Thursday, March 6, 2008

Mr. Allen Goes to London

I've been a might busy over the past couple of weeks entertaining my dad, and I, therefore, apologize (I literally almost spelled it the 'english' way just then...apologise....!!)for not blogging and subsequently for the crummy update blog in which I try to cram everything into a blog that isn't so blindingly daunting that you take one look and click on the link to Diana's blog...which...by the by...has been dormant for longer than mine...and Diana is on spring break now.

OKAY. So my dad arrived on a Thursday evening two weeks ago. I was late to pick him up from Heathrow because, ironically, it takes longer to get from central london to southwest london on the tube than it does to get from Glasgow, Scotland on a plane. Awesome. He was fine though, sauntering around with a pocket full of change that he only recently realized was 1 and 2 pound coins. Liam and I tossed him right into the frying pan by making him walk about a mile to and from a restaurant Friday night and then dragging him up a big hill at Highgate and up and down numerous hills on hampstead heath. we visited Highgate cemetery where we saw the grave of Karl Marx:

and this:

and this:

and finally, this:

Then we walked some more and then some more and finally forced dad to sit through the last half of the United/some other team that lost football game in the pub down the street where the owner tried to charge me 1.40 pounds for two small bags of chips, but took a single pound when I (lied and) told him that was all I had. .70 pence is way too much for a bag of chips at a pub....and I know...I love pubs. In fact, pub culture is one of my favo(u)rite things about London life. They're so warm and inviting with their fireplaces and big 'leather' chairs, dark lighting, and creamy bitter...especially when there's no t.v. to spoil the atmosphere, and trust me, there are plenty of pubs without tellies.

Anywho. Later, we made chili with beef...which I was embarrassed about when my house mate Simone came home. She's Hindu...and I wasn't expecting her in, and I LOVE beef chili. She (lied and) said she was already planning on eating something else, and every time I wanted to look up from my bowl of chili to remark 'isn't this delicious,' I felt kind of bad and I bit my tongue. beef schmeef....hindu schmindu. yeah, i said it.

The next week was filled with dragging my dad around from one corner of London to the next until he (literally, on occasion) begged to slow down and just sit and read at home. I was worried he wouldn't see everything he might want to see, worried that he might not have a good time. I was being a daughter. curses.

After a few nights of not being sure I was going to be able to see them, I downloaded the academy awards and watched them on a couple of train rides on my laptop. always a pleasure.

My dad and I saw Kevin Spacey and Jeff Goldblum live in David Mamet's 'Speed the Plow.' Brilliance...sheer brillinace...except for the girl. Rarely do I see a play and think, 'I would have been so much better in that role,' but this is one of those instances. She just DID NOT understand Mamet and his dialog style. It was miserably watching her perform. She sucked the life right off the stage and made Jeff (cause he's my pal) practically beg for some interaction (which was not the idea). In the end they were supposed to have slept with each other, but the chemistry experiment was an utter failure due to the lack of potent substances. Kevin Spacey came back in the end to save the day and save Jeff's back. So, I say it now...I would have been SO MUCH BETTER than she was.



I hope you've enjoyed the blog, and the obligatory tourist dad pictures interspersed throughout. These were my idea, of course.

4 comments:

diana said...

not that I owe you any explanation, but I have no computer at home. I've actually driven up to school on my spring break just to read your blog. THANK GOD there was a new post.

chrishaley said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
chrishaley said...

I can't believe how unremarkable Douglas Adams' grave is, and yet it makes perfect sense.

Grace said...

LOVE the last picture of you!