Guest blog by Black Bear
So as you’ve all no doubt ascertained, I’m on vacation in England right now. I managed to swing down to wildest Hampshire yesterday for a rendezvous with Hellhounds, Mods, and Handbells. (Oh yes, and Robin. Her too.) As Robin’s already conveyed to you the pure concentrated fun and excitement of handbell ringing (and it really was fun. Don’t fall for all those dangerous words she uses like “torture” and “agony” and “streams of blood across the floor.” It’s difficult, and arcane, and a lot of fun and we had a lovely time) I offered to do her a quick guest post on something Not Handbell Related, as she’s got Pegasus to work on and I took up a great deal of her time and brain space yesterday.
I’m an American, as most of you have no doubt figured out; I’ve been in the UK a number of times over the last twenty years or so, and I’ve gotten to the point of knowing where I stand, so to speak. Some words don’t mean the same thing here, like “jumper”… or “chips”… or “bacon.” I come prepped for that. It’s not “at the hospital,” it’s “in hospital.” It’s not “Wow, dude, that HAD to hurt,” it’s “Oh dear, I’m so sorry, are you all right?” We accident prone, of course, have to be multilingual when we travel. But one thing I’m very seldom prepared for are the random moments of hilarity that spring upon one when traveling.
I was wandering about in the East End of London the other day, near Bethnal Green, looking for the V&A Museum of Childhood. Apparently the collection of toys and childhood-related items was split off from the Victoria & Albert Museum collection some time ago, and moved out to the East End to be its own museum, though still under the umbrella of the V&A. As my real job (yes, I have a real job. Stop snickering, you lot) involves working in a museum with a large collection of toys, I figured it would be criminally irresponsible of me not to visit it. And naturally, when I climbed up out of the tube station into the light, I immediately turned around the wrong way and went marching off in the exact opposite direction from where I needed to go. This is fairly standard for me, I have an awful sense of direction and confuse my right with my left far more often than I’m really willing to admit. So off I went down a row of little shops and warehouses and things, and lo and behold I came upon this sign.
Look at it carefully. It’s polite, as all British signage tends to be. It’s informative. Perhaps a tad wordy.
AND IT IS A COMPLETE AND UTTER BALDFACED LIE.
Seriously. “Gate is in constant use.” Really? By what? Squirrels? Not only is there a positive jungle of weeds and briars and baby trees and liana vines and lost monkey cities behind this gate… the thing is obstructed by a large, solid wooden barrier. I suppose someone might manage to break the lock, then saw off the wooden thingy that’s sticking through the bars, then haul that barrier out of the way, and rush forward into the jungle—only to be eaten by the monkeys. But really—suggesting that parking in front of this gate would discommode anyone except said monkeys was so hilariously absurd, I had to take a picture.
I love taking pictures of stupid signs. My favorite one that I’ve seen in person is, of course, this one:
3″, no diving? Where’s the fun in THAT, I ask you?
But the best—the absolute best sign I’ve seen on this trip is the one I encountered in a bookshop on (or near) Charing Cross Road in London the other day. Charing Cross really does have a lot of lovely bookstores—though fewer than I remember from the last time I was here, I think the economy is not being kind to small specialty bookshops on either side of the pond. Sigh. At any rate, I found myself bumbling around a fairly large and mass-markety sort of store that was still quirky and kind of fun in the décor department. So I wandered through Travel, then Literature, then Children’s Literature, then this:
Isn’t it fabulous? Because of course! What bookshop is complete without…. a sizable tank of piranhas in the children’s section? I ask you. Perhaps the piranha are book lovers. Perhaps they are a specialized species that only devours Children’s Lit. They can tear through hardbacks instantly, skeletonize a 5 volume series in under 20 seconds, leaving only wisps of ink drifting through the water in their wake….
Yeah. It’s been a good trip.
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