randominity

Every morning in the UK and the one time I took a hot bath after the day at Stonehenge and Bath, I thought of this video.  We were lucky in that the high-end hotels used mixed taps.  The little B&B in Brighton, however, did not.

I admit I grew up without mixed taps, which means that warm water is impossible unless you plug the sink and mix the hot and cold water.  Mixed taps do it for you.  One of Brenna’s friends says you cannot claim to be a First-World Nation if you don’t have mixed taps.

The shower/baths have a control that looks like this.

Pretty, is it not?  On the right-hand side is a temperature gauge.  It has temperatures marked on it.  In Celsius.  Which was no help to me at all.  I know that 0 is freezing and 100 is boiling and everything else is in between.

Hm, let’s try 38.  Then you turn the knob on the left and the water comes out.  I invariably got it too hot and had to tinker.  I know there is a mathematical equation to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, but a) math is not my strong suit and b) early in the morning?  mathematical calculations to bathe?  I think not.

It is a very odd oh-oh sensation when you have bent down and twiddled your fingers in the water flowing into the main bath in Bath and as you stand up, you look directly at a sign that says, “Please do not touch the water.”

You can get lemonade made with the warm mineral water at The Pump House.  Why?

I left the National Picture Gallery off of my list of museums the other day.  That’s where I saw the painting the their Royal Highnesses, Prince William and Prince Henry.  I wonder if anyone remembers that Harry is a nickname for Henry?  Probably not.  They have a wonderful picture of Dame Judi Dench.  I only saw the Actresses room, but it is a wonderful place.

Upon leaving the hotel the last morning, I encountered a London policeman and did a very touristy thing.

I adore their helmets.  He was very gracious and said this was his second picture of the day.  It apparently happens all the time.

Speaking of the police, their cars only use blue lights, whereas ours use blue and red.  I had absolutely no idea how retina-piercing, straight into the brain blue lights are until the warmth of the red was removed.

Oddly, this was NOT who I expected to see upon emerging from Westminster Abbey.

 

Still, it’s nice to know we’ve produced at least one thing of which they approve and I must say, they have excellent taste.  He was a great man.  (Only decent Republican, as well.)

Whilst in The Jewel House I had a conversation with one of the Yeoman Warders about the succession.  He said Charles would NOT be Charles III.  He was christened Charles Phillip Arthur George, so he has several names to choose from, but generally, a monarch makes the decision of which name to use during the period of mourning between ascension to the crown and coronation.

So, I said, “Oh!  He’s decided already.”  The Yeoman Warder said, “Oh, no.  The Queen made the decision.  She’s decided the Charles’ were bad luck.  Look at Charles I and Charles II.”  They really don’t seem The Prince of Wales’ sort, do they?  Wrong sort entirely.  ”Which of his other names will he rule under, then?”  ”He’s going to be George VII.”  ”Ahhhhh,” said I, “her father was George VI and she loved him dearly.  She was devastated when he died.”

He said, “Well, she wasn’t here, now, was she?  She was in South Africa when he died.  Never got to say good-bye.”

If she lives as long as her mum, Charles probably won’t get a shot at all.  My companion  seemed to think this was a good idea.  I asked why.  He said that “Charles is a good sort, but it’s the expense.”  ”Expense?”  Everything has to change — the currency, the stamps, our uniforms . . .” he pointed to the prominent EIIR on his uniform.  ”Why change it all for Charles and then again a few years later for William?  Very expensive.”

You learn something new every day.

Even though I was all over London and went all the way to Greenwich, I have absolutely no idea where I was relatively.  Ever.  I went everywhere on the Underground and only came up at the designated spots to see the sought-after sights.  As a result, I couldn’t get from Westminster to the Tower and back to the hotel above ground if I had to.

The driver of the one taxi we took had a fellow come up on a motorbike and tell him his rear-view light was out.  After a few minutes’ silence he turned and told us, “That’s the fourth time that same bloke has given me that same message!  Exact same words each time.  All over London.”  Ooooh.  Spooky.  This began a very warm, interesting conversation which we very much enjoyed.

But, still, it makes you wonder.

In the old days of air travel you had room to move.  The planes were lovely long silver tubes with two seats each side of a middle aisle.  The airlines wanted you to be happy and comfortable.

Now, they have these ginormous wide-body things and everyone is crammed in cheek-by-jowl with barely any space at all.  Seriously, if I leaned forward as far as I could in my seat, my head would hit the seat ahead of me when my torso was at a 45-degree angle — less if the person had their seat tipped back.

And they tell you to look around your seating area for any items you may have left.  How?  Especially if you’re in the middle section, which we were on the ride home.  You can’t even stand up straight to go and use the lavatory.  You have to sort of lean to get to the end of the row.  This involves discomfiting your fellow passengers and a lot of apology.

They say we have two more inches than the people we kidnapped from Africa and put on slave ships.  It’s just not right.

No wonder Bob hates air travel.  I was uncomfortable at 5’2″.  He must be miserable at 6’1″!

Did you know that Queen Elizabeth II can, in fact, trace her lineage all the way back to Alfred the Great.  It is circuitous, but it’s there!  I was gobsmacked.  He is her 32nd great grandfather.

Now that’s continuity.

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