the city, I skillfully managed my way from the station to Piccadilly Gardens to find my bus and headed down to Fallowfield where I'd booked a room in a dodgy, but cheap B&B. The decor of the room had changed little since the late-60's, had a bath, but no shower, a rickety near-death bed with lumpy mattress, and a TV with no reception. But at least it wasn't over an hour outside the city and over a disco! My luck at finding accomodation in Manchester appears to be improving?
I flopped down on the bed and just lay there for about an hour recovering my strength from all the travel until Graham called saying he could come over and asking for directions. So he came for a visit and we caught up with each other since it had been a few months. It was incredibly nice to see him again.
The next day I'd planned to spend most of my day downtown, since Graham was spending his day off running loads of errands and rehearsing with his band. So I headed back into town with a list of things to check out. Unfortunately, none of them worked out. The exhibit I wanted to see had already closed, and the library I wanted to visit was being remodelled! But I ended up stumbling across loads of other, fun things to do, and all of it free.
I found an exhibit of contributions to art, fashion and music by talented under-25-year-olds going on at Urbis, the urban art museum I had last visited with Diana back in December. I also walked down to the library I had wanted to visit, and took a look at the outside since even that is pretty to look at. I browsed and ate lunch at the massive Arndale shopping centre. Then I found the more artsy Northern Quarter district and meandered around there, shopping and visiting the gallery where Diana and Jay were based back in December, but I had never gotten to see.
Then, at a loss for what to do next, I stopped in a pub. I had just read Iris Murdoch's Under The Net and was fascinated by how the main character, having nothing else to do, would just wander through the streets of London, and every few sentences stop at a pub for a drink. It actually reminded me a lot of Andy and I when we'd spend the afternoon together, except it wasn't the middle of the day (usually) and I wasn't alone. The idea of going to a pub by myself was a bit frightening, but as I had nothing else to do and I stumbled across a place playing some really good music, I thought I'd be brave and have a go. So I ordered a pint, pulled out a book, and sat in the corner being very anti-social. Was the best I could muster!
After that, I'd run out of ideas. I wasn't hungry enough to have dinner, everything seemed to be closing for the evening, and it was starting to rain again. So I decided enough was enough, and made my way back to the hotel where I took a much needed nap. Later that evening, after he was all done with his obligations, Graham stopped by again to hang out and say goodbye.
I had to leave bright and early the next morning to make it back in time for work. I headed back downtown, and got a train, and, very, very tired, promptly fell asleep most of the way into London. I got back with only an hour to spare, and had to go straight to work, getting rained on once again, only to find that the bloody thing was closed for the day due to double booking and we were going to have some pointless training session instead! Total waste of time as the training was all with very brand new people and I had been there over a month and learned nothing new.
Friday I worked at Special Collections again, which is happily now within walking distance. It's beginning to feel rather pointless there, as my job is basically finished and they seem to be hunting for things for me to do. I think my days there are numbered! In the evening, I met Chad, Michelle and some other old classmates for drinks down near Waterloo station, which was very lovely. I didn't realize how much I missed everyone! It felt like old times a bit. They've all got jobs now, though, and I've just given up trying. It made me feel like they were all being productive and using their degree and I was just wasting time. So I told everyone about my plan to hang in London and travel until the end of the year and delay real-world job finding until the new year, and managed to make them all jealous somehow.
Saturday I just recovered from a long, busy week until Michelle texted me and asked if I wanted to come over for dinner with her and Chad. It's nice of them to take care of me, especially since Chad can cook very well, so being with them means I get a nice, home-cooked meal every once in awhile! I met one of Michelle's friends Victoria, who also came by, and we drank wine and talked about how amazing music is all night, and then all decided to go see Modest Mouse play Koko in November.
It was after midnight when I made my way home, with a practically new drying rack they had found in someone's rubbish pile and were lending me since I'd given mine away thinking the people who lived here before were leaving theirs. So as I drowsily rode the night bus home, feeling self-conscious for it being the middle of the night on a Saturday and I'm lugging a drying rack on the bus, I find myself surrounded by a group of European college students drinking straight from bottles of rum and loudly singing and dancing as one of them played the conga drums. The rest of the bus seemed to be pleasantly enjoying this display rather than annoyed. Then as we get closer to Camden, I watch as two regular-looking blokes get on the bus, and as they pass me, I discover they're only regular-looking from the waist up. From the waist down they're wearing patent-leather short shorts and brandishing handcuffs, chains and whips, and no one around us blinks an eye!
I think, this would happen only in London, and where else would I rather be?
posted by Lauren Matson | 11:42 AM
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