We Went to London, Part 3: Churchill War Rooms, Hyde Park, and Buckingham Palace

Time for another batch of vacation pictures, five months later. I am the world's greatest blogger. #1. Tops.

When we walked into the Churchill War Rooms—the elaborate bunker network from which he won the war—we ran into two university professors who were geeking the hell out about every doo-dad and desk tchotchke. If we hadn't followed them around for a while, we never would have learned that this weather report was changed to "Windy" during air raids.

Other favorites from the museum: the discovery of a long-hoarded sugar ration in a desk drawer, a map poked through with so many pushpins that it should have disintegrated by now, and the story of Smoky the Cat, to whom Churchill took a special fancy and occasionally buried under his papers by accident.

Why not just call me out by name, Churchill? 

On our way to Hyde Park, just across the way, we took a detour on this side street. Is this Epcot? It's Epcot, right? Something about it just seems unfathomably British to me. And get a look at that carved doorframe. Good god. 

Above: Zack is the cutest. Below: Victoria Fountain and super-moody clouds. 

Most famous places I've beheld don't look as big as they do in pictures. Buckingham Palace, on the other hand, is much, much bigger than it looks in pictures.

Despite its giant size, Zack and I are ready to move in at any moment. You guys just let us know when you're ready, okay?

Really. We're ready. We're moving in. CALL US, HIGHNESSES. 

Then we were off to Belgravia to hunt for the Upstairs, Downstairs house. (It's 165 Eaton Place on the show, but 65 Eaton Place in real life. Trust me, or trust the internet, who told me this bit of trivia.) 

We got lost. Lost like big American dummies. Here's why: I've watched about half of the original series, but also watched the recent reboot before leaving on the trip. It never occurred to me that the reboot would film anywhere other than 65 Eaton Place, because without that house, WHAT IS THE POINT? Honestly. Well, eff 'em, because they did, and I had the image of the wrong house in my head as we searched. When we found 65 Eaton Place, I was convinced it was wrong. An hour later, we decided it was right. We took photos for all contingencies: 

It's the house!

It's not the house! 

Our Belgravian wandering was pretty to look at. We wish we'd stopped at The Antelope. And I was awful at recognizing houses twice in one day when I convinced myself I found the alley from the creepy Love Actually scene. You know the one. 

... Yes. It is. 

In the evening we saw The Mousetrap like the stodgy, aging British couple we wish we were. It was the first performance after the death of Richard Attenborough, who originated the role of Detective Sergeant Trotter, and the cast led the audience in a moment of silence. It was punctuated by several sniffles above stiff upper lips. 

... and then we bought more wine and cheese-in-a-bag at Sainsbury's, watched Boomers, and called it a night. We are truly elderly at heart. 

We Went to London, Part 2: Horse Guards, Highgate Cemetery, and Parliament Hill

I love horses with jobs. Show me a horse cop, especially in downtown Chicago traffic, and I lose my mind. I think I love the buddy-cop dynamic between officers and beasts, be they dogs or horses. And since Chicago's K9 forces wear scary Hannibal Lecter cages around their mouths, horse cops are much more fun to encounter.  

I knew I'd love London's Horse Guards even more. 

The ceremonial changing of the Horse Guards didn't thrill a lot of my fellow tourists ("They're just standing there! Terrence, let's leave"), but I was enthralled by their synchronized trots and dismounts. I also enjoyed some guards' faint smirks as one of the horses had a small temper tantrum while standing in line, puffing and pawing and shaking his rider in his saddle. That horsie was ready for bed, dammit.

Remember when Andy Dwyer played with RC helicopters in front of this building on Parks & Rec? 

We wandered to Highgate Cemetery after the parade. My only regret from the trip is that we couldn't spend more than an hour in the cemetery. 

There were plenty of traditional markers like the ones above, but my favorite was this Penguin Classics tombstone. My future family, please take note. 

The Penguin grave happened to sit beside Corin Redgrave's resting place, and I quietly hummed the theme song to The Forsyte Saga while giving him a little salute. 

Other famous people in Highgate Cemetery include Douglas Adams (for whom I could not leave a pen, much to my shame), Karl Marx, and George Eliot. 

Gustav Mahler's daughter is buried there, too. She was an artist and designed her own tombstone. 

              

But the best parts of the cemetery are the meandering, weeded-over, vine-heavy, very-spooky, are-we-allowed-in-here side paths, where most tombstones are being pushed out of the ground by neighboring tree roots. (Or, I suppose, by a skeleton's hand.) 

We walked from the cemetery to Parliament Hill for a picnic with a view of the London skyline. We picked up sausage-and-mustard-flavored chips (yes, chips, because I'm back in America, so USA! USA! USA!) and Indian-spiced ciders from a nearby grocery store, tossed a Virgin airlines blanket on the wild grasses, and stared into space for a while. 

On our way back down the hill, I discovered that CRICKET IS A REAL GAME AND THEY REALLY WEAR WHITE. 

In the evening we saw the musical adaptation of Roald Dahl's Matilda. I was too afraid to take a sneaky picture of the set, but it was the coolest staging I've ever seen. The perimeter is made out of building blocks and Scrabble tiles! It's perfect! (As for the script and the implications of having a man play Miss Trunchbull as the feminine grotesque, that's a conversation to have over another tiny glass of rosé.) 

Before bed we stopped for a Pimm's cup and a cask ale, and then saw Chicago's guerrilla marketing at its best. 

Bah humbug.