Yo Blair!

Apologies for the gaps in recent postings. Life has a way of taking time away from distractions like blog-writing, and as blog-worthy events pile up, it's hard to know where to start to unpack them.

This week, the surreal life.

University in the early 1990s were dominated by the usual strident leftie politics, especially after a decade of Thatcher, Reagan and A-ha. I didn't feel that strongly about things, or rather, I didn't feel I knew enough to pick a side. Nevertheless, by the time I left England for the USA in 1997, even I felt it was time for a change in the UK Government.

Ten years later, after Tony Blair's rather dramatic fall from grace, Gordon Brown took office this week. Wednesday, the day of the hand-over, I cycled through Westminster and up Whitehall, past Downing Street, to see if I could glimpse the action. There were a lot of press around, and police; a few more demonstrations along the way, but otherwise, a normal day in the area. The person who is likely to feel the most change is probably Blair himself. I have been tempted to point out that Blair came into government three months after I left the UK and left a few months after my return. Nothing to see here, no conspiracy, move along, move along.

The following evening, Thursday, I was wandering the streets of Soho going from bar to bar, pen and paper in hand. A purely fact-finding mission for an upcoming bar crawl, you understand. I must have looked a little odd, walking from place to place, quizzed by bouncers, walking in, taking in the space, the atmosphere, the always young and living-it-up crowd, walking out and scribbling a few notes down.

For now, however, I was enjoying the walk. Arriving at Great Marlborough Street, it was mostly empty but for a small group of men coming towards me. In that way in which subconscious recognition precedes actual thought, my celebrity-meter started to twitch. Surely that wasn't who I thought it was strolling towards me? Looking every bit the off-duty movie star, Kiefer Sutherland, aka Jack Bauer, strolled right past me. He was smiling and chatting, in a t-shirt that showed off both his arms and the tattoos that they try hard to keep hidden on the show.



I meant to stop him to say hello, and capitalise on a few tenuous connections that we share to engage in conversation, but before I could turn slippery thought into action, he was gone. If you're a fan of '24' as we are, this was a major sighting. Despite his already long career, he will probably forever be defined by his role as Jack Bauer. Bauer has become an iconic figure, the epitome of American certainty and action in an ever more uncertain political world, always at great personal cost.

That night I had a dream that I was pregnant and at the same time that the center of the geographic world was Kansas City, Utah. I wrote a lot more about this and deleted it all.

Friday morning we woke up to news of the foiled car bomb in London. On Haymarket around the corner from work, quite literally. I was a little skeptical at first (on the news it was variously Al Qaeda, Islamists, IRA, and was judged to be potent enough to mildly frighten three people or destroy most of West London), but I couldn't suppress a shudder when I thought of how I cycle down Haymarket on my way home. Still, the biggest problem was that the re-routing of the buses caused a rush of people past our normally empty Starbucks (yes, I admit it), and it was packed out with displaced commuters. Damn terrorists, messing up my morning coffee!

Trooping The Colour

How do you get to Troop The Colour? Practice

It started a couple of months ago. In the Horse Guard's Parade Ground, besides which we walk, run or cycle past almost daily, trucks moved in and built several tiers of seating around the edges of the ground. What was this for, we wondered? My guess was that it was for some season of spring and summer events or concerts, which seem to be the staple of large public spaces all over London.

Then, a month ago, on my way to work early one Monday, I happened across a regiment of Queen's Guards, complete with marching band, parading down the street. It was completely incongruous, and no one could figure out what they might be doing.

Two weeks ago during a run with the Serpentine running club around Hyde Park, we came across a large group of mounted Household Cavalry in full dress, but riding casually down the street, as if transporting themselves and their horses somewhere. Flags were going up all around the Palace and the surrounding parks. Something was clearly afoot. Someone said the words Trooping The Colour. A-ha.

Trooping The Colour has its roots in military history, now a ceremonial event, and performed during the Queen's official birthday celebrations, which happens to be today, June 16th.

The rehearsals and preparations went into high gear this week, as well as additional celebrations. On Tuesday evening St James' Park in front of the Parade ground looked like a makeshift battlefield, with army tents, tens of small armoured vehicles, tanks, and soldiers. No ordinary soldiers, but dressed in historic outfits, redcoats, infantry, and is that a French soldier's outfit over there? And just beyond them, a field of horses all dressed, with similarly historically dressed riders, feeding their mounts, waiting for the call to action. The air was rich and pungent with the smell of the horses (digression: we ate a cheese this week at the Neal's Yard Dairy that was described as "very farmyard-y", and goodness gracious if it didn't taste like wet hay, dirt and a horse paddock, I don't know how else to describe it). Turned out they (the tanks, the soldiers, the horses, plus a couple of camels that we didn't see) were all part of ceremonies which included a recreation of the Battle of Waterloo.

Thursday morning as I rode my bicycle around in front of Buckingham Palace, a giant trailer-tractor carrying several of those small armoured tanks came tearing around the roundabout, flanked by a noisy police escort, quickly followed by another. I tried to snap a couple photos I don't know if they came out yet.

Finally, yesterday morning, running with Donna and her friend Estelle at the ungodly hour of 6:30am through central London, running through Green Park towards the Palace, we could hear a marching band. Clearing the trees, we saw not just one marching band, but several, and hundreds of soldiers, divided into their regiments. They were massed in the grounds in front of the Palace, and marching through it and along birdcage walk. We caught sight of the Royal Marines in their characteristic white hats and gloves. All the bands were playing their different songs. The Royal Standard was flying, indicating that the Queen was in residence, probably thinking, One hates the days before the Trooping of the Colour, why can't they practice quietly? We ran alongside the front group of soldiers, crisply-dressed in white. A loud call brought them to a sharp halt, their boots on the pavement letting off a loud clap. Crisp, commented Estelle. I told the girls to slow down the running pace, they didn't need to impress the soldiers anymore.

The big day, Saturday. Today. We came into work for a little bit of weekend toil (deadlines, yadda yadda yadda), and the building guard at the desk had the television on. A march was playing. We watched it for a couple minutes, a grainy overhead view of horses and soldiers coming around the front of Buckingham Palace with the Queen in her carriage on their way to the Horse Guard's Parade, the streets lined with hundreds of people. Mostly tourists I'm sure. The rehearsals were better.

London | Trooping The Colour | England | Queen's Guards | Horse Guard's Parade | Buckingham Palace | Birthday

Underground, overground

scenes of a commute

I was late for work one day, the Tube was uncrowded. Opposite me sat a woman in full burqa dress. Only her eyes were visible through the slit of the veil. The skin around the eyes was a rich brown. Her hands held a copy of the Koran, which she opened and read between stations. Outside the train, a Hasidic Jew walked past the window.

On the 155 Bus from Stockwell, a young girl boarded the bus with her mother. She ran up to me, as if we were known to each other. She held out her hands, revealing a white stone, like quartz. Look, she said, heavily accented, I got this in school. I told her it was nice, and she remained there staring and grinning. I wasn't sure what to do.

During that same ride, I was looking down at my book, listening to music. I looked out of the window to my right, to see a car full of yoofs. One in the back looked at me, smiling broadly. It looked like they were having a good time. I think I must have smiled back. The boy slowly raised a proud middle finger at me, and the car accelerated away.

Back on the Tube, I sat next to a young woman, probably in her late teens. She was simply dressed. Her hands held a piece of paper. The tips of her fingers were almost white, she was gripping the note tightly. She glanced down at it, mouthed words, looked up and kept mouthing, half-covering the paper. I looked over to see what was written on it, piecing it together as I caught a word or two. She looked diagonally across the carriage to a similarly dressed man, they exchanged looks.
The note was a to-do list, and read as follows

- be a better wife and friend
- know God more
- look at work more (eg. tasks)

Standing in a crowded Tube carriage on the way home I spied a discarded note on the floor. I awkwardly crouched to try and pick it up, letting go of my grip on the pole that I was using to steady myself. The train lurched and I nearly fell, fingers closing on the note. Apologising to my silent but judgmental travelling companions whom I had falling into, I left the train. Here's the note (click on it for a larger view).


London | Tube | England | Travel | Found | Underground