But Cambridge is immune to such setbacks. At Cambridge they OWN old school cool and they know how to rock it.
For starters, they all go to school in castles.
For starters, they all go to school in castles.
In the awesome-er still department, Sarah did her Post-Grad work at Trinity College (how amazing is that, I think if I applied I would barely be qualified to sharpen their pencils), so she has a school ID and can run us around all kinds of places mere humans are not allowed to go. First she gets all four of us into King's College Chapel for about £3 (Four normal adults would be about £20). Absolutely Ridiculous. Undeniably Sweet. Were I religious in the slightest I would be unable to settle for any other college's worshiping facilities. I mean come on:
The Ceiling.
The Windows.
The Doorways.
And Mother Mary's lookin' pretty good too.
Oh man, I SO want to come back here and go to a concert, apparently the acoustics are glorious cubed.
Next, we wander more of Cambridge, mostly for my benefit as Ruth and Karen have already gotten the grand tour.
Gates leading from one college to the next. SFSU so shafted me.
We go "backstage-ish" at Trinity, Sarah's former college, where a meticulously dressed porter spots me taking pictures and immediately chews us out for being where we are. Sarah is thrilled, we have now been "verbally abused by a Trinity porter ", so we can truly say we had the full Cambridge experience.
Next, we wander more of Cambridge, mostly for my benefit as Ruth and Karen have already gotten the grand tour.
Gates leading from one college to the next. SFSU so shafted me.We go "backstage-ish" at Trinity, Sarah's former college, where a meticulously dressed porter spots me taking pictures and immediately chews us out for being where we are. Sarah is thrilled, we have now been "verbally abused by a Trinity porter ", so we can truly say we had the full Cambridge experience.
The courtyard at Trinity.
After Trinity we embark on our Major Mission of the Day: Having postponed it two days in a row, there WILL be High Tea. Sarah has polled her Cambridge pals and been told that a good cream tea with trimmings is served at the Garden Court, walking distance from Trinity etc. We begin the "Trekking to Tea" tesugi with Sarah in the lead.
The walk is Scenic, and the capitalization is much deserved.
If heaven doesn't look this good, I'm not going.
Several minutes later we reach The Garden Court. Oh. Um. I see. It's actually the Garden Court Hotel. And it is Unspeakably Posh. Huh. We are dressed like tourists. Not even. We are dressed like Student Backpacker Dorky Folk. Charming in our waywardness, but in no way Dressed For Tea. We all shrug. What the hell. We receive a few concerned looks as we enter but we get a table by the window (behind a lovely screen, though, teehee) and particularly once it is clear that we are each doing a full tea service, everyone is extremely attentive. Ruth and I decide to be absurd and share a glass of champagne as well.
The Tea is magnificent.
Oh Rapture, thy name is English Tea-with-Stuff.Your key to the three tiers: the first tier is cucumber, egg salad, and smoked salmon sandwiches; the second tier is piping hot scones with Clotted cream, preserves and a strawberry; the top tier a slice of chocolate mouse cake and two cream puffs. Oh God in Heaven!
After wallowing in tea consumption until we are in danger of explosion, we hop in the car and make our way to the train to see one more bit of West End Theatre. This will be my last night in London, as tomorrow I fly to Glasgow. My last two nights of theatre have been really great deals and so I opt to pay more to try to get into Billy Elliot, for which no discounted tickets are offered at this time. Ruth, Karen and Sarah decide to hit tkts to look for less expensive tickets to something else. I recommend "The History Boys", and we part ways at the tube, vowing to hang out again as soon as we are all back in the Bay Area.
I go to the Victoria Palace Theatre and pay way too much money. I do get my favorite seat though, dead center, third row of the first balcony. The show is as just as good as everyone says it is. I basically cry like an idiot the entire time.
I have a really funny cabdriver from High Wycombe to Penny's front door, for £2 less than I paid the night before. Sweet.
Sleep is mine at last.
After wallowing in tea consumption until we are in danger of explosion, we hop in the car and make our way to the train to see one more bit of West End Theatre. This will be my last night in London, as tomorrow I fly to Glasgow. My last two nights of theatre have been really great deals and so I opt to pay more to try to get into Billy Elliot, for which no discounted tickets are offered at this time. Ruth, Karen and Sarah decide to hit tkts to look for less expensive tickets to something else. I recommend "The History Boys", and we part ways at the tube, vowing to hang out again as soon as we are all back in the Bay Area.
I go to the Victoria Palace Theatre and pay way too much money. I do get my favorite seat though, dead center, third row of the first balcony. The show is as just as good as everyone says it is. I basically cry like an idiot the entire time.
I have a really funny cabdriver from High Wycombe to Penny's front door, for £2 less than I paid the night before. Sweet.
Sleep is mine at last.
Coming Soon: I Don't Die on the Flight to Glasgow, But it's Pretty Wild Just the Same!
P.S. I am hereby starting a notes section at the bottom of each post, to try and prevent them from being eight hundred years long. Once I am home you can ask me about the notes if you like, there are more stories there. So, for today:
Notes: Cambridge Pants and the Black Cat
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