Villainy, Torture, and Death

Enough whining! This blog has gotten entirely too negative. It’s time to talk about something fun. And what could be more fun than an evening with Jack the Ripper?

The Thames Terror Cruise was by far one of the highlights of my trip. If anything is more gruesome than London’s weather it’s the city’s mysterious, murderous history. From public executions in the heyday of the monarchy to serial killers in the 19th century and on through organized crime in the early 80’s, London has a gory storied past. After work on Thursday I took a tour of the sites of the city’s most famous atrocities.

The tour began with a boat ride down the Thames towards the Tower of London. As we traveled down the river the tour guide regaled the group with tales of suspicious suicides and murdered mobsters found hanging from each bridge. We then disembarked at the Tower of London where traitors and criminals were hung, drawn, and quartered on a quarterly basis.

On these special occasions, the condemned would be brought from the jail to the Old Bailey, where they would be put to death in front of their family, friends, and fellow villagers. The executions were deliberately held on holidays so that parents could come out with the kids. Which to me begs the question: at what point in history did public beheadings lose their wholesome family fun appeal?

The coolest part of the tour for me was learning that some of the common expressions in our vernacular have their roots in capital punishment. Here’s my favorite: proving that the law enforcers had some mercy, the criminals were allowed a final drink before going to their death. On their journey from jail to the gallows, the felons would be allowed “off the wagon” into the pub while the executioner waited “on the wagon.”

The tour went on for a few hours as we walked the trail of Jack the Ripper, retracing his steps and considering the only two clues he’s known to have left. Along the way we passed by the barber shop of the sadistic barber Sweeney Todd where we picked up another intriguing tidbit of history: up until the mid 1700’s there was very little specialization of professions. Barbers were also dentists and surgeons, so the red and white colors of the iconic barber pole actually symbolized “blood and bandages.” And it gets creepier. The pole itself was used as part of the bloodletting practice. Customers would sit in the barber’s chair gripping a pole until their veins showed, and then the surgeon/stylist would cut them open until they passed out. As an aside, you may be interested to know that tipping—for hair cuts, taxi rides, or anything really—is still not customary in London.

At long last, help arrives in Gloucestershire

A little more English humor. While the new British PM, Gordon Brown, appears helpless in the face of floods, the Hof has come to the rescue!

Rockets are NOT for Eating

Many of you have expressed concern over what I have been able to eat here in London. I must say it has not been easy. Unlike Italy or France, the UK is not exactly heralded for its cuisine. I’m learning that the term “pub grub” is not just a catchy phrase—it’s a precise description of traditional English fare. Not only does the food taste bad, it even sounds unappetizing. “Bangers and mash” sounds like something you would feed to livestock. And blood pudding? Let’s not even go there.

It’s a challenge just to find something edible—let alone healthy. Part of the problem is that some of the most common menu items here are completely unrecognizable. For example, “Welsh Rabbit” is cheese and crackers. Who knew?

And then there are jackets. If you’re not in the know, the jacket issue is very confusing. Jackets are everywhere. In Tesco (the British 7-Eleven), in my office cafeteria, in all the pubs, and even in finer dining establishments. Considering that most restaurants are not air-conditioned (again with the air-conditioning problem!), it’s a bit weird to always have waitstaff asking if you want a jacket. It’s equally strange to see buffets with dedicated Jacket Stations. So what is this mysterious culinary delight? Here’s a hint: in the States, we usually top them with sour cream and chives. Yes, jackets are good ol’ fashioned baked potatoes. Clearly, the low-carb phenomenon has yet to catch on here.

But for the few people who are watching their starches, there are alternatives. Namely, the rocket salad.

Leave it to the English to find a vegetable I don’t like. Rocket is disgusting! And it’s devious. Outwardly, rocket looks like your typical mixed green. You might not even notice it tossed in among the romaine or spinach. But you will know it when you bite it. Taste-wise, rocket fuel might be more palatable. I’m not quite sure how such an innocent looking vegetable manages to pack such a peppery punch, but it literally made me sick to my stomach. Apparently I am in the minority on this one as my coworkers seem to love the stuff, but as far as I’m concerned, rockets are not for eating.

The Air Conditioning Conundrum

This post from the blog Going Underground says it all. It’s been four years since the Mayor of London announced a cash prize to the person who could solve the air-conditioning problem on the Underground. The competition is now closed. According to the city’s website, here are the best solutions for beating the heat:


- Always carry a bottle of cold water with you.

- If you feel faint, go above ground for some fresh air. Don't hesitate to ask a member of staff for help if you need it.

- If you feel dizzy don't pull the emergency cord between stations. This will only leave you stuck on a train in a stuffy tunnel.

- If trains are stopped in the tunnels for whatever reason on a hot day, don't panic. If a train breaks down getting passengers out is a top priority for Underground staff.

Carry a water bottle and don’t panic?! Please tell me nobody got any prize money for that brilliant advice.

Seriously, what is so complicated about installing air-conditioned trains? The Mayor’s website lists two main excuses. First, Ken points out that the London Underground is over 100 years old. Nice try Dude, but New York’s subway is just as old. Reason number two makes a bit more sense: apparently, the real difficulty in London is that their train system is far deeper underground than ours. They can't just replace the older cars with modern air-conditioned ones because the tunnels do not have adequate ventilation systems.

Ironically, air-conditioning creates heat and that heat would have to be pumped out. With no ventilation, the system would literally melt down. Any attempt to install the proper air vents would be massively disruptive and expensive—in other words, a political nonstarter.

One would think that finding a workable solution to this problem would be a top priority as the city prepares to host the Olympics. Yet amazingly there’s no mention on the London 2012 website of air-conditioning the Tube. Are they hoping that spectators just won't notice the heat? Maybe they're planning to sell London 2012 water bottles.

FLOOD! Waist-deep at "Port Authority"

Torrential downpours caused major flooding in London today, wreaking havoc throughout the city. Roads were closed, flights were cancelled, and people had to wade through waist-deep water in central areas. Drivers abandoned their cars (and buses) at the equivalent of 42nd Street. Rainfall, which was already at historic totals for the month, smashed through the records for most precipitation in one hour. Between twelve and 1:oo pm more than 4 inches fell -- which means, according to the nightly newspaper Evening Standard I read on the subway home, we got more rain at lunchtime today than London typically gets in an entire summer month. I had lots of time to read the paper tonight because there were massive delays on the Tube. My ride normally takes twenty minutes but I spent double that time waiting on the platform tonight. But I was one of the lucky ones who still had Underground service. Twenty stations were closed and one train line was completely out of commission. This was the scene at Blackfriars Station near my office:

• Hundreds of people on the platform, all eager to get home, get to the pub, or just get anywhere away from Central London


• They're tired and cranky after a long week of work and they've now been waiting for over half an hour


• A train finally pulls into the station and it's crammed tighter than a can of sardines

Sounds like good times, right? Now consider this: THE LONDON SUBWAY SYSTEM IS NOT AIR CONDITIONED. Much like the weather, this is another sad but true fact of London life. However, as Mayor Ken Livingstone says "It is a problem, and we're working on it!" In fact, in 2003 he offered a £100,000 reward to anyone who could engineer a solution. Why cooling off the Tube is so complicated is another blog for another day. Tonight, it was hot and it was miserable. To make matters worse, anyone who got off the train looking to hit the bar was sadly disappointed—flooding forced most of the businesses near me to close for the day. But a few places managed to stay open, and they were rocking and rolling. People with pints in hand spilled out onto the sidewalk seemingly having a great time. Moral of the story: neither Hell nor high water can keep Londoners out of the pub!

British Royalty

The current water cooler chat here is entirely focused on the British Royal Family: David and Victoria Beckham.

Posh’s reality TV show “Coming to America” was a national event last night. For days leading up to the special, Posh was promoted from the gossip section to front pages news. SKY News (the UK’s equivalent of Fox) has been covering the “Becks” arrival in the States nonstop. Posh was their lead story yesterday, with only minor interruptions to announce that a Member of Parliament has been suspended after being found guilty of accepting bribes from Saddam Hussein.

If you didn’t catch NBC’s airing of “Coming to America” on Monday night you missed out on some quality television. This show had it all:
Drama—Will the Becks be welcomed in America?
Suspense—Will Dodger fans boo Posh off the mound before she throws out the first pitch?
Intrigue—Does she EVER eat?
and Comic Relief—Only in LA could a Spice Girl be the most normal guest at a luncheon.

After watching the hour-long broadcast all I could think was “Here is a woman I can relate to.” Seriously! She loves shoes, she doesn’t cook, she shares my belief that throwing on a sweat suit does not count as getting dressed, and she’s a bad driver. Now throw in our common bond as newcomers in a foreign land – Posh and I are practically the same person.

"It says a lot of things in the brochure."

It’s never a good sign when the person who is supposed to be helping you is named “TRAINEE.”

The new guy at my apartment’s front desk is going to fit right in —he is not only completely incompetent, he is also insulting. One evening last week I arrived home to find a note under my door saying “Mr. Hennon, you have an outstanding balance. Please remit £56.00 upon receipt of this notice.” OK—a few things wrong here. Bypassing the name issue for now, why am I getting billed for phone calls and internet charges in the middle of my stay? My credit card is on file, and I’m not due to check out until August 3rd, so why the sudden urgency to settle up? Was I being evicted? Could I be so lucky? I went downstairs to find out.

That’s when I met TRAINEE. I presented the bill and explained my confusion. TRAINEE asked my room number (which coincidentally was printed on the bill), looked at his computer monitor, and then asked me –seriously—“And are you… Mister Hennon?” Ouch. When I explained that I am in fact MISS HANNON, with an A, he didn’t even have the courtesy to blush. Not surprisingly, considering that gender assessment was beyond his grasp, sorting out my bill was going to require help from the Supervisor. TRAINEE told me to come back later.

Having met the Supervisor before (Miss “Check-in is at 2:00”), my expectations were low. Here’s how our last exchange went down:
Me: “I’d like an alarm clock please.”
Her: “We don’t have any alarm clocks.”
Me: “Oh. Okay. But it says in the brochure here that each room has an alarm clock.”
Her: “It says a lot of things in the brochure.”

Right. The alarm clock situation, or lack thereof, is actually a daily source of amusement to me. In lieu of clocks, the desk offers a wake-up call service—using the terms “offers” and “service” loosely. I’d estimate that over the last fourteen days I’ve received my wake-up call at most 10 times, each time within a half-hour band of when it was supposed to be. Thomas the Night Manger makes the early calls personally. He’s actually the nicest of all the desk attendants. I almost look forward to hearing “6 O’CLOCK WAKE UP, YEAH???” each morning. Thomas is an older gentleman, so I try to be understanding when he forgets to call.

Miss “Check-in is at 2:00” on the other hand, I have no patience for. Apparently she and TRAINEE put their heads together and determined that, if I prefer, I do not in fact need to pay for my daily charges prior to checking out. I was so pleasantly surprised by this outcome that I decided to leave the name issue alone—probably best not to push my luck.