Full disclosure, I’ve never written a blog before. Before you immediately close the window to read something written by someone qualified that majored in English, know that I do write a lot of other stuff, but rarely write about my experiences or myself. So here it goes.
I woke up around seven thirty to my roommates alarm going off, immediately decided a fourth consecutive English breakfast would be bad for my health, and went back to bed. When I eventually crawled out of bed and dragged myself to the shower, I had around ten minutes before the bus was scheduled to leave. Bottom line, I was pretty rushed.
We all hopped aboard the coach, which is how the people of the United Kingdom, apparently discontent with only having four thousand deviations in their use of the English language, refer to a tour bus. We drove through some smaller towns on our way into the city. On the face of a church tower, there was a swath of graffiti, far from any window, awning or ledge. Whoever had done it had scaled the wall, which led to my discovery of what the tour guide called “walling.” The English saw the French and American traditions of parkour and decided to crank it up to climbing a vertical face.
Upon entering the city, we saw the Tower of London, an old medieval fortress famous for housing the crown jewels and terrorizing English citizens, which
m is why they apparently deemed it worthy of being a world heritage site. What better to reward murder, gore and excruciating pain than an official status? I sure don’t know one.
Next came Saint Paul’s. The rest of this entry is going to be dripping with sarcasm and my trademark likeability, but I really can’t say anything other than genuine praise of this cathedral. It truly was spectacular. Designed by Christopher Wren, a famous architect who the British are apparently nuts about, it was a gorgeous, whitewashed testament to the English faith. Enormous, lofty, and simplistic, I have never seen a more impressive building.
And then we saw the crypts of powerful men, reminding me that if you’re rich you can afford a ten-foot tall casket made of rose quartz. I put it in a separate paragraph so the sass doesn’t count. Moving on!
After my touristy adventures, I had lunch at a place called Paul, located next to Saint Paul’s, a connection I didn’t put together until halfway through my sandwich. Then I realized I had forgotten my studs and cufflinks for a concert that was in three hours. Two heart attacks later, I picked a direction and set off to find a suit shop. Suspenseful right?
I found one in three minutes. It really wasn’t that big a deal. Although I don’t know in what universe you can justify charging fifteen pounds for plastic studs, but whatever. I don’t need you ENGLAND. Funny story, I’m going back there in a month.
I don’t know how to quit I guess. First step’s admitting it.
Then we had our rehearsal, dinner break and concert. They went pretty well I guess.
--Connor McLean, CLAS 2017
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