As most friends here know, I have a couple of ongoing health management things. These few things require a tub and hot water.
On Sunday evening, I was taking a bath, and the water stopped. I thought, “Huh. Water main break or something.” It’s an old city, happens now and then. Our plumbing is only five years old and we have an on-demand hot water heater the same age, so I just sat there a minute … until J said, “There’s a bunch of water out here on the floor.”
That, of course, was the end of my bath. After drying off and collecting my wits, I took a look at the “closet full of a million pipes,” and found this, with hot water gushing out of it —
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The lead from the water heater had separated from the pipe that takes the hot water to the rest of the house. The clamp on the top broke. I actually thought, “thank the plumbing deities for that,” because it looked like an easy fix.
You may or may not know — I don’t do plumbing fixes. Won’t touch ’em. But. I do understand most plumbing things. To confirm my suspicions, I had J go down to the basement to turn the main waterline off-and-on while I checked the bazillion valves in the plumbing closet. Looked like I was right. It was already evening, so we decided on cold water sink baths in the morning, and I Scarlett O’Hara-ed it until the next day.
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During the critical stage — messy!
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Called my good friend and contractor (who also happens to be our next-door neighbor) Monday morning. He ran by the hardware store to buy a few things, and it was fixed by noon! Couldn’t have taken him more than five minutes. He only wanted the cost of the supplies, but of course I doubled it and made him take it. Because calling in a plumber for something so simple and stupid would’ve cost three or four times that much. Let alone, having it fixed in less than a day.
So, as I was thinking when I first saw it, if we were going to have a plumbing issue, I’m glad it was a simple one.
To start, I’m fine. I believe I mentioned earlier that I had an infection at a surgical site which went away and then immediately came back worse. Very bad. Approaching sepsis. (During this, the bathroom renovation went belly up and two vacations were canceled.) However, it is gone now, I’m getting my strength back, and I feel better than I have in a very long time. I mowed our postage stamp size front yard yesterday. =)
I think I might’ve mentioned I was working on an adaptation of 1728’s The Beggar’s Opera. Didn’t work out. I was enjoying the work, but the details, places, people, customs and occupations of 1728 London are all things that would have to be very clearly explained to a modern audience. That would result in a well-over-two-hour musical, it could possibly prove tedious, and that’s not what I’m after. I’m after small, meaningful, and fun.
So I’ve started something else. At this point, I’ll say that it is a two person musical (plus the non-speaking pianist character) based on the local stay of a very famous, very fun, very complicated person from the 1920s/1930s. The first 15 minutes is currently being read by a few people. Interestingly, it’s revealed itself to me as about 75% sung and 25% spoken. I’m having a good time.
The garden is at peak!
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And of course, I’ve already got a good amount of herbs in hanging and drying. A few stalks of sage, basil, oregano, and thyme so far.
Hooo … am I tired! Tomorrow I’m off to the airport hotel, which sounds dreary, but it will be very nice. It’s supposed to be a quite decent hotel, and it’s attached directly to the airport. This way, I’m already there for my flight the next day, no rushing, no public transportation issues, another spa day.
A foggy, wet day; but no actual rain. Just a light wetting-you mist. Well, ya know. Fog.
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“A foggy day in London Town Had me low and had me down I viewed the morning with alarm The British Museum had lost its charm.”
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A bit of a rant today concerning the visit. It’s an entertaining and surprising rant, but if you’d like to skip it, just scroll down to the photos.
Lots of walking and standing today, and I’d have to say unfortunately, Westminster Abbey does disabilities very poorly. I went 15 minutes before opening, and after I’d walked around the large yard to get to the main entrance line. The employee out front sort of talked in circles when I asked whether there was a disabled entrance. I was tired of asking about it (and I was already there), so I waited in the line with the normals. They opened at 9:30 on the mark, but all the folks that worked there already seemed very much “on guard.”
When I didn’t want a free tour headset, the person-wearing-a-robe kept going on and on about it. After two or three go-rounds, her last sentence to me was, “But why don’t you have an audio guide?” Um, hello? I guess they don’t like people to refuse headsets. Maybe we try to talk to them too much otherwise. That impression was further confirmed as the day progressed.
Of all of the places I’ve visited in the past week, The Abbey staff has been the least friendly/helpful by far. And I’m not even very needy or demanding. The Docklands Museum and Southwark Cathedral absolutely both destroy Westminster Abbey in this respect. (I should mention, I had a very nice conversation about Jenny Lind with the lovely young headset-collector woman in Poets’ Corner.)
Later, after saying the same thing three or four times to different docents before they “got” what I was talking about, I realized they’re programmed to parrot this and that, and prefer not to be bothered; that I couldn’t possibly have anything useful or interesting to mention. In one instance, I mentioned a fact about some burials in the Stuart aisle of the Lady Chapel. She disagreed. I told her she should really read her very own Dean Stanley’s book … he documented all the royal burials in the mid-1800s.
At one point, I really needed to sit down (or fall down) for a while. I explained to a verger/docent/person. She told me I had to walk all the way around to get the 24 inches forward to where she was standing next to the chairs, rather than just picking up the rope hook for literally two or three seconds.
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I mean, c’mon.
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I was briefly in the vicinity of one absolutely hysterical docent — every time you took a step towards him, he either exaggeratedly turned his head the other way or walked to another corner. (For real. I tried it a few times to make sure. LOL)
This kind of crap filters down through the layers, and of course, as they’ll often remind you, this is first and foremost, a place of worship. As a career churchy myself, to say I was less-than-impressed is a gross understatement. And I’m looking at you, Dean Hoyle.
That’s plenty of complaining for today! Let’s look at some awesome pictures! I took dozens and dozens, so we’ll just do the highlights here.
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Henry VII’s stunning Lady Chapel
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I guess I can now say that I was once in the quire at Westminster Abbey
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Chaucer’s tomb. Interestingly, he was not interred here as a great poet, but due to his job as an upper-level government functionary.
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QEI — The lady, the myth, the legend. (She’s not in the box. She’s stacked in the crypt underneath below the floor, with her sister Queen Mary. Elizabeth is on top. Poetic justice.
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Edward the Confessor
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An aisle in the Cloister
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Remarkably preserved medieval paintings!
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I’m a bit of a scholar on the subject, I’ve done my own research, I’ve read Dean Stanley’s book(s) at least two or three times, and I’ve been to the Abbey in person several times, this being my last.
Yes, sure, I felt a little unwelcome. Big deal. However, combined with feeling physically uncomfortable without any way of helping myself, I don’t need to return. There was an Evensong later in the day I’d considered, but I hopped on the boat for an afternoon cruise instead.
One of the crew came over to me (a few of them know me by now) to mention that a more comfortable window seat had just opened up on the starboard side, and I realized that I felt very much more welcome on the Uber Boat than inside Westminster Abbey.
I took a favorite boat ride, and visited a museum that I’ve wanted to see for quite a while — the Museum of London Docklands. Afterwards, I rode the boat a bit further and stopped off at Westminster for a little while. Thought I might be able to get a few decent photos.
Strangely enough, Uber (as in, the car service) runs the river taxis. They used to be called the Thames Clippers. Because most of the sights are within shouting distance of The Thames, I pretty much take these things all over the place up and down the river, rather than using the tube or buses. They’re very comfortable.
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It’s about a 30 minute ride to Canary Wharf, the boat docking twice to pick up and drop off people along the way. Much more pleasant than a city bus, nicely heated, a snack bar, and the view is certainly nice. (Plus, I don’t have to climb and/or descend a teeny-tiny steep staircase on a bumpy, moving city bus.)
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Canary Wharf/Docklands is only about 30 years old, all told. The entire area was originally warehouses, docks, and maritime businesses back in the age when London was the largest port in the world. Now, a brand new city sits where those docks and warehouses were. It’s all like, HSBC, Barclays, Santander, Rupert Murdoch’s stuff, blah blah. It strikes me as a very new, spotless version of Midtown Manhattan, minus the congestion and pee smell.
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O, look! Banks!
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Funny pollarded trees. Hi, trees.
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The museo was about a ten minute walk from the wharf, so that wasn’t too bad. The museum was especially prepared for people with mobility challenges.
Generous elevators, little chairs that convert to canes you can carry around, great signage, very helpful docents … really very well done. I noticed more than one group made up of carers and folks with serious mobility issues. But then, London does disabled access very well.
It’s mostly dioramas and period recreations, with exhibits of artifacts alongside each area. The aim is for us to see and feel what it was like in the docklands back in their docklandical heyday. They do a great job, so I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.
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I could totally live in that cottage in the center photo. In fact, if I squint a little, I do. It looks exactly like our house, lathe and all. (I’m not kidding.) I wonder whose fault that is!
I sat down on benches and chairs aplenty, but it was still a big walking day. After a sausage roll and a can of (Original) Coke, I was ready to get back to the boat — bye, bye Docklands!
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Tired Phill.
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I was feeling a bit better after sitting on the comfortable boat for a while. Exactly what I needed, especially after the walk back to the pier. My leg nerve thing was actually not bothering me. That shows up as an overtired sort of thing. Today was more of a tingly, numb feet thing. That’s what happens when I’ve been walking and standing a great deal.
After the 30 minute ride back, I decided to stay on the boat another few stops and then turn back around to Bankside. It seemed like a good time of day for some photos of Westminster. I’m visiting Westminster Cathedral later in the week, but I’ll be right in the middle of where it’s rammed with people. I got a few nice shots today (although that big, stupid wheel shows up behind everything).
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After hopping the other-way boat back home to Bankside, I went a few blocks over to the drugstore to get some purple hair color. (Two or three aggressive washes takes the brightness out quite a bit, so I decided to have a much needed, happy, aggressive wash tonight; and purple it up tomorrow morning.) Swung by to see the friendly folks at the Red Bus Shop to grab some evening provisions, and then I got my favorite burger and fries to take-out. My tingly feet told me that they wanted to eat in the hotel room, rather than landing me on my face and imprinting souvenir cobblestones on my forehead.
Whew! That had to have been a good few miles today. However, I’m back in by 5 o’clock and looking forward to a hot bath, some British television, and a great deal of rest.
It’s the old story I suppose — feeling a little better but acting like you feel a lot better.
I noticed today that pretty much every time I was home this week, I was sleeping. Like, all the time. So I reviewed my week.
Sunday is a five hour day, and much of that is playing the organ, hyper-focusing, teaching some parts, handling social anxiety when in a group. Blah blah.
Monday, I didn’t have anything going on officially, but I had errands to run and a bunch of music stuff to do at home. I wrote an arrangement for one tune and started on another.
Tuesday was a palliative care doc appointment and a run to the store on one side of town, and then a run to a store way on the other side of town. Then, 90 minutes of teaching and some house cleanup stuff.
Wednesday was a nutritionist appointment, and a bit of teaching. In between, I did some leaf blowing and dug up and replanted the three plants in the front yard. (Unknowingly, I originally planted them in a very buggy spot. The bugs were eating them.)
Today is Thursday, and of course, I woke up exhausted. I had a prescription to pick up, and a few things to grab at the store, so I forced myself out and did all that so I’d have the rest of the day with no commitments. Ugh. I was getting to the point where I was unknowingly dragging my feet and tripping every once in a while.
Real Life of course, does not go away. Adding to the usual tasks, there’s medical stuff that has to go on in between times, my food to be monitored and cooked, and pills to remember to take on a schedule. Not a huge deal, but another set of things to think about that all take time. Never mind liaising with Jonathan and getting basic household stuff taken care of. At least I moved the plants. 🪴
Yep. It takes a bit of time and effort to keep me standing, alive, friendly, and looking like I can accomplish something. And now, of course, as I’m reading this weekly roundup, I’m thinking, “What’s wrong with you?!” Simmer down!”
I had to pick up a prescription (it’s nearly my hobby at this point), so I grabbed a cup of my favorite coffee and grabbed some ice cream for a sequestering treat . (Recommendation – Oreo brand Cookies & Cream.)
I can’t believe it’s 2 o’clock already, however, now we rest for two days! If an asteroid hits the planet or the Hudson River breaks its banks, Tell Jonathan. He’ll wake me up. 😴
Sit Still Phill 