NO8DO

During the thirteenth century, King Alfonso X's son Don Sancho led a revolt against his father. Sevilla remained loyal to the king. Of the city, Alfonso said, "No me ha dejado." Now, around Sevilla is written NO8DO, the 8 representing a skein of wool, madeja in Spanish. Read it aloud: "No madeja-do."

A Walk in the Country

Well-hydrated roomies
Reflections on Blackfriar's station
London suburbs flying by
Barred into the castle
Norman ruins
Celtic cross in the churchyard of a Gothic church
Old Gothic church
Madonna and child
The green gorgeousness almost became passé after we saw so much of it
Behind Shoreham church
Sheep
A hairy cow
Stream in Eynsford
Rape blossoms (from which canola oil is made)

Yesterday a gigantic group including my programme, all three programmes from the BYU London Centre, and a few people from a nearby stake took a train to Shoreham, Kent, and then walked through the Sevenoaks district. We saw several small towns (Eynsford, Lullingstone) and a lot of devastatingly beautiful countryside.

Buckingham Palace

Today we saw the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. In the middle of the half-hour long, solemn spectacle, the band of beefeaters played a medley of all the songs from Grease—proving that the English can never be completely serious about anything.

The National Theatre

A Matter of Life and Death—how do I describe it? A deconstructed musical about war, true love, and death featuring smoking nurses on bicycles, a burning bed, a flying dead Norwegian magician, a camera obscura, heavenly bureaucracy, and English fog in which the ending was decided by the flip of a coin (the ending is different on different nights depending on that coin toss). I was a little tramatized by the ending (we saw the "sad" ending), so I ended up drowning my grief in Cherry Garcia ice cream.
However, I have a lot to think about. The play gave us hope by showing that death is not a terrible thing. At the same time, the randomness and futility and pointless deaths of war are cause for despair.
The Reporter is an exploration of why star BBC coorespondent James Mossman killed himself. I was disappointed in the actor who played Louis, but otherwise I am again experiencing catharsis. Does our "real self" lie somewhere beneath the layers of deception that we take on, or are the layers what we really are?

Trafalgar Square

Lion on the corner of Trafalgar Square
Memorial to Admiral Nelson
Admiral Nelson
Statue in another corner of Trafalgar Square
Big Ben and the House of Parliment from the Hungerford Bridge
I have no idea what this building is, but it's beautiful

Kensington Gardens

Kensington Palace, once home to Princess Margaret and to Lady Diana
Gardens of Kensington Palace
The Orangery, a teahouse where an Indian wedding was held on Sunday (I didn't take pictures of that)
Royal Albert Hall
Memorial to Prince Albert
Albert's statue within the memorial

One corner of the memorial, representing one corner of the world: EuropeAsia
Africa
The Americas
Modern statue in Kensington Gardens

My nonconversation with a weird middle-aged guy in Kensington Gardens

Weird guy. Passing Bethylene on a path. Your hair is beautiful.
Bethylene. Looks over, startled. Looks forward again and keeps walking.

A few minutes later. Weird guy accidentally rejoins Bethylene as she heads towards the exit next to the Royal Albert Memorial. He falls into step with her on the opposite side of the paved path.

Weird guy. Aren't you cold?
Bethylene. Keeps walking.
Weird guy. What's wrong with you?
Bethylene. Keeps walking.
Weird guy. Are you ignoring me, or do you not speak English?
Bethylene. Keeps walking.
Weird guy. Better I leave you alone. Turns around and walks away.
Bethylene. Exits park, checking behind her to make sure she's not followed.

Smoky Bars and Swedish Twee

Tonight Christa and I went to the Monto Water Rats Theatre in King's Cross to see the super-cool and super-Swedish Suburban Kids with Biblical Names. We got there at 19:28, but the main act didn't come on until after 22:00. In the meantime, we watched a diverse crowd of British people gather at the bar, filling the room with thick tabacco smoke.
The first act, Cage the Elephant, was just a bunch of screaming. Christa and I left for a while. We wandered through Camden and found a community park.Back at the bar/theatre, we saw a quite good Scottish band called Seeing Scarlet. They weren't too bad.
Anyway, Suburban Kids with Biblical Names are everything that Swedish indie pop should be: skinny, bouncy, complex. The dance floor was full, and many of the staid British audience were actually bobbing to the beat! One awkward moment when a fiftyish man in the front row started singing "ba ba ba ba baba," the opening lines of "Rent A Wreck." I was slightly disappointed that the band did not play "Rent a Wreck," the song that introduced me to them on You Ain't No Picasso, but I can understand their reluctance to be one-hit wonders.