We tried…

London, England We did start the day with ambitions. Don had a list of exciting tours planned at the British Museum, and I was going to gravitate back to Trafalgar Square and visit the National Gallery.

We tried, we really did.

All of the tours Don was interested in were cancelled, and the Japanese gallery was closed — without notice. The Elgin/Parthenon Marbles are still boldly stuck to those English walls, and people are still nose-to-glass at the Rosetta Stone.

Though he started the day with pep, too many disappointments caused him to sigh, cough, sneeze, and return home for a nice nap.

I had heard there was a race on today, and I was lucky my bus was not diverted, like many others. I didn’t realize that Trafalgar Square was the epicenter of the race, however. Lots of music, lots of people, lots of energy.

There was a 20-minute queue to get into the National Gallery, but that didn’t deter me. I think it was the crowds inside and the rudimentary familiarity I already have with the collections that made me think about leaving. Even the gift shop had lost its charm, and I don’t say that often. The most entertaining part was the ladies intently focused on their copying challenges.

So I also wended my way home, with only one bus diversion. Time for a rainy Sunday nap!

Don’s Food Corner, etc.

It’s fun to visit a city and track down locations of movies, TV shows or books. Many people who travel to London search out Harry Potter sites, like Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station, where the authorities have obligingly created a cart disappearing into a wall — with tourists lined up to get their photos taken. Or in New York City, there’s the grand staircase at the main location of the New York Public Library where the wedding in “Sex and the City” took place.

All of that is sweet. But I tend to look for darker locations. For example, a few years ago I searched for the location described in Charles Dickens “Little Dorrit” when Amy (known as Little Dorrit) got locked out of the Marshalsea debtors’ prison where she lived with her father, when she didn’t return before the doors were locked. It was a very cold night. A sympathetic clergyman invited Little Dorrit into the office to sleep on the hearth. Marshalsea prison has been torn down, except for one wall, but the clergy building is still standing. I went into the office. The person in charge there said as soon as I entered the room, “Are you looking for Little Dorrit’s hearth?” “Yes.” He gestured toward a small fireplace and a pathetic hearth. It was a thrill to experience it. Charles Dickens was speaking to me over one-hundred-plus years.

Another fond memory of this type was when I went to the Communist Headquarters in London to see if they would let me see the office that Lenin used when he lived in London. They were somewhat hesitant, since it’s not really a tourist sight, but I guess I looked lefty enough to be taken to the room. It was being used as a storage room. I bought a few appropriate key chains that they were selling at the front office and passed them around as gifts.

Today, however, was a real find. Over the last few days when I was sick and was pretty much forced to stay in bed, I binge-watched the fantastic Netflix mini-series “Baby Reindeer.” This series has it all: Dark, hilarious, disturbing, complex, mysterious, traumatic, inconclusive. At the end of each of the episodes are suggestions for places to get help with personal mental health issues. Now, that’s what I call entertainment! The series is gathering tons of awards. All, in my opinion, worth them and more.

Because this series is based on a true story experienced by the actual lead actor in the series, I was intrigued to see if I could visit any of the locations. Well, I got to one. This was the real-life pub where “Donny” was working as a bartender when he first encountered his stalker, “Martha.” That real-life pub is The Hawley Arms pub in Camden Town — a short distance from London’s center. The pub used in the TV series is in a different location that was too far to travel to.

So I had to make do with the real thing. The place was packed with all sorts of people — from hipster types to “arty” looking people to families with small children. The walls were covered with signed photos of celebrities that I did not recognize. Except for one –Amy Winehouse, who herself suffered from a host of mental health issues. Apparently she lived in Camden Town and spent a lot of time in this pub.

I used the time at the Hawley Arms to have one last serving of fish and chips before we leave the U.K. — done the right way. Sadly, this was the worst I’ve ever had. The coating was both soggy from not being fried all the way through and greasy. (I suspect the oil wasn’t hot enough.) The fish itself was large, but I suspect not all that fresh.

But I got the full vibe of the unforgettable “Baby Reindeer.”