London

It's not like you've never seen a picture of the clock tower. But you've never seen a picture of the clock tower that I took. Anyway, there's a few more. You might wonder how I can spend a day in London and only have 13 pictures. I took 60, actually, but you know, most pictures aren't worth showing. I was in the National Gallery for most of the day, anyway, and Westminster Abbey.

Something I said about Edinburgh, I have to say again about Westminster Abbey: you can’t really describe something like that, at least not when you’re a blogging know-nothing wisenheimer. I almost didn’t go in, because it costs six pounds, and I knew that later this month Stanford would pay admission for me. That, and I’m totally cheap. It holds within the kings and queens of the past billion years, as well as countless other people, including many literary figures, which makes it quite crowded with tombs and memorials and stuff. Makes Stanford Memorial Church look like a backcountry plywood chapel.

After writing a paper on Shakespeare's Richard II, and then by mere coincidence seeing the play performed, awesomely, I'll mention, and with Kevin Spacey, I'll mention, because who knows, maybe you're just a big Spacey fan, after that, and then passing by his fairly nondescript tomb in Westminster Abbey, I feel, you know, like we really get along, me and Rich. Dick Deuce is what I call him.

The National Gallery, as you might expect, is big. Many paintings. I was pretty burnt by the time I got there, and wandered around in a zombie-like lackadaisical daze, trying not to miss any rooms. Leonardo, Michelangelo, Rubens, Monet, van Gogh, Picasso, they’ve got all that, and plenty more. It’s a completely exhausting place to be if you have any remote interest in art. I planned on going to other museums on this day, but I was physically unable. The Louvre will indeed kill me.