A Horrible Day - Postcards From Across the Pond

While we were in Cyprus, reports from home were of dire weather, but upon our return (when we were really looking forward to some clouds and drizzle) the climate, for the most part, reverted to summer. An uncharacteristically hot and sunny summer, no less, with brilliant weather. And so it was yesterday, when we—myself, my wife, and my brother-in-law—travelled to London for a Horrible Histories extravaganza.

_{The weather in Cyprus might be similar, but the water certainly isn’t}

For those of you playing the American version (and those of you in the UK who live under a rock) Horrible Histories is a series of books, television shows, movies, plays, exhibitions, and recordings that render a humorous, though accurate, account of history. The books were written by Terry Deary, and he is involved in most of the expansions into other media, and who needs to be given a knighthood for bringing history alive for an entire generation.

The Histories, of course, are for children, but being young at heart, and with my G-children over three thousand miles away and Rent-a-Kid fresh out of spare seven-year-olds, we made our way, childless, to St. Katherine’s Pier outside the Tower of London for our 11:45 AM appointment with the Terrible Themes boat ride.

_{The actors, acting manic for the children}

Due to my having brought a light jacket with me, the weather was beyond glorious (if I had left the jacket home, it would have rained, so I hope everyone appreciated my sacrifice). The sky was clear, the sun high and hot, to the point where, having successfully dodged the sun for a fortnight in Cyprus, I now felt in danger of developing terminal sunburn in weather-blighted Bligthy. Fortunately, an attentive mother sitting in front of me began slathering her offspring with 30 SPF cream and kindly let me have a drop so I didn’t end the ride looking like Rudolf the famous reindeer.

The boat took us up the Thames and back down the Thames, and all the while we were entertained and enlightened—unceasingly—by two energetic actors playing a smart alec schoolboy and his long-suffering teacher. Their manner was manic and strident and their delivery sophomoric, which is exactly what the intended audience required. I have to say, I admire their stamina; ours was the second trip that day, and they had five more to go.

_{A famous theatre, where serious business is performed}

_{Another famous theatre where clowns perform}

_{I may have mixed up the captions on the two photos above, or not; at any rate, the circus was in town}

The history didn’t come as a surprise to me because I read books and I know things (thank you, C. J. Sansom) but seeing the city of London from a different angle was well worth the trip.

After the boat ride, the next stop on our Horrible Tour was the Apollo Theatre, on Shaftesbury Avenue, to see the play, The Terrible Tudors. Seeing as it was such a nice day, and we had plenty of time, we decided to walk.

_{One of the many things you learn walking through London is that bicycles do not have to obey traffic laws; at a crosswalk, as the light turned green for pedestrians, a man stepped out in front of a bicycle and the cyclist shouted at him and nearly ran him down, even thought the man was obeying a green light and cyclist was running through a red light—London, expect the unexpected}

Unfortunately, “plenty of time” translated to an hour and twenty minutes while, unbeknown to us, the walk was going to take an hour and a half. We therefore arrived at the theatre ten minutes late. The kindly staff, however, hustled us inside and pointed to an area where our seats should be.

_{What the Apollo Theatre looks like with the house lights on}

With the play in progress, the houselights were off, and coming from the bright sunshine into a darkened theatre meant I could see absolutely nothing. I followed in the direction I assumed my wife was going, clued in by the sounds of “Oof,” “Sorry,” “Ow!” “Watch it,” until I felt myself step on someone’s foot. In my haste to remove it, I unbalanced myself, put a hand out to steady myself on the back of the seats that should have been on my left and felt … nothing.

_{What the Apollo Theatre looks like with the house lights off after you have come in from bright sunshine}

With nothing to stop me, I felt flat onto the laps of six perfect strangers—some of them undoubtedly children who likely learned a few new words—and then had to scramble over more legs and feet, tugging my redundant jacket behind me, until I found an aisle so I could stand upright. (It turned out okay; we all became friends and are already planning a reunion.)

_{What the Apollo Theatre looks like after tripping and falling into the laps of strangers}

The Terrible Tudor’s play involved, once again, two manic actors with strident voices and sophomoric humour who delighted the kids with tales of all the Tudor Kings and Queens—including every wife of Henry the VIII—but without the magnificence of London easing by in the background.

_{Manic acting, strident voices, but no London riverscapes}

Because of that, I give the Terrible Thames Boat Tour top marks, and the stage show a mere A, and I feel bad about that because it’s not their fault; it’s simply the order we did them in. If we had done the stage show first and then gone on the boat ride, it would have been Really Good, then Even Better.

Or, more likely, it would have been us, standing on the dock, shouting and waving at the boat as it pulled away, leaving us late-comers behind. So maybe it worked out for the best after all, Horrible as it was.