An American in London - Part 4
Saturday arrived, grey and damp. I only saw the beauty of it, for nothing could dampen my enthusiasm - today was the day! The crux of my travels, when I was to meet with Edward and Phil and company to interview them in depth for my book about the life of this enigmatic band. Phil had sent us directions, and I had made sure that I had forwarded them to Carson's email so that we could pick them up on his phone as we traveled. I had glanced briefly at them, and noticed that we had to catch replacement transit to bypass work that was being done on the line we had to use. This was dutifully filed somewhere in the messy cabinets of my brain, uncomfortably squirming in it's drawer as if trying to get my attention.
We also had to check out of the Palmer Lodge, with the understanding that we might have to find a place to stay out in Romford and come back the following day. We might have left some of our things in storage at the Lodge, but we were uncertain how things would play out. This meant dragging our bags along with us. So - the meeting was to take place at 1:00 pm at the Railway Inn. I wanted to spend the maximum time talking with Edward and Phil as possible, and they told me I could arrive there as early as 11:30, and that they'd be there. We calculated that the trip should take approximately an hour-and-a-half, so if we were to be on the Tube by 10:00 am, we should be fine!
Now, it should be noted that London is currently in the throes of an oncoming apocalypse known as The Olympics. It happened to Atlanta in 1996, and similar city works occurred at that time. During the week, it would appear that it was of the utmost importance that people are able to commute to their jobs. So, of course, that meant any work being done to the Tube takes place on weekends. This weekend day also happened to be St. Patrick's Day, so the Tube was very very busy on top of these works, which shut down whole lines.
This is where The Ordeal began.
We discovered that just to get to the line we needed, we had to take a very circuitous route. When we'd get to a station, we would discover that the next line we needed was closed. Although there were many helpful signs, they seemed to be in league with some evil intelligence (Yeti robots?) that was bound and determined not to help us reach our needed line. What ensued was a sort of fluid landscape of tube trains and stairs that one dreams about, where one is stuck in a maze of these tunnels that never lead out anywhere. No reward. No cheese. No bell. No prize.
Kings Cross - closed. The Circle line - closed.
Eventually we found the line needed and settled back to ride it out until we needed to take the bypass to the right station. This lasted exactly... one stop before we had to emerge again.
Somehow, we made our way to Fenchurch station. I would have loved to have stopped and gotten some pictures, but by this time the clock was ticking, and we had already missed our pre-meeting time. We could not call them unless we were somewhere that had Wi-Fi. I did get to see the ticket queue, where Arthur Dent's girlfriend was conceived and then named after the station in Douglas Adams' "So Long and Thanks for All the Fish". All I can say is that Fenchurch's parents must have really studied the Kama Sutra - but I digress.
It was at Fenchurch station that we were to connect with our bypass service. The information locked in the cabinet in my brain was by this time bursting to tell me something, but I didn't have time to listen, we had to keep moving. The majority of the people from the train seemed to be heading in the same direction, following a sign that read "Replacement Bus Service". Yes! Yes! THIS is what we needed. Like lemmings we followed the group to a double decker bus. "Soon", I thought, "This will be over soon!"
The bus was one of the red double deckers, which I had always wanted to ride. To sit in the top and snap pictures smiling as London trundled by. However, because of my backpack and tote-bag on wheels, I could not easily traverse the steps up and down, and had to be near the exit when we got to where we needed to be. My left knee began to ache terribly and the small hole being chafed into the back of my achilles tendon by my new right shoe began asking me what the hell was going on. Finally, we got off where the bus let out...to be told we had to continue on yet another bus.
I have no idea how many busses it took, but all of them were equally as crowded as large red sardine cans. My enthusiasm never really waned, but physically it was quite the Ordeal, and I became more and more numb to it all. Go back and watch the clip from "Neverwhere" again. I really can relate to how Richard Mayhew was feeling. Even Carson's natural exuberance seemed to droop a bit. In fact, if you say the words "Bus Replacement Service" to him to this day his expression becomes cloudy and he can only make little choking noises.
My one little bit of enjoyment is difficult to express in text. A mother and her four children were packed in next to me. 3 of them were around 7-9, while the fourth slept blissfully in his pram. Oh how I wanted to be asleep and oblivious in that little pram. My enjoyment came from the interplay between the mother and the children. Her job was to berate each of them in turn for some violation of the mummy rules about every 5 seconds, and their job was to annoy her by being cheeky. We made funny faces at one another while mummy wasn't looking. They broke out into this sing-song chant that you'd have to hear to really understand, so I will leave you wondering about that one.
At one stop, I will admit, I got a bit cross at the situation (and myself.) Carson, peering into the depths of his phone-zone remarked, "You know, looking at these directions, I guess it would have been better to take an above ground train from Fenchurch." The information in my mental filing cabinet burst out into tears, knowing it was too late. We, indeed, never should have gotten on the bus replacement system. We had now missed the main meeting time. "WHY DIDN'T I LISTEN?" I screamed, throwing down my tote-bag, and ellicitng several stares of approval from the English, who were also annoyed by the experience.
I remind you now of the scene in Mel Brooks' "Young Frankenstein", when Marty Feldman remarks "It could be worse - it could be raining."
Guess what happened next?
We finally reached the right station! Zipped up to the gates...only to find that we were in Zone 6 and our cards were only good for Zones 1 and 2, remember? Cards were bought, the train was caught, and we finally arrived at Hornchurch station - the Railway Inn was only just around the corner. Yes! Yes! There it was! Quickly now! In through the entrance. Look around wildly. To the left, the right. Where were they? Ah! There they are!
We had arrived, looking like wild, drowned rats (well me, really - Carson looked like...Carson) an hour late. Our Ordeal had taken us 4 hours.
http://www.emberinns.co.uk/therailwayhotelhornchurch/
For those of you who have actually read through this nonsense concerning the London Transit system, I reward you with some photos.
Mike Marshall on the right, there. A real lovely bloke! Kept things funny. After inquiring where Carson and I had been staying, he says "Oh, I drove by that area at about 11:00 am." We could only groan. Interestingly, Michael's pseudonym on the album "Brighter Now" was inspired by Vangelis, which is an interesting connection to the previous van sighting.
The interview went off without a hitch, really. I was very pleased with the information we got, and was once again amazed at the depth of committment these guys had to bring their own brand of strange and wonderful music into a world not always prepared for it. Drinks were had. Food was eaten. Mike Marshall made his exit. (Thank you for coming, Mike!) The interview gracefully came to a stopping point, but there was more - much more to be told. Edward told us that if we could stay in the area, we could visit him at his home at 3:00 pm tomorrow. Thinking of the Ordeal, we decided to stay in the area.
The Railway Inn had a decent deal - if we shared a room, it would be about as much as staying in the hostel. No. Booked. But they told us that there was a little bed and breakfast right up the street. We packed up and headed that way. Sure enough, the Devonshire greeted us with lights on and a vacancy.
http://www.devonshirehotelhornchurch.co.uk/
A bit expensive, but it didn't matter at this point. Collapse was imminent.
We went straight to our room where I finally took a hot shower. The water had two settings - extremely hot, and unbearably hot. I finally got to wash my hair properly. Bliss!
And, of course - square toilets!
Upon exiting the bathroom, I saw that Carson had entered into the snoring stage whilst watching television. I soon joined him in a nap. A few hours later, we woke up a bit peckish. It was late, for Romford - nearly midnight. We decided to go walk around and see if anything was open. A few pubs seemed to be regurgitating people into taxis, but that was about it. Until we heard the disco music. Following the sound, we came upon an Indian Restaurant. Suddenly as if by magic a waiter appeared in the doorway. "Come in! Come in and eat!", he said in his thick Indian accent, "We are open late!". We went in.
The place was really full of energy! For some reason, nothing but American 70's disco music poured out of the speakers. The walls glittered with...glitter. A table of drunken English roared as one throwing their napkins up into the air. This had nothing to do with our arrival, they just did this. We ordered - I finally got to eat some Indian food in London! I thought it was very good - Tikka Masala. A tall man with a huge dark curly wig came in wearing what looked to be an Edwardian bathing suit and a red pool float under one arm. This time it was the drunk Australian table who roared at this fellow's entrance. The guy obviously knew this group and sat down at their table. Carson and I looked at each other. What the hell was going on? This was either the most awesome restaurant in the world or we had been drugged by aliens. We never quite figured it all out as the music was so loud it was hard to talk. We paid and went back to the hotel, where a watching of "Freddy vs. Jason" just seemed to pale in comparison. Sleep arrived.
The next day streamed brightly through the window. I wandered down stairs for our included breakfast while Carson slept a bit longer. It was a beautiful little dining area. Just a few tables and chairs, with a sun-room at one end. Nico's "Sunday Morning" drifted in it's mournfully-happy way out of the kitchen radio. I munched contentedly on another full english breakfast. Finishing, I went back up to rouse Carson for his turn. After breakfast, we made sure that we booked the Palmer Lodge for the remaining days we would be in London.
This done, curiosity poked it's head into the room and asked the question "When is checkout time?" I went down and checked. 11:00 am. Back upstairs. Inform Carson. "What time is it, anyways?", I asked.
So out we went into the streets of Romford/Hornchurch, to bide our time for the next 4 hours. We called Edward and got directions to his home. Not much to report at this point. It ends up that this day after St. Patrick's Day was Mother's Day! Apparently it is an international holiday celebrated at different times of the year from country to country. I bought some flowers for Edward's wife, Alena. Carson and I had brunch at The Fatling and Firkin pub. (Great name!)
http://www.beerintheevening.com/pubs/s/28/28915/Fatling_and_Firkin/Hornchurch
Carson outside the Fatling and Firkin.
We took the correct bus this time, and went to another pub called the Good Intent. Looking carefully for paving stones, we went inside and called Edward. Phil came and got us and we arrived at last at Edward's home. Inside, Carson and I met Edward's lovely wife Alena, who was a very kind and gracious hostess. She seemed pleased at the flowers, and put them in the kitchen window-sill. We had to be quiet, as their 2 year old, Alice was sleeping. Carson appealed to Alena's heritage by showing her a Cheburashka doll he had bought for someone else's daughter in Kiev. Apparently this is a bit like Winnie the Pooh in Western culture and Alena knew it right away! Later, Alice awoke and was brought downstairs to meet everyone. She was shy at first but soon was playing with everyone and handing out grapes generously. Carson and Alena tried to get her to play with Carson's traditional Russian Ushanka hat, but Alice seemed afraid of it. "Come and pet it, Alice - it's like a big furry cat!", Alena said. Very cute - but Alice was having none of it! I got to see Edward's infamous record collection, which I could have spent several days going through.
Again, the interviewing went quite well. Stories of all character; hardship and struggle, practical jokes, insight into the making of many of the albums. All in all I got about 8 hours worth of recordings. Phil made me a genuine cup of English tea. At last! I was drinking a cup of real English tea, made by an actual Englishman - in England. Things began to get late, yawns began to appear, and Carson and I planned our strategy home. Edward and Phil are really caring human beings - they had listened the day before to Carson's plan to ride a motorcycle down the length of Africa to Capetown, and had looked up his journey. They warned him against his planned route, and I'm happy to say that I think Carson has changed it. Before we left, Edward and Alena were kind enough to allow us to take some pictures in Edward's studio, (thank you Alena for being photographer for some photos!) some of which I share with you now.
The proud family, with Uncle Phil.
Suddenly I cried "Do the artistic shot - stare randomly into space!" This, the result.
For some reason, Alice fell in love with Carson's bag. Wherever that bag was going, she wanted to ride it there. Carson and I voted Alice "Most adorable child in Britain".
I must reiterate many many thanks to Edward and Phil and Alena for taking the time to answer so many questions and for allowing us to visit them.
Carson and I left in good spirits - the Ordeal had been worth it, and it's harsher parts had been washed away by good company. We made our way back to the Palmer Lodge at Swiss Cottage (taking an above-ground train this time which only took about an hour) and to eventual sleep. The sleep of accomplishment.
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