We got a late start, and, when we got downstairs for breakfast, it was a mob scene. It seemed like half of Europe was staying at our hotel. The staff at the hotel is wonderfully amiable and attentive, but they were struggling. All’s well that ends well, though, and we had a nice start to the day.
We wanted to get a couple of little things for friends, so we ambled down Piccadilly, stopping at Hatchards, a bookstore that has occupied the same space on Piccadilly since 1797; it has a wonderful ambiance and a great selection of books. I also gazed longingly at some of the special bottling of whisky at The Scotch Shop, but there are finally some costs to bringing only carry-ons! Our goal, though, was Fortnum and Mason. This purveyor of luxury food items has been at its site on Piccadilly even longer than Hathards–since 1707. Can’t tell you what we bought, but we had fun doing it; the atmosphere is particularly festive before Christmas (the Brits do know how to do Christmas).
We then visited the Royal Academy of Art, which is currently offering a big show by the South African artist William Kentridge. I had badly wanted to go, but tickets weren’t available at times that worked for us. But I did have a memorable William Kentridge experience as we waited in line for breakfast at our hotel.
American boy, late teens: “So what are we doing this morning?”
Grandmother: “Don’t you remember? We have tickets for William Kentridge!”
Boy: “Who’s that?”
Grandmother: “You know, in the Miami house, you have that huge piece at the top of the stairs.”
Just as education is wasted on the young, art is wasted on the rich.
We made our way back to the hotel for a very brief break before the theater. We had scored two tickets for the matinee of the hottest show in London, C.P. Taylor’s “Good.” Sue had tried repeatedly on line, to no avail, but it turned out that the theater was 100 yards from the hotel, and we were able to get tickets at the box office. The play isn’t easy to watch-it is the powerful demonstration of the slow moral collapse of a “good person” in the face of Nazism. And its effect is amplified by the quality of the actors: David Tennant (Broadchurch) as John Halder, a literature professor who rationalizes his role in the destruction of family and friends; Sharon Small (Inspector Linley) in several roles: his mother, wife, lover, and even a male Nazi officer; and Elliot Levy (Olivier for his role in Cabaret) as his only friend, a Jew, and as a Nazi officer shaping Nazi genocide. We’ve seen some great theater in London over the years, and this ranks as one of the best (I think particularly of Brecht’s Threepenny Opera with Fiona Shaw at the National Theater and Pinter’s No Man’s Land with Michael Gambon at the Duke of York).
We did a nice walk along Marylebone High Street before dinner, stopping at a bar for a drink (yes, we raised the average age by at least a decade). We had dinner at Chourangi, a restaurant with the food of Calcutta; we had eaten here with Cindy and Gary Hughes after our walk in June and liked it a lot. And it was just as good tonight: steamed crab and prawn in banana leaf, and curries with prawns (Sue) and lamb (Mike).
Back at the hotel, we retreated to the Resident’s Lounge for a cup of tea…from where I am writing to you, dear Reader.