by Jeff Kay

This was one of the "free" days we built into our schedule, an opportunity to play catch-up, etc. We took a poll over breakfast (coffee and pastries from the bakery, not the Thirty Dollars for Beans café downstairs), to see what everyone wanted to do.

Toney said she'd like to take a double-decker bus tour, and try to get some video from the top of the thing. There were still big chunks of the city we hadn't seen yet, and past experience taught us that a bus tour, while nerdy, is a good way to cover a lot of ground with a minimum of stress. Plus, they let you jump on and off, so it can be used as glorified transportation.

The boys wanted to go to a playground in Hyde Park, where they supposedly have a giant pirate ship kids can crawl around in, and on. One of them also picked up a flier for a Beatles store located somewhere in the city, and both wanted to find it.

I, of course, was getting highly concerned about the lack of pub-action, and wanted to rectify the problem later in the day. I also wanted to find a bookstore, where I could buy copies of Mark Everett's book for me and Steve. (Steve bought my Philadelphia concert ticket, in exchange for my promise to buy him a copy of the book in London.)

So, we decided we'd take the train to Victoria Station, pick up one of the tourist buses, and try to stop at places designed to please everyone.

And as we were riding the elevator down to the lobby, I leaned against the control panel and accidentally pushed the EMERGENCY button with my left love handle, setting off a piercing alarm.

When the doors opened we just walked out, like nothing unusual was happening, and exited the hotel. We could still hear the alarm as we turned the corner outside, and all four of us burst out laughing at the same time.

When we got to Earl's Court Station, it was instantly obvious the crowds were going to be much bigger today. It took me a few seconds to figure it out, but eventually realized it was Saturday; the Saturday before Easter. Oh, man…

The first bus was a baffling affair. They didn't have a live guide, they had headphones you could plug into sockets beside flags of the world. There was no United States, so I chose England. And the voice was so muffled and distant, it sounded like John Cleese rolled up in a carpet remnant.

Also, people kept getting on with luggage. And what the hell, man? It was a tourist bus, not public transport. Some woman banged her big-ass rolling suitcase off my kneecap, and I asked Toney what our first stop should be.

"The first one we come to!" she shouted, from behind a filthy and massively-bulging backpack. I still don't understand it…

We jumped off at Hyde Park, and decided we'd try to find the playground. We entered, and began walking. It was pretty and green, and all that good stuff. And people were out with their dogs, strolling beside the lake.

But we couldn't find the pirate ship. We followed the signs for at least forty minutes, and finally said screw it. We looked at a map, and our target appeared close, but I think the scale was 1 inch = 10 miles.

We told the boys we'd try it again on our next free day, and they didn't seem overly disappointed.

As we were walking back to civilization, it started to snow. Well, it's what the locals were calling snow… It was more like sleet; it bounced when it hit the pavement. The wind was also blowing like crazy, and it was turning out to be the worst weather-day yet.

We asked the guy selling tickets, about possibly riding a bus with a live guide. He told us to look for one with a yellow diamond on the front, as opposed to red. So that's what we did, and it was much better.

We climbed to the top of the bus, which was open to the elements, so Toney could get some video with the nearly-unused camcorder. And it was freakin' cold. We went past most of the famous landmarks (Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul 's Cathedral, etc. etc.), but we were shivering much of the time.

Finally I said funk dis, and we all went downstairs. It was more comfortable there, but we couldn't see as much. And it was a trade-off well worth taking.

We passed a Free Tibet rally, and a crazed woman pressed her face to the bus window, hollering some kind of belligerence. She was wearing a baseball cap with the word PINKO spelled out in sequins across the front. Behind her was a man eating beans out of a can, with seemingly not a care in the world.

At one point the guide said, "And speaking of the Queen of England … Elton John has an apartment in that building to the right." I bet he delivers that line ten times per day.

We jumped off the bus at Tower Hill. Toney reportedly promised the boys we'd buy them something from the Tower of London gift shop (their favorite part of the trip, by far), so that's where we (be)headed.

And as we approached the shop, the weather (already shitty) went full-on Wizard of Oz. The wind was gusting and those little ice pellets were ricocheting off our faces… Everybody was trying to cover up, and yelling, "Ow!" and "Holy fuck!!"

It felt like we were under assault by a regiment of BB-gun toting marauders.

We ran into the gift shop, and the door swung wide open and almost came off its hinges. Inside the store merchandise went flying off display tables, and I heard a woman scream. I'm not sure what happened, but it sounded like she might've been impaled by an airborne souvenir.

We ended up spending too much money there, but the boys were happy. I even bought a couple of things: a postcard reproduction of a Bass Ale advertisement from the 1800s, and a really cool mug featuring the London skyline in black & white, and a double-decker bus in bright red.

By the time we were finished shopping, the weather had completely changed (once again), and it was now semi-sunny. Everybody was hungry, so we went looking for a restaurant.

We ended up wandering into a place called the Tower Hill Diner. The place was PACKED, which was both irritating and a good sign. If so many people were there, it must be pretty good, right? That, or it's just a powerful magnet for clueless tourists…

Turns out it wasn't too bad. We were seated immediately, but I don't think anyone who came in behind us did. Within minutes there was a huge crowd waiting for tables by the front door.

Across the aisle from us was a very lively group of Germans, four of 'em seated at a table that could hold six. The owner (I presume) attempted to seat another couple at the table, but they took one look at the Germans, and refused. 

"What, you don't like these people?" the owner shouted. "What's wrong with them, do they smell bad?"

The couple decided to have lunch elsewhere.

I ordered a club sandwich (I was officially burned out on fish 'n' chips), and started flipping through my Moleskine notebook of historic pubs, researched and written by yours truly before we left Pennsylvania.

It didn't appear there was anything (that I knew about) in the general vicinity, so we decided to take the river cruise again, and try to find the Red Lion. The so-called cruise was free, once more, with our bus tickets.

So after lunch we climbed aboard another tourist barge (this one set up like a floating high school cafeteria), and jumped off near the Houses of Parliament. We found the legendary drinking establishment, where Charles Dickens supposedly had a pint at the age of 11, with no trouble whatsoever.

We went inside, and it was crowded; there wasn't a single table available. But a little alcove near the front was free, with wide windowsills made especially for beer-holdin'.

I went up to the bar, and perused their selection of cask ales. When it was my turn to order, I just pointed toward the Fuller's London Pride, not really knowing the difference between any of them. Turned out to be a fine choice indeed...

There were other kids in there (always a concern), and the place was hopping. We stood in our alcove and drank our tasty beers, and tried to take it all in.

In a few minutes the door opened, and a group of American black women came in, at the same time another family entered. And one of the black ladies said (to a person in the other party), "Well, I guess excuse me isn't a phrase used in this country?"

She heard us laughing, and said, "Yeah, y'all know what I'm talkin' about!" Hilarious.

We finished one London Pride each, and I ordered us another. When I got back from the bar, our younger son said he needed to go to the bathroom. So I took him through a door, down a short hallway, and up a flight of stairs so steep it was like climbing a ladder.

Once again, the urinal was nothing but a metal trough bolted to the wall. There was a man standing in front of it, and it sounded like a rainstorm on a tin roof in there.

Shortly after returning to our drinking window, the bartender came over to us and said, "Kids aren't allowed after five. So after you finish those, you'll have to leave." What the hell?? I watched her, and felt a little better when I saw her tell everybody with children the same thing. I thought we were being singled out, but apparently not.

As we were leaving Toney told the boys, "Just think, that's the very first bar you guys were ever kicked out of."

We returned to our room, and the younglings wanted to play with the stuff they got at Tower of London, and just watch a little TV. Toney had to call her mother, and I told her I was going to walk down to the internet café near the train station.

I checked my email for the first time in days, scanned the comments at TheWVSR (207 at that point, later ballooning to more than 600), and looked at Drudge and a couple of other sites. Then I went next door, to a pub called The Courtfield.

This one has no known history, it's more along the lines of a Bennigan's, I think. Well, probably not that bad… They had four cask ales on tap, and I went (again with no knowledge, just hoping for the best) with something called Timothy Taylor Landlord.

And that shit was good. The bartender pumped it up from a wooden cask in the basement, and served it to me at the temperature of said basement. I savored it while standing at the bar, trying to decide whether or not I should get another.

I wanted one, but decided I'd better not push my luck. Those three beers in my belly were kicking a little harder than they should… I gave the bartender a wave of appreciation, and headed back to the hotel.

I flopped down on the bed, and Toney said she wanted another beer, but didn't want to go anywhere. This wasn't like her, I'm usually the one lobbying for just one more, so I volunteered to go to Sainsbury's and buy a four-pack of something from their l'il cooler of mediocre beverages.

That night one of the options was John Smith's Bitter, so that's what I went with. I also bought a bag of Walker's cheese 'n' onions "crisps," which turned out to be much better than roasted chicken, the flavor we'd tried last time.  

We drank the beer, ate the chips, watched Friends (is it on 'round the clock in England??), and some show very similar to our beloved House Hunters, but London-based.

It wasn't until the next morning that we realized we didn't really have dinner… And we didn't make it to the pirate ship, or the Beatles store, or a place to buy the Mark Everett books. All we did was ride a bus, drink some beer, and buy shockingly expensive souvenirs.

Oh well, it was a "free" day…

Next time I'll fill you in on our second road-trip, this one to Blenheim Palace and the Cotswolds.

Right here at The West Virginia Surf Report.

Read about Day Six