UK03 – Tuesday, 11 Feb 03

We encountered many surreal things in the UK. Strange customs. Odd foods.

But nothing was quite as weird as seeing the tail end of a Clifford the Big Red Dog episode with all the characters speaking with English (or Scottish) accents.

Nuff said.

The high point of the day was a visit to the British Museum. Well, that followed the low point for Doyce, which was his discovery that his plans for using an adapter and power strip for his Palm to recharge had, well, not worked. At all. Aside from creating an uncomfortable warmth in his Palm.

(Before I sound all smug about of Doyce’s power problems, let me note that I had considered doing something of the same thing, before I discovered that my Palm, as well as our camera battery charger, were rated to 240V, so all I needed was something to convert the huge-ass British sockets to our own. But I’d still packed the little one-socket surge suppressor, which I blithely proceeded Monday night, like an idiot, to plug into the wall with an adapter (no transformer) on it. It detected the 220V “surge” admirably, and throwing itself on that grenade by letting out a loud “pop” and tiny puff of smoke. Ah, well. We discarded it with honors.)

So, next plan — find a new adapter kit. Which sent Doyce off on a tour of Tottenham Court Road, apparently the electronics super-center of London.

Whilst he was doing that, we headed off for the British Museum.

Margie, however, was feeling discomfort, trending toward pain, across her upper abdomen. Maybe a bad food thing, we thought. Or maybe not. She was doing okay as we got to the Brit, but it began to impact her more as the afternoon went on.

Well, first the British Museum. First off, just plain, freakin’ incredible. I could spend the whole afternoon just in the “classics” wing, with various Egyptian goodies, Roman and Assyrian statuary, and, the piece de resistance, the Elgin Marbles.

(I can understand why the Greeks want them back. But, damn, it’s great to see them where they are. Especially since I’m far more likely to visit the UK than Greece.)

The Brit also had a special exhibit of work by Albrecht Dürer. Amazing etchings and line work, as I well knew, but I’d never seen his watercolors before, or the range of things he’d done. Doyce and I went to the special exhibit, £5, and I’m glad we did.

Since I was last in London, they’d finished some renovation work on the Brit, including the cleaning up and skylighting of the central chamber, around the Reading Room. It’s pretty magnificent.

We caught up with the others up in the Money Room, and headed over for the Far East exhibits. Made a quick tour through half of that side, but it was clear that folks were beginning to flag, including Margie. Made the decision to head back to the B&B.

Well, not quite yet. First we stopped at the British Museum Gift Store, on the corner outside (replacing the building that had been in the courtyard). I wish we’d hit the one inside the museum; this one was okay, but a bit on the trinkety side.

And, of course, we had to make a quick stop over at the, ahem, comic book store. And, once there, I was obliged to buy a thing or two.

Margie was feeling seriously unwell at this point, so I slowly walked back to the inn with her. Had a security notice up about the closing of the Picadilly Line at Victoria Station, related to security. Joy. Later learned it was an “incident” related to a person under a train. Eek.

(Our Tube experiences were slightly hampered by the Central, and Waterloo & City, lines being closed down. There was an “incident” a few weeks back where, well, an engine had fallen out of one of the trains. Not good. Since both of those lines used the same rolling stock, both were closed. Usually we were south of Central, but occasionally it did impact us. I hate to think of what it did to commuters.)

When we returned to the hotel, Margie called Kaiser back to inquire whether the pain she was having might have something to do with the meds she was on. It was kind of weird doing so internationally, by a cell phone, via calling card, but …

They said, no, didn’t sound like it.

There was talk about going to a show that night, but Margie clearly wasn’t up to it. But she wanted me to go, so the Testerfolk and I went to see the Reduced Shakespeare Company give their Complete History of the US (Abridged), at the Criterion Theater in Piccadilly Circus.

Very funny, in Firesign Theater sort of way. Definitely made me want to see their The Bible: The Complete Word of God (Abridged) and their signature Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) shows.

“I wish we’d had time to talk about Jimmy Hoffa. He was one of my heroes.”
“Jimmy Hoffa? He’s not that important!”
“No, no, he’s a metaphor, a symbol of the whole labor movement in America.”
“You can’t think of Jimmy Hoffa in the abstract! You have to think of him in the concrete!”

Doyce bought a 2-cassette tape of their radio show. I bought a Shakespeare mug with the inscription “I love my Willy” on it.

Speaking of Shakespeare, the play we didn’t see (but would have loved to, one and all): Sean Bean as Macbeth. ‘Nuff said.

The three of us had actually had one of the better dinners we’d had up to then (I thought) at the local Garfunkels by Vic Stn. Garfunkles is sort of a TGIFriday/Red Robin/Chili’s kind of chain, but the food was good and, either because of store policy or because there were only three of us, we didn’t have the tip (er, “service charge of 12.5%”) added to the bill.

Not coincidentally, the service was very good, and we tipped accordingly. My only regret was that I didn’t notice until too late that there were fried mushrooms on the menu. *sigh*

When I got back that night, Margie was still seriously in pain. Like, “worried about what we need to do” sort of pain. She’d put in a call to the Kaiser Advice Line Call Center back home, which had assured her that, yes, we will get back to you within four hours (their SLA for non-emergency situations), and, of course we can call back internationally. (Bear in mind that while it was 11:00p in London, it was only 4:00p in Denver).

The four hours came and went, no call, so she called again, explained the situation again, and got the Call Center to call the Advice Line folks directly, staying on hold until they picked up.

Which we did. Stay on hold. For an hour.

Internationally.

On the cell phone.

Now, granted, it was calling card minutes (within the US), and it was local call rates in the UK (about 30p/minute), but that still works out, for the cell costs, to £18. Or about $30.

(Margie notes that she will follow up on that particular service snafu when we get home.)

The kicker to the long wait was that the Advice Line had not called her back on purpose, because they can’t dispense advice outside of the state.

Okay, well that makes sense, licensing being what it is. But (a) the Call Center should have known that, and (b), gee, thanks, guys, for not at least calling up to say so.

At that, though, the guy did listen to her symptoms, and opined that it did not sound life-threatening.

And, in the morning, it was better. Not good, but better. So we didn’t visit the doc-in-a-box at Vic Stn. And it improved mostly over the course of the trip, though I suspect that Margie will still be doing a medical follow-up on it.

UPDATE: For the Doyce version of these events, go here.
For pictures related to these events, go here (up to the British Museum) and here (the British Museum and beyond).