A Medley of Extemporanea

* I’m in Ireland! I’ve never been to Ireland, but now I have!

TL;DR: I went up Chester Cathedral’s tower, did Roman sightseeing, and trained and ferried all the way to Ireland.

I never really figured out how the heater worked in the hotel room in Chester and as a consequence I woke up early and cold. The shower disappointed me due to a lack of pressure, but I managed to clean myself anyway. I had a quick and delicious breakfast and headed out at 8:30 for my Roman adventure in Chester.

UZUMAKI!

First stop was the amphitheatre, discovered in 1929 when the town council wanted to straighten out a road that had an obnoxious curve in it. They then discovered the reason for the obnoxious curve. The amphitheatre is only partially uncovered as the rest of it is under a listed house. I was impressed with the scale of it, and wandered around the floor, imaginary gladius in hand, fending off the advances of Sparticus.

My appetite whetted, I then found myself at the Dewa Roman Experience, which, alas, we’re doing maintenance that morning, and wouldn’t be open until after I had to head for the railway station. Too bad.

Instead, I went to Chester Cathedral, which I will categorize as fairly spectacular, with quirky bits of architecture and an excellent cloister garden (which was also closed, grr!). Since I had extra time with the lack of the Roman Experience, I opted to go on the Cathedral at Heights tour, which brings you up into the rarefied heights (it’s very obviously named) of the cathedral, ending up on the roof. The floor of the church from the gallery seemed o, so very far away, and the twisting spiral staircase we climbed seemed to go on forever until it suddenly didn’t. It was a clear morning, and we could see all the way to Liverpool from the roof. The wind blew hard up there, and I held on tight. I didn’t repeat my mistake at Senj, and properly ducked my head when I went back inside (On the rooftop of Senj Castle, I cracked my head so hard on the door frame I think I had a concussion. Not cool, Chris. Not cool).

Getting dizzy looking at this…

On my way out, I heard a to-do happening in the town square. There was a town-crier competition going on! (I actually knew this, but still cool ;)). I managed to catch the crier from Kingston, ON do a call for witnesses of a duel between Shott and Knot. It was impressive how he kept it together on such a tongue twisty speech.

Next, I went to the Grosvenor Museum, on the prompting of yesterday’s Legionary. It had quite a collection of Roman finds from the town, and gave a thorough going over of why the Romans chose the location, and stepped through the changes to the town over almost two thousand years. It also houses an exhibit of Roman tombstones found inside the wall. Workers had opened up a section to do some maintenance, and found that an early medieval fix (um, I think it was then!) had used some tombstones as filler. Great, because it meant they hadn’t weathered over the millennia and are all prime examples of 3^rd century burial markers. Well, I thought it was great, at least.

Conwy Castle, from the train

I managed to not go back to The Pied Bull for lunch, even though every taste bud begged me to have another of those sandwiches (no repeats, remember?) so I went to another pub and had a pulled pork sandwich. It was also awesome. I meant to write down how they made it, so I could request it this way when I got home, but I didn’t! What?! Writer much?!!?! Anyway, I think it had lettuce and tomato and caramelized onions and cheese and mayonnaise(? Something, at least), all on a soft bun that kind of looked like a ciabatta, but wasn’t. Yum!

Then I got my luggage and caught the train to Holyhead. It wasn’t packed like the train to Chester, and I managed to relax and enjoy the countryside, and not sing “Torremolinos, torremolinos!” when we passed Rhyl. There was, of course, a bunch of drunk guys on the train. They were going on about how they’d been drinking all day, and one of them said something very drawly, and another said “Well, “that’s the problem with american politics, we here in Britain think we understand it, but we don’t, not really. They have a different mindset. I think it’s because they went through that revolution of theirs.”  They went on to have a quite insightful discussion about different revolutions around the world in different time periods and debated whether they were an improving force for the people, or destructive. They got into it for a bit, but started to peter off. A bit of small talk and then one piped up, “you know, I wouldn’t mind going to Australia at some point.”

“Nah,” said his friend, “you don’t want to go to Australia, it’s shit.”

“How’d you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, it hasn’t had a revolution, has it?”

At least they weren’t spitting.

Longest totem ever. The town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

The ferry was late, due to rough seas, and so the crossing tossed me to and fro. I amazed myself with my ability to carry a plate full of food and a glass full of wine to my seat without spilling much of it. Ah, you thought I’d say any of it, but this is a totally truthful narrative, my friend, and I must admit that I slopped a bit of wine. At least it was the cheap stuff. Maybe Australian. Ok, that dig’s just a continuation of the Rhyl thing, and it won’t happen again. I’ll stop it, because it’s silly. Oop. So the crossing was rough. Rough enough that I couldn’t write, as I was getting seasick looking at the screen. Doh. I grinned. I bore it. I arrived in Dublin Port with all my innards on the inside.

A disappointment, and then an appointment. No one manned the customs desk at the ferry terminal. I had hoped for an Irish stamp in my passport, but no. Then reality struck. I had to get to the hotel. I intended on taking the bus, but the bus route convoluted, and needed two transfers. And we were already an hour late. What to do? I scrabbled impotently at the loose change of euros I had in my pocket, knowing that they would not secure a taxi all the way to the hotel. And then, someone said hello. I met a family that also meant to go to Shamrokon, and also didn’t relish the idea of bussing it with all their suitcases, so we made a pact to share a taxi. And share we did, and arrive we did. The hotel room I’m in is quite swank, and has facecloths. I lay on the bed to test it out, and had the hardest time getting back out of it. I meant to go down to the bar and sample my first ever Guinness in Ireland, but no, that would have to wait until tomor…zzzzz

*I completed my TfL set!

TL;DR: I went to a sorry market, and THE HARRY POTTER EXPERIENCE (WOOO), and saw an awesome show at the Savoy

Post con, post long walk, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. Not true, I had bought a ticket to the Harry Potter Experience up near Watford, but that was in the afternoon, and I had all morning to kill. I resolved to go to a market and buy myself a new hat. The one I had bought at market in 2011 had gotten ratty, and I thought it would be fitting to get another one in London. Alas, the market I chose (I didn’t want to go to the market I’d been to already — see my comments yesterday about revisiting) did not have exciting hats, or exciting anythings, really. Too bad. It left me with an interesting issue, though. I didn’t have enough time to do anything terribly exciting, but too much time to simply hop the tube to Euston. So, in the spirit of my long walks, I walked there. It took about  an hour and a half, plus I had walked an hour to get to the market, so it fit the mould of the Thames walks. The only problem, of course, is that it was the middle of the day, and it got me all exercised.

I still arrived at the station quite early, but this allowed me the time to take the one piece of Transport for London equipment that I had yet to take this trip: the Overground. Yup, it’s called the Overground. It’s like the Underground, except it doesn’t go underground. It stays up top. All the seats are against the windows, which makes watching the world go by darn difficult, but I tried my best. I tried, that is, until I once again became surrounded by teenage girls. At least they weren’t spitting. I did learn that if one of them got their licence, their dad would her a car, but he’d get it registered in Somethingshire instead of London because insurance would only be £3000 a year as opposed to £15000. This made me wonder what the hell kind of car he had promised her.

Off the train at Watford Junction and into the PotterMobile. It’s a shame it wasn’t a triple-decker. I’ll spare you the details of the tour, but I will say that it was well worth it if you liked the movies and books. I had to exercise considerable constraint at the wand table, and I managed only through the determination that the boys should have their own wands pick them. I really enjoyed this place, and I spent over three hours there. I could have easily spent more, but I had a plan for the evening, and I didn’t want to scupper it.

A slightly terrifying wax figure of Hermione. Those eyes!!! Note the author in reflection.

I rushed back to town, catching the fast train (the OG took 45 minutes, the fast train 20), then booking it to Leicester Square. I wanted to see another show! I originally meant to see Let the Right One In, but when my turn came up at the cut-rate ticket seller, I decided that I wanted something comedic instead. So I got a ticket for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Here’s a tip: day-of tickets usually get discounted up to 50%, but if you’re alone and they have singles, they’ll do even better. My ticket was 60% off. And excellent. I’ve seen this movie a couple of times, but it wasn’t a musical then, and this one was. The songs were fantastic, the actors had such stage presence, and the production had me standing and ovating at the end. I have to say I admire actors in musical theatre. They sing! They dance! They perform! They pull you into their manufactured world for a couple of hours in an intimate dialog! And then they do it again and again and again, day in, day out! There’s nothing like seeing a good musical to kick me in the pants (IE: trousers) vis-à-vis my artistic pursuits. And the Steve Martin character looked like Lieff. So there’s that.

The curtain at the Savoy Theatre.

Then home and packing and bed, for the next day, it’s Chester time!

* I opened a pineapple tin!

TL;DR: I finished my walk, watched a couple of my writing heroes in action (Talking about you, Mur & Connie!), and was pleasantly relieved that I didn’t have to pull out the Fielding Mellish trial quote during the Hugo ceremony.

Today was the day that I did it! I finished the last (or first really, since I’ve been going from west to east) leg of the London section of the Thames Path. I had a long slog from ExCel to Hampton Court Station, but I made all my connections, and I only had to change train cars once to free myself from the screaming and spitting (!!!) of some kids misspending their youth.

Today was also a day of thinking about Three Men in a Boat, as they start out on the river in Kingston, and pass through the maze at Hampton Court Palace with hilarious results. I didn’t do the maze, mostly because I wanted to get back in time to shower before the “So grim. Much serious. Wow.” panel, because not showering wouldn’t be fair to anybody.  Also I figured I’d suffer the fate of Harris and get lost in there, a gaggle of tourists waddling behind me. Also it hadn’t opened for the day when I got there.

Actually 2 women and a man in a boat, to say nothing of the dog, specifically because there wasn’t one

The walk today was easy and pleasant. I spent much of my time thinking about the book, giggling whenever I saw three men rowing upstream in a skiff, and enjoying the atmosphere of the area. Many anglers lined the path, some with many poles in, some with enough infrastructure to support a fishing industry. They focussed on their lines with the intensity of Billy Crudup in Stage Beauty. As such, not one of them said hello. Between Hampton and Teddington almost everyone else did. Very nice.

It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold, and my legs felt like the very latest model, so I made good time. This time I moved to the south bank as soon as I could (in Kingston).  Took some pictures of people in skiffs, because, you know. The Teddington lock seemed to go on and on. I feel like it must be the place where all those Victorian era photos of hundreds of skiffs and rowboats and the like all jammed into one lock were all taken.

Along the way I passed a wild bird refuge and saw many instances of this little guy:

It’s impossible to see in this picture, but it has a black head and tail, with white in the middle and blue markings on the wings. Hmm, I should be able to look that up. It’d be funny if it’s a nuthatch, since I’ll be using Olsen’s Standard Book of British Birds (expurgated).

Huh! It’s a magpie! I thought I knew what magpies were but I guess not. Now I have the magpie theme song in my head, as interpreted by Death by Chocolate. There could be worse things, I suppose.

I started hearing gunshots, but I had read in my handy guidebook that a rifle range could be found on the Ham Lands, which I had passed into,  so I kept calm and carried on. Before  I could imagine it possible, the Richmond bridge appeared around a bend in the river. My quest had come to an end. I did a restrained jump for joy, and looked for the pub.

I had a Sunday roast and a Young’s Special at the White Cross in Richmond. A massive meal, but I polished it off enough to make Mr. Lieff proud. I had considered sitting in the garden by the river, but I had gotten fed up with the wind so I sat indoors. Good thing. By the time my food came, a tempest crashed against the countryside, the wind setting the drops on a horizontal track, leaving no sanctuary, not even under the generous-sized umbrellas. It was a wonder they stayed up, I thought.

I had a talk I wanted to go to, so I zipped up my raincoat and put on my hat and stepped out into the storm. The rain immediately stopped, and the sun came out, baking me in my wet-weather gear. No matter, I thought. Bake away, the rain will come again if I take it all off, so I won’t tempt fate! It didn’t rain. But! When I approached the railway station (NB: I originally wrote train station there, but I’m in Ennnnngland, dammit! Railway it is!) a woman offered me a sampler of Foster’s Radler. Now you might not know me personally; you might, for instance, have come here to hear what I had to say about LonCon 3 (don’t worry, I’m getting there). The number one hit on my blog is a review I did of this Slovenian radler called Union Red Orange Radler. Go take a peek, I’ll wait. Back? I have a soft spot for these drinks. The Red Orange, not so much. The Foster’s? But I’m getting ahead of myself. So I have this can of radler, in the middle of this square. Can I drink it? Hm, maybe I’ll stick it in my raincoat pocket, as I’m feeling kind of awkward walking around with it now. I reach the other end of the square, and another can is proffered to me. Automatically, I take it (long walk, big meal, and beer will do that to a fella) and stick it in my other pocket, and carry on. I ended up drinking them at the hotel before going to the con, as this is a budget hotel, and they have no concept of ice.

I had my first panel at 3! I rushed and rushed and rushed and thought to myself, gosh, wouldn’t it be nice to try out that gondola? This tube will be stopping in North Greenwich, it’s the only time where I wouldn’t be just taking it and going back immediately. I can use it as a transit alternative! I convinced myself and got off at said station. Only then I realized my mistake. Twas quite a hike to the gondolas, and they aren’t the turbo ones like at Mont Tremblant. No. This little detour added an extra 20 minutes to my return trip. Oh noes! Might I get to the panel and find all the seats taken, and then miss it? A calculus occurred then. Fortunately for all my fellow con-goers, I took the shower that I considered skipping to make up time. A cold one; I didn’t want to be George Costanza, and dressed and out and rush rush rush, Oh, there’s Connie Willis. She was part of the panel I was on my way to see, and she was on her way into the hotel. Now, I can’t remember if I related the whole “OMG, Connie said good morning to me! I have goosebumps all over!” episode of a few days ago, but I guess that fuelled some level of boldness.

“So, I guess I shouldn’t be rushing off to your panel so quickly,” said I (though I have to admit while that sounded haha and dashing in my head, I twisted my tongue around while I said it, because, you know, I’m kind of teasing Connie Willis (!!!) ).

“Don’t worry!” she said, “I’ll be there!”

I smiled, relieved that she actually understood me, and I waved and carried on. I managed to get to the queue for the room at 2:30. More than 30 people already stood around, waiting to be let in. I had arrived, it seemed, at exactly the right moment, for not five minutes later, the line stretched behind me to the end of the hallway. I exchanged pleasantries with my line mates, made terrible queue-based puns that don’t need to be repeated (so DON’T ask!) and eventually got in and sat and waited for teh awesomes.

The panel, “So grim. Much serious. Wow”, featured Connie, Mur Lafferty, Tanya Huff, Darren Nash, Simon R. Green, and Ellen Klages. Everyone was late. I had expected that what with Connie not only at the far end of the convention hall (it’s a big hall) but actively going into her hotel. No one was really late, except Ellen, who, of course, was the moderator. The panel, if you can’t guess it from the cast of characters named, focussed on comedy in genre fiction. It was quite good, with anecdotes, good advice, funny jokes, a not so funny joke by Simon that he got called out for, and mostly a good author-based discussion of the pitfalls of being known as funny (I say it like this because Nash, the digital publisher for Gollancz, faded into the background once everyone got started). Well worth standing around for 20 minutes.

Bundoran Press hosted an event in the fan village. Being a proud Canuck, I went to support them and give a “Go Canadian Small Press!” cheer and all that. It was great fun, and I had many intelligent/silly conversations, so much so that when I went to my next panel, the room had filled up already. I had a sad, but then continued on with intelligent/silly conversations until my blood sugar level said, “Hey, eat something you hockey puck!”

Then a line up for the Hugos, and I had an amazing seat until Brad, the telepresence guy, parked his robot in my line of site. I forgave him once I realized he’d been taken over by a dalek. The Hugos went almost as I had voted,  the exceptions being Gravity and SF Signal, though they were both my number 2s. I am pleased beyond belief that Randall Munroe’s Time won for Graphic Story, as the four months that time was running was not a productive time at work for me, and I wanted to be sure it was worth it. It’s amaZONG. Anyway.

After that Irena, from the group of Croats at the con, invited me to their beach party, where I amazed — amazed, I say! — everyone with my Croatian pronunciation skills. And I un-amazed myself with my ability to drink fig brandy. The fig brandy is why this update is two days late. But it was worth it! Urp.