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A Couple In England – Day Two – Part Five

After tearing ourselves away from the Rolls Royce dealership in Berekeley Square, we caught a cab and were soon passing the historic Coach and Horses pub. As we approached the back of the Royal Academy I noticed a long line and asked the driver what was on at the RA that had people lining up as far as the eye could see. “It’s not the RA,” he told me, “They’re all waiting to get into Abercrombie and Fitch.”
Abercrombie and Fitch!? “We’ve got them in every mall in America.”
“Well, this is the only one in London and it just might be the only one in the UK. Next time you’re coming over, you should bring boxes of their stuff with you and sell it on the street. You’d make a mint.”
Not a bad idea.

Our destination was Ye Olde Chesire Cheese in Fleet Street. You may recall from a previous post that on a past trip over, Hubby and I had twice tried to eat there and had found it closed each time. I was determined that he should see it. Why this should be, since the man could care less about British, not to say London, history I can’t say. However, as we pulled up this time, we could see that it was, indeed open. Huzza!

We went into the alley, where the entrance stands.

And through the door to the entry hall.
Directly to the right is a bar room.

I’ll tell you right now that I did not take these pictures, as when we were there it was so crowded that none of these architectural details would have been visible. Not only was it crowded, but there was no host or reception point at all. I flagged down a harried looking waitress in the front room and asked about a table and was told that it would be at least forty-five minutes before a table in her section would be free. There was no waiting list to put one’s name down upon, one should just wander from room to room and look for a free table.
Turning away from her, my mind worked furiously for a way to put this information into more positive terms before passing it on to Hubby.
“What did she say? Did you put our name down? How long is the wait?” he asked in the very next moment. Truly, I had nothing else so I reluctantly went with the truth.
“Forty five minutes, no list, we just have to walk around until we find a free table.”
“Oh, great. With this crowd?”
“Come on, we’ll go look for a table and you can see the place properly. Dr. Johnson used to come here.” Shut up, you idiot. Now is not the time for Dr. Johnson. “And Dickens. Dickens used to come here, too.”
“What? I can’t hear you with all this noise!”
“I said let’s look in this back room here.” Nothing. Not a seat in sight. “Okay, we can try downstairs.”
“What?”
“Watch your head. The ceiling is really low in the stairwell. Really, watch your . . . . . . “
“Christ, I almost hit my head! Who in their right mind makes a ceiling this low?”
Not a free table in sight here either. Not a free stool at the bar. Not an employee who looked as though they gave a toss one way or another whether we stayed or not. The rooms themselves are quite small and, crowded as they were that night, they seemed to shrink as the noise level continued to rise.
“How badly do you want to eat here?” the Hubby yelled into my ear.
“It’s not so much that I’m set on the food,” I replied. “I really wanted you to see the place.”
“I’ve seen it. Can we go now?” Needless to say, we left. And started up Fleet Street back towards Piccadilly. We hadn’t walked very far before I was compelled to enter an alleyway off to our right.
“What are you doing? What’s in there?”
“Come and see. It’s Dr. Johnson’s house.”

If you’ve never been to Gough Square, where the House stands, it’s terrifically atmospheric and even more so at dusk.
I stared round at our surroundings for a few moments. “When a man is tired of London, a man is tired is life, for there is in London all that life can afford.”
“My good man.”
Back on Fleet Street, we walked a bit more and passed the Courts before the Hubby asked the question of the hour. “Where are we going to eat?”

“How hungry are you?”
“I can eat.”
“Yeah, but do you have to eat right now? Or can you wait a bit?”
“How long a bit?”
“I’m thinking we could take a cab back to Burger and Lobster.”
“My girl. I’m thinking I love you.”

So back we went to Clarges Street.

Where I showed Hubby the extensive menu. Everything comes with chips and a salad and everything is twenty pounds. Unless you want to upsize your lobster, but I’m getting ahead of myself . . . . 

There were no empty tables at Burger and Lobster, either, but there were two empty seats at the bar. We bellied up, ordered cocktails and waited for our table. And waited. And ordered another round. And chatted with the barman. And drank. And waited some more. Hubby, surprisingly, was uncomplaining. It may have been the convivial atmosphere. Or the three drinks. Reader, a fine time was had by all.

We were finally shown to a table and when we both ordered the lobster, our server asked if we wanted anything larger than the standard pound and a quarter crustacean. Hubby and I both opted for two pounders.

Yes, dinner tasted as delicious as it looked. And we were each served a complimentary dessert due to our long wait. Meal over, we put our coats and scarves back on and ventured out into the brisk night and walked literally around the corner to our hotel. The perfect end to a truly perfect day. Yes, at long last, Day Two is finally over. You’ve been real troopers putting up with my wanderings thus far and I thank you for your patience.
Day Three Coming Soon . . . . . .

The Tour of Dr. Syntax, Part 8

 

The Tour of Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque, Part 8

A Few Notes about Poetry…

At the time of the publication of Dr. Syntax by William Combe, the form of iambic tetrameter was very popular. 

Think of Byron’s She Walks in Beauty (1814):

“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

People were quite accustomed to reading verse with four beats to a line, though I seem to recall that iambic pentameter (five beats per line) was taught more in my lit classes…

Combe in Dr Syntax uses the AABB of rhyming couplets; Byron, above, used ABAB. Both are equally familiar.

I admit that when I read the lines of Dr. Syntax aloud, I unconsciously use a sing-song expression that make is sound a little childish — sort of like nursery rhymes , or “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Sugar is Sweet, and so are you.”

In any case, The Adventures of  Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque is poetry of a type that seems to lead to comic effects, just what the writer and publisher had in mind. Just as an example, here are the openings six lines from Canto 12.  Can you read them aloud without sounding sing-song?

 Excerpts from Canto XII

LIFE is a journey, — on we go,

Through many a scene of joy and woe:

Time flits along, and will not stay,
Nor let us linger on the way:
Like as a stream, whose varying course
Now rushes with impetuous force.

To pick up the story, we left Dr. Syntax with the Squire and his wife…singing songs.  Eventually they retire and the next morning, Dr. S. explains his quest for scenes of the picturesque.

“‘No,’ he (Dr. S.) exclaim’d, ‘I must away: —
I have a splendid book to make.
To form a Tour — to paint a Lake;
And, by that well projected Tome,
To carry fame and money home…'”
The Squire insists on giving Dr. S. a letter of introduction to a noble friend, and Syntax, after three kisses from the Squire’s wife, resumes his journey, finally assured of his own  fortune at last. When he arrives at the handsome home of Sir John, Syntax has more interest in his dinner than the Lord’s artworks.
Doctor Syntax with
My Lord — by Rowlandson
“My Lord.
‘What think you, Doctor, of the show
Of pictures that around you glow?'”
Syntax.
‘I’ll by-and-by enjoy the treat;
But now, my Lord, I’d rather eat.'”
 Despite the Doctor’s rudeness, the butler  eventually conducts him to the cellar where he is invited to partake of the Lord’s beer.
“At length the potent liquor flows,
Which makes poor man forget his woes.
Syntax exclaim’d, ” Here’s Honour’s boast;-
The health of our most noble Host —
And let fair Devon crown the toast.”
The cups were cheer’d with loyal song;
But cups like these ne’er lasted long.
And Syntax stammer’d, “Do you see ?
Now I’m of this fam’d cellar free,
I wish I might be quickly led
T’ enjoy my freedom in a bed.”
He wish’d but once, and was obey’d,
And soon within a bed was laid,
Where, all the day’s strange business o’er,
He now was left to sleep and snore.”
  
Doctor Syntax Made Free of the Cellar — by Rowlandson

Excerpts from Canto XIII 

Dr. Syntax has a night of dreaming he has been named a bishop…but is roused in the morning to breakfast with Sir John …but declines the invitation to hunt.
“Your sport, my Lord, I cannot take,
For I must go and hunt a lake;
And while you chase the flying deer,
I must fly off to Windermere,
Instead of hallooing to a fox,
I must catch echoes from the rocks;
With curious eye and active scent,
I on the Picturesque am
bent…”
Dr. Syntax travels four days until he reaches Keswick
“Soon as the morn began to break.
Old Grizzle bore him to the Lake;
Along the banks he gravely pac’d.
And all its various beauties trac’d;
When, lo, a threat’ning storm appear d!
Phoebus the scene no. longer cheer’d;
The dark clouds sank on ev’ry hill;
The floating mists the valleys fill:
Nature, transform’d, began to low’r.
And threaten’d a tremendous show’r.”
Doctor Syntax Sketching the Lake — by Rowlandson
‘I love,’ he cried, ‘to hear the rattle,
When elements contend in battle;
For I insist, though some may flout it,
Who write about it, and about it.
That we the Picturesque may find
In thunder loud, or whistling wind:
And often, as I fully ween.
It may be heard as well as seen;
For, though a pencil cannot trace
A sound as it can paint a place,
The pen, in its poetic rage.
Can make it figure on the page.'”
Later, when Dr. Syntax and his horse Grizzle are thoroughly wet… 
To that warm inn they quickly hied.
Where Syntax, by the fire-side,
Sat in the landlord’s garments clad,
But neither sorrowful nor sad:
Nor did he waste his hours away,
But gave his pencil all its play,
And trac’d the landscapes of the day.

Excerpts from Canto XIV

 

The next morning, Dr. Syntax meets up with a party of tourists with whom he discusses the nature of the picturesque and how the concept differs from the idea of the beauty of simple nature.
“‘The first, the middle, and the last.
In Picturesque, is bold contrast;
And painting has no nobler use
Than this grand object to produce.
Such is my thought, and I’ll pursue it ;
There’s an example — you shall view it.
Look at that tree; then take a glance
At its fine, bold protuberance ;
Behold those branches — how their shade
Is by the mass of light display’d :
Look at that light, and see how fine
The backward shadows make it shine :
The sombre clouds that spot the sky.
Make the blue vaulting twice as high;
And where the sun-beams warmly glow.
They make the hollow twice as low.
The Flemish painters all surpass
In making pictures smooth as glass :
In Cuyp’s best works there’s pretty painti
ng,
But the bold picturesque is wanting.'”
This satirical view of how nature is picturesque only in its exaggerated form is the message that William Combe, writer of Dr Syntax, was imparting — to make fun of those who extolled only the virtue of the twisted and grotesque. 
Dr. Syntax Drawing After Nature — by Rowlandson
A Squire of the party of travelers invites Dr. Syntax to his home where he is ca;led upon to sketch his host’s fine cattle. 
“The Doctor now, with genius big,
First drew a cow, and next a pig:
A sheep now on the paper passes.
And then he sketched a group of asses :
Nor did he fail to do his duty
In giving Grizzle all her beauty. …”
As is so frequent, Dr. Syntax ends his day with a fine meal:
“At length they to the house retreated.
And round the supper soon were seated ;
When the time quickly passed away.
And gay good-humour clos’d the day.”

End of Canto XIV 

 More Adventures of Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque….coming soon.

A Couple In England – Day Two – Part Four

I returned to the hotel at about four o’clock, laden down with packages and panting for a drink. Opening the door to our room, I found Hubby sitting on the end of the bed, watching a competitive darts match on the telly.
“Hey, Hon,” said he in greeting, “You ever watch this?”
“Darts?”
“Yeah, I’ve been watching it for hours. These guys are great. Did you have fun?”
“I did,” I said, pulling off my boots, “And now I’m going to have rum.”
“Rum? Really? Where?”
“Right here,” I told him, taking the bottle and the six pack of Coke out of the carrier bag.
That earned me a smile from the Hubby. “My girl! I love you. Did you get ice?”
Ice? Really? “We’re in England. Learn to drink it with no ice.”
“I need ice.”
“I hear tell they have some downstairs at the bar. They probably have an ice bucket they can lend you, as well, if you ask nicely.”
“And I’ll get us some real glasses, too. We don’t want to drink out of the bathroom glasses.” Don’t we?
Hubby was gone and back in a flash and I made us two stiff drinks. I watched him watching darts as I sipped the glorious juice of the Gods. Egad, but that drink hit the spot.
“Why are you back so early?” Hubby eventually asked.
“I thought I’d come back here and get you and we could walk down to Apsley House together.” Hubby turned away from the telly long enough to give me the fish eye.
“The only way I’d walk to Apsley House today is if you told me it was seventy-four degrees over there. It’s freezing outside.”
“It is seventy-four degrees at Apsley House. And the sun is perennially shining. And they have a pool out back. With pool boys and cabanas.”
“Riiiiight.”
“Oh, listen . . . . . I stumbled on the most fantastic restaurant in the next street. It’s called Burger and Lobster.” I proceeded to regale the Hubby with all that I’d seen at the restaurant. “We’ll go and look at it when we go to dinner.”
 
“Where are we going for dinner? Not lobster?”
 
“Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.”
 
“Oh, not that again!” said Hubby. I couldn’t blame him. On our last trip to London we’d tried twice to eat at the Cheshire Cheese, finding it closed both times. Once after we’d called to make sure they’d be open and, more dreadfully, another time when we’d let the cab go and found ourselves on the deserted streets of the City after business hours with no other cabs in sight. Hubby was not best pleased.
 
So we eventually toddled our way to the lobster joint, where we pressed our foreheads to the big plate window and watched as the people inside dug into their meals. The joint was packed.
 
“Boy, they look good,” sighed Hubby. “What do they have at the Cheesey joint?”
 
“English food. Roast beef, bangers and mash, like that.” Even as I said the words, I knew they couldn’t compete with the scene before our eyes – a restaurant filled with happy, bib wearing people cracking shells and slurping melted butter to their hearts content.
 
“I guess we should get a cab,” Hubby gamely offered.
 
“In a bit. There’s something I want you to see first.”
 
Hubby turned away from the window and sighed. “What is it? Something to do with the Duke? It had better be quick, because it’s freezing.”
 
“It’s just down the street. You’re going to like this.”
 
“Riiiiight.”
 
So off we went to Berkeley Square, which really is just down the street. I intended to show the Hubby something that I knew would be just up his alley and then jump in a cab down to Fleet Street. But you know what they say about good intentions . . . . we’d just entered the Square from Curzon Street when I was overcome with the need to begin pointing out sights of historical significance to the Husband.

“That’s Maggs Brothers over there,” I said, pointing.
“It’s a bookshop. And the building is supposedly the most haunted in London.”
“Uh huh.”
 
“They sell rare and antiquarian books. They sold a copy of the Gutenberg Bible,” I told him, but received no response. I knew that I should just shut up, but again, I was compelled to go on. “And they sold Napoleon’s penis.”
 
“Riiiiight.”
 
“It was said to be Napoleon’s penis, but that was according to his doctor and his valet and you can’t trust anything the valet said. Look
at what he did with the death mask.”
 
“Death mask?”
 
“Yeah. You’ll see it at Apsley House. They said it was Napoleon, but now there’s speculation that the mask was taken from the living valet’s face, not the dead Napoleon’s face.”
 
“My good man.”
 
“Quite. And over there, where those buildings are, is where Gunter’s stood.”
 
 
“I just know you’re going to tell me what Gunter’s is.”
 
“Was. It’s not there any longer and more’s the pity. They were confectioners, most known for their ices. The ton would pull up in their carriages and the staff would bring out trays of ices so that they could eat them without climbing down. Of course, you could go in and eat, too.” Shut up, I advised myself. Save your breath. He has no idea what the ton was and no idea of the cultural significance of Gunter’s. Or Almack’s. Or Vauxhall Gardens, for that matter.
 
“We’re almost there,” I said. “The place I wanted to show you is right up the street.”
 
“A Rolls Royce showroom?” Hubby asked as we approached.

“And Bentley’s. I thought you’d like it.”

 
“I gotta be honest, Hon. This is even better than Napoleon’s penis.”
 
My good man.
 
 
 
Part Five Coming Soon . . . . . . . .
 

Pride & Prejudice Anniversary Merchandise

Commemorative stamps issued by the Royal Mail will be available starting February 21st.

Pride and Prejudice anniversary Journal and Mug from BBC America.

Pride and Prejudice T-shirt, BBC America

T-shirt – I’m not single, I’m just waiting for Mr. Darcy

Pemberley Christmas ornament

iPhone 5 case

iPhone 4 case

Tall, Dark and Darcy tote

Darcy quote vinyl wall decal

Elizabeth and Darcy bookends/shelf pillows

Set of 3 Pride and Prejudice votive candles

Handcut paper silhouettes

Jane Austen Silhouette

Book purse

Valentine Cards

Jane Austen reproduction ring

Jane Austen gypsum plaster bust

A Couple In England – Day Two – Part Three

After my Mayfair Stroll, I returned to the hotel in order to get properly dressed. The Hubby, but this time, was awake, but still in bed.
“You look comfy.”
“I am comfy,” he agreed, using the remote control in order flip through the UK television channels.
“Do you want to do something? Go out for a bit? I want to do a few things on Piccadilly.”
“Hon,” he began, looking at me properly, “Go and do whatever it is your heart desires. Really. I’ll be just fine here.”
“You’re going to stay in the room? In London?”
“I’m perfectly happy here. I’m not at work, so this is a vacation for me. Look, your idea of a vacation is different than mine. We both enjoy laying on the beach. We both enjoy a cruise. We don’t both enjoy walking around London from morning till night. Go. I’ll be just fine.”
“You won’t mind if I don’t come back for a few hours?”
“Just be back in time for dinner.”
By this time, I’d not only gotten properly dressed (an actual outfit in which all pieces were meant to be worn together, at the same time) and put my make up on. Finished, I put my coat on and I grabbed my purse.
Walking to the door, I hesitated. “Caffe Nero is just at the corner, as you know, and two doors down from that is Tesco Express. Oh, and there’s a Marks and Spencer Just Food a block down on Piccadilly. And Shepard’s Market behind us, where they have pubs and restaurants.”
“Go. Have fun. I promise not to have starved by the time you get back.”

Needing no further prompting, I scurried out the door and was soon at the corner of Half Moon Street and Piccadilly, where Fanny Burney/Madame D’Arblay lived.

I headed down (up?) Piccadilly towards the Green Park tube station . . . .

. . . . . . and headed for St. James’s Church as I wanted to take some time to contemplate Mrs. Delaney’s grave, located inside. Unfortunately, the church was locked up tight.

So, I walked back the way I had come until I reached Hatchard’s bookshop.
Since I had no timepiece on me, I didn’t check what time I entered the shop and so I can’t tell you with any accuracy how much time I spent inside, but I can safely say that it was two hours, at the very least. My favorite bookstores, hands down, are the antiquarian variety. Oh, to be able to browse the stacks and the piles of dusty tomes, arranged higgedly piggedly, never knowing what treasures are awaiting discovery. I have brought home suitcases full of used and antiquarian books after every one of my visits to England but, alas, it’s now becoming more difficult for me to find titles I don’t already own. Of course, there are thousands of titles I don’t yet own . . . . . but for the sake of sanity and space I’ve imposed restrictions on additions to my research library – the Duke of Wellington, Queen Victoria, George IV, Georgian, Regency and Victorian diaries and letters and a few more obscure areas of London interest.
 

Next to an antiquarian bookstore, give me Hatchard’s – three floors of bibliophilic bliss conveniently located on Piccadilly, where it has stood since 1797. The contents of the shop, however, are decidedly 21st century. Here are just a few of the books I bought:

Being now both older and wiser, I had the clerk ship the books to my home, instead of having Hubby lug them around England over the next few day. Besides, this way he’d have no idea that I’d just spent several hundred pounds on reading material.

My very next stop was Fortnum and Mason, only a few doors down the street from Hatchard’s. Whenever I’m in London around Christmas, I like to stop in and buy my Christmas cards for the following year. Upstairs I went, only to find the entire holiday section already decimated! There was not a single box of cards remaining – and this was just the day after Boxing Day. Crushed, I headed over to browse the hats and purses, before making my way back downstairs to the food court, where I poked about for a bit before realizing that I was, in fact, famished.
 
 
 
 
Fortnum’s has at least three restaurants in which one may eat anything from an omlette to foie gras, including the Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon, but being a creature of habit when in London, I headed outside and a few doors down the street to Richoux Tea Rooms.
 
Typically, Richoux is an island of calm where one can order a civilized dish of tea and rest up between stops at the varied emporiums of Mayfair.
 

Alas, this was not to be . . . . after ordering my cream tea and pulling out a book to read, I could not help but overhear the conversation of the two gentlemen sitting next to me. A pair of Cockneys who were, obviously, brothers, it seems they chose Richoux in which to meet in order to catch up and regale one another with their opinions on various subjects, including inflation – “Old dad’s overcoat would cost you six thousand pounds to have made up today.” One of these men took himself to be a world traveler, who unfortunately made easy with his opinions on various places and people – “Switzerland’s not bad, especially Zurich, but the Jews are such dodgy geezers.” Now, I typically don’t go in for butting into other people’s conversations, and I refrained this time, but I did treat the pair to a raised eyebrow. Not that it mattered a wit to either of them, for the same brother went on, “Of course the Germans aren’t like us, but they’re awright.” I asked for the check and left before he could continue on to the Japanese, the Belgians, the French or the Armenians. Gas bag . . . . . .
 
I decided to head back to the hotel, making a pit stop in the Burlington Arcade in order window shop and appreciate the architecture.
 
My next stop was Boots Pharmacy, where I stocked up on all the essentials one can’t handily get in the States – their No. 7 skincare line and industrial strength hairspray, amongst other trifles. Then I headed up Clarges Street towards the Tesco Express, but I was brought up short when I passed a place called Burger and Lobster. Looking in the window, I saw tables filled with people chowing down on platters of lobster. Delicious looking lobster. There was a bit of a line at the door, but I finally got inside and asked the gentleman at the podium if I might see a menu. What ho! This was just the sort of place the Hubby would appreciate. I was told that there was no menu – they only served three things, to wit burgers, lobsters and lobster rolls. Genius! When I asked if I could make a reservation, I learned that not only are they a restaurant with no menues, they’re also a restaurant that doesn’t take reservations. First come, first served, I was told. I began to wonder whether or not they had waiters or if one had to bring their own apron and tray . . . . . . On I trudged to Tesco Express, where I purchased essentials for the hotel room in the form of a good sized bottle of rum and a six pack of Coke.
 
I’ll leave you here and will pick up Part Four soon. I must say, I can’t believe that I managed to cram enough into a single day in London to warrant four parts to this post, but looking back on the itineraries that Victoria and I typically set for ourselves, this agenda was a cake walk. And time does fly when one is having fun . . . . . . . .