Scott's "A Tale of Two Cities" - Chapter Six: Giggling Uncontrollably, or, Why You Never Serve 'Spotted Dick' to Young Canadians

While this chapter was supposed to outline the period from Monday, May 15 to Thursday, May 18, I made a couple of glaring omissions in my previous entry. It's just as well, though, because this section of my story is light on photographs, and two of these omissions come with pictures. Here we go.

I don't know how I forgot to mention that on Saturday when we reached the corner of Charing Cross Road and Oxford Street we were greeted by possibly my favourite statue in London: what I can only assume is supposed to be a promotional statue of Freddie Mercury outside the Dominion Theatre where the Queen musical "We Will Rock You" is playing. Since I have wanted to see the show since it opened 4 years ago, and I'm going to see it with my Mom when she gets here (unless a certain mother forgets to order tickets...) I've been getting excited every time I see an advertisement for it anywhere. You can see it below:

The second thing I forgot to mention was basically a shout-out to Claire and her mother, Mrs. Marchant. While walking down Haymarket Street I came across a very large, and very old-looking Burberry's store, which I assumed to be the first. It also had this really cool clock hanging off the front. Sadly, they were closed so I couldn't go in and pretend to be rich, as is Claire's and my style, but I took a picture of the outside for their enjoyment:

Finally, Sunday being Mothers' Day, that night I called home and after playing a bit of Trans-Atlantic phone tag I finally got to talk (albeit briefly) with my Mom. Having been a bit homesick, and having not spoken with her for two weeks, it was quite nice.

Now, Monday was another crazy day with six hours of marketing class. That night I went to the pub with some friends, so it was a pretty standard evening.

Tuesday was another crazy day with six hours of marketing class. That night, however, was a little bit more interesting. The castle people organized a bonfire out near the cricket pitch, which turned into a whole lot of fun. Although it had been raining during the day, and the grass was wet, stars were out and it was as beautiful evening. The route to the bonfire was a bit menacing: at various points along the way there were large ditches in the ground, and logs placed as though designed specifically to trip you up.

Most people (myself included) went to the pub for a little bit, before heading over to the bonfire itself. It was a pretty fun evening, people were drinking, roasting marshmallows, and mingling. We also had a number of sing-alongs, which seemed to get louder and less coherent as the night wore on. The highlight of the evening occurred after I had left, however, as my roommate Jim attempted to jump over the bonfire. Thankfully he made it, but sprained his ankle rather dramatically in the process. As a result, he would be basically stuck in the room for the rest of the week.

I can't remember anything important happening on Wednesday, so in the interest of brevity I'll ignore it altogether.

On Thursday night Maureen invited me to go with her and some friends for dinner at The Brewer's Arms, a pub in Herstmonceux Village. It was a very pleasant evening, and I had the traditional English pub nachos. One thing that I found interesting was the presence of dogs in the pub - there were two of them hanging out behind the bar.

When the time came for dessert, the special was an English staple called 'spotted dick.' Maureen commented that she'd never had it before, and that she's always wanted to try it. Naturally, this led to all the 'spotted dick' jokes you can think of, and then some. After we'd basically run that into the ground, the waiter returned to take our orders. Somehow, she managed to order it with a straight face... until she looked over at me and we both started cracking up. The waiter, to his credit, merely chuckled and carried on as though nothing unusual was happening.

It turns out that 'spotted dick' is just a cake with raisins and custard sauce, and is quite delicious. Of course, when Maureen commented on how good it was, the jokes started all over again. By the time we were done it was dark out, and we walked home. I went to bed shortly after returning home, as I had to be up the next morning for my trip to Edinburgh.