Day One -- Outward bound
Travel uneventful -- other than my spectacular facility at spraying myself with Italian dressing during meal, and unprecedented situation of British Airways playing movies I wanted to see in flight. Got in about 1:30pm London time. Infamous Terminal 5 very Logan's Run -- thinly populated, large, and all surfaces easy to wipe clean. Interesting trying to find dot2dot, the Super Shuttle-like service which I'd booked through Expedia -- they are a very young company and had yet to obtain adequate signage. My persistance rewarded, the trip into central London focused on finding non-existant drop-off point at King's Cross train station for other travellers (Americans going on to Scotland and meditating with melancholy on how many miles before they sleep) -- all of us took a crack at reading memo detailing drop-off spot -- and all of us agreed that it had no correspondence with actual geography around station.
Then off to Russell Square and the Celtic Hotel. Alas, my usual point of repose in London, St. Margaret's, had closed -- the Celtic is owned by the same folks, a lovely Italian family, and they have been working to bring this property up to St. Margaret's standards.
Well, they've got a ways to go. Nice but slightly nervous man took me up four flights to what would make an excellent monk's cell or walk-in closet, depending on your level of worldliness. I knew there wouldn't be a TV in the room, but I was surprised that there wasn't any phone. The bathroom downstairs was... spartan, and damned if I could figure out how to get the shower to dispense hot water. I did the best I could with the bathtub taps, settled in (Tip Top, my plastic flock Camargue pony/travel totem perched on top of the armoire) and got ready for a reconnaisance mission.
It's nice to land in a known neighborhood. In short order, I successfully oriented myself to familiar Bloomsbury landmarks, walked over to Holborn Sainsbury's and purchased cold items for supper (sliced chicken, salad bar, the sweetest raspberries I've ever tasted in my life -- American raspberries taste like clumps of pink Play-Doh in comparison -- and a couple of Lindor truffles. What's with all the milk chocolate, London? Have you repudiated participation in the dark chocolate revolution? Throw off your Cadbury chains! Honestly!) Scoped out a nice looking Lebanese cafe on the way back, for another day's meal. Got changed and ready for the theatre -- a comedic, four cast member version of Alfred Hitchcock's 39 Steps.
...Which turned out to be a good choice for jet-lagged person trying not to loll drooling head on shoulder of hapless person beside her. The Criterion is a bit odd as a venue, because you head downstairs into the theatre. It has a Victorian music hall sort of feel -- because that's what it was. Performance was harmless enough -- best special effect was two cast members bobbing on top of two trunks and waving their coattails behind them, to simulate wind-blown chase over top of train. So home, and to bed.