Spitting on the groundlings.

We started off a marathon week of reading, writing, and theatre-going with a trip to the Globe on Monday. Kris warned me that I ought to start learning how to feign excitement now for our Bus-ta-Move tour after BL ends. Apparently my response to “Look, it’s London” was not satisfactory, but really, I was excited, more excited than I expected to be. On the one hand, London is a big, bustling city, like New York. On the other hand, we saw Big Ben and Parliament all lit up as we were driving out after the performance, and it struck me that I had never been here before and this was all fresh and new, despite the centuries of history. Actually, our only reference point for Big Ben and Parliament was that Chevy Chase movie, so maybe we were looking at something altogether different.

So, not a big day in London, just an afternoon—an hour or so to trot across the Millennium Bridge, take a look inside St. Paul’s but not climb to the cupola because it was Evensong, trot back across the bridge, look at some ominous clouds in the distance, eat, and go to the Globe, where the performance of Merchant of Venice was lackluster compared to what we had been seeing, but the fake vomit and real rain (both, unfortunately for them, on the groundlings) made the experience. Of course, I need a back transplant now from sitting on those horrid benches… but the carnival atmosphere of the Globe was nothing short of enchanting and well worth the stiff neck.