This is How London Calls

This is how London calls. Unexpectedly. Surreptitiously. Superstitiously. Yesterday we were closing out our tour with our favorite guide Alison Johnson--she of the blood red hair--dishing out gossipy details of kings and queens amidst the sterling sunshine, when, after one mention of Henry VIII on the exact site where six people were beheaded, and the clouds lurched and the wind blustered forth in a funnel of foreboding ambiance. Today I weathered the uncertain skies for the open air Globe Theatre, but when the curtain lifted so did the clouds casting a brilliant ray down directly on this lonesome vagabond. In this instance the conveyence was clear: how had this literary tour guide skipped the globe on each of his six journeys to Londontown?

London holds no grudges. As You Like It was as I wanted it and more. Shakespeare lives, Dr. Johnson lives as does Henry VIII on every billboard, and Charles Dickens in every pub.

London is not a ghost of literary past, nor an ode to colorful history or a kitschy monument to what once was. It just is. The past is the present in an unforced way that few cities can claim. And that's why our kids--let me call them kids even though they're not (it's fewer letters than students or young adults or European dreamers)--like it. This isn't Disneyland, it's better, it's real. While the piss alleys do smell like piss, the greenery of the parks and the elegance of the towers--that's what makes them faint. And faint a few of them did, but that's another story now isn't it?

We were talking about mystery and a history and clouds moving at cinematic speed. Our kids moved at remarkable speed through the city today. While Coach Hall sat sedentary at La Traviata hold back tears in the Royal National Opera House, and LV wiggled through the other groundlings at The Globe, the kids were racing to see London in a day. I met up with a few pictured at Monmouth Coffee in Covent Guardens and heard a few stories. Lauren G., Jordan S., and Erin R., were mistaken for Charlies Angels on their quest to find Abbey St. (it's Abbey Road), Kelsey G., Olivia D., Jenna G. and Brianne S., were labeled The Spice Girls by more than one passerby on their separate journey to The Beatles pilgrimmage (they found.) Skyler S., Nora D-H, Paige H., Aimee S., and Michelle C. spent two hours exploring the labyrynth that is The British Museum only to hightail it down to the Tate Modern and kick back at Hyde Park.

Meanwhile the six ravens at the Towers live on. And did any one not go on the London Eye?

There are more stories to tell, more people to mention and, rest assured, all kids will get mentions and pictures in the coming days. All, and I'm quite sure, all are doing great. Just relax. The wind will take us where it takes us, and right now it is taking me to bed--I hope; because if you're doing the math it's very, very late--Londontime.

Truly but wryly,

LV,

The Literary Vagabond