Notes App poetry is my new medium: A London Post Pt 3

[disclaimer: as I was traveling alone and am a woman, I chose to post this after I returned from England]

Not me visiting my work offices in England and thinking I can finesse working my new job but over here!?

Anotha day, anotha eleven miles. Anotha gander around some museum or other. Anotha bench I’ve read my book club book on. One of my favorite things so far has been taking my book on field trips around the city. I’m in a Harry Styles book club (because duh), and this month, we’re reading Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield. It’s pretty amazing, I’ll say that.

One thing I’ve been committed to doing this year is not read books by white men, and I’ve done well except for a gifted book and this one. Honestly, my reading experience has been all the better for it. I got eighty pages into one earlier this year (which sounds like a lot of pages but the book was, like, 500), but it truly was not great. I was disappointed, and honestly, I really do hate how men write women. They have no idea.

Anyway, this being a memoir about Rob and his late wife…okay, there is one (1) white man I can accept to write about a woman, and it’s him talking about Renée. Can’t tell you how many park benches I shed tears on reading about Rob and Renée falling in love. I was reading outside of the National Gallery while waiting for my time slot, and amidst my tears, I wrote a bad poem called “Crying in Trafalgar Square.” It was an emotional moment.

I’ll post a review closer to my book club meeting, but wowza, I love music and I love love. Can’t think of a better city to have read this book in, especially since when I wasn’t reading, I was listening to my own playlists. Nothing is quite as good as a mix tape or a mix CD (sorry, I was born in the 90s and tapes were on their way out by the time I actually could make a tape), but it’s close enough.

My dad made a mix tape for my mom when he proposed, so I know how special they are. I made a mix CD for someone once. Twas a bit of a mistake, but we all make those. I’ll find someone who appreciates my playlists.

On Tuesday, though, I went to visit the Globe Theatre, ya know, the Shakespeare one. That’s one thing I didn’t do when I studied abroad. I know, and English major who didn’t visit the centerfold of one of the great playwrights? Travesty. I would’ve liked to see a play there as well, but it just didn’t work out, so I did a tour and afternoon tea instead. 

What I’ve always thought about Shakespeare and the “classics” is that they’re kind of tough to read. The language isn’t the easiest to grasp, and a lot gets lost, even by “good” readers. But seeing them onstage, especially at a simply laid out theatre like the Globe, helps it make so much more sense. I knew this from learning about Shakespeare, but our tour guide explained it further, citing certain passages and telling us how they would’ve been performed, why certain lines were repeated: that the actor would say it one way to the standing audience below, to the aristocrats in the boxes, and to the fanciest folks behind the stage; why characters would explicitly state where they were and what time of day it was. The stage was actually rather ornate looking, the wood being painted like marble and having colorful images painted on it.

An hour-long tour felt like it only took twenty minutes. It was simple, but I had such a good time. It definitely made me want to revisit Shakespeare as a writer. Though I still need people to view Romeo and Juliet as a tragedy and not really a love story? But anyway.

Then in typical England-fashion, I had afternoon tea at the restaurant on the property. Was it kind of embarrassing that they served me two place settings when I arrived and I had to say “oh no, it’s just me”? A little. Did I care that much? No. Honestly, it was lovely to read while eating finger sandwiches and drinking white ginger tea while the clouds were all gloomy and silvery outside.

I want afternoon tea every single day. When I get back, I might start doing it on a small scale. I have so much tea at home, I could totally do it. That would actually be a good opportunity to try baking macarons again. Hm, something to think about for my return.

Except I never want to leave here. I often read my journal from when I studied here, and it brings be back to some really incredible memories. I knew back then that I didn’t want to go home, and I can’t believe that it took me five years to make my big comeback. And now that I am back and having a wonderful time, getting on a plane back to LA in a couple of days sounds like the worst idea ever (sorry to my new boss lol). There’s just nothing like walking into a place after so long and feeling like no time has passed. Like riding a bike or seeing a friend for the first time in a while.

I thought that bike thing was kind of cliche, but I only ride a bike like once a year (and I’ve missed many a year), and it comes back to you very quickly. I’m probably better at it after not riding for a long time, to be honest. But that’s what being back has felt like, a little wobbling at first, but my feet belong on the ground here, dodging dog shit and slow walkers.

Off to take up space in more bookstores and drink more espresso. So much espresso, so little time.