Days 158-161 Part 2: London and Back Again

If you had told me a week ago that I'd spend 27 hours on a bus, 20 hours queuing, and around £70 in order to see Tom Hiddleston and Mark Gatiss in Coriolanus, I wouldn't have believed you. Had I known how much trouble it was going to be before I set out, I probably wouldn't have gone. 

But I did go. And now, after seeing the wonderfulness that is Coriolanus, it was 100% worth it.

The plan was pretty straightforward. Take the bus down to London on Thursday, stay with a friend of a friend, queue Friday for Coriolanus tickets and then try to get Henry V tickets (staring Jude Law) on Saturday.

Sadly, Friday was an utter failure. Despite waking up at 5:00 am and arriving at the theatre at 6:00, there were still nearly forty people in front of me. I should have just gone straight to Henry V to queue there (it has a longer run, so it's easier to get tickets) but instead I decided to stick it out for Coriolanus. 

At 10:00, the box office opened and the line started moving... and kept moving... and we (myself and two American exchange students I met in the queue) actually started to have hope that we'd get tickets. But no such luck. When I was just 8th in line, they ran out of day seats and standing tickets.

So we joined the line for returns. This was nicer because it was inside, so I actually managed to get some stuff done (reading for class, memorizing lines for a play, writing blog posts about Europe). However, we waited all day but no returns came in until 6:30. They kept trickling in slowly up until the show started... and when the performance began I was third in line. So. Close.

I went back to the flat rather dejected and drank a cup of much needed tea before heading off to bed around 11.  I resolved to wake up at 2am... but my internal clock actually woke me up at 1:30. So I got up (amid severe doubts of 'is this really worth it?) got dressed, ran to the bus stop (the tube doesn't run that late/early) and got to the Donmar Warehouse by 2:20, where I found myself about 25th in line.

It was a hopeful position. On Friday 30 people had gotten tickets, and there had only been one show. There were two shows on Saturday, and fewer people in front of me. I was fairly certain of getting a ticket, assuming that everyone in front of me didn't buy two.

I waited in that queue for eight hours. In the cold. And the wet. I wore four jumpers and was still cold. When it rained, I shared an umbrella with an American exchange student who was right behind me in the queue. She was a theatre major, so having her to chat to made the time go by much quicker.

The Saturday queue (the box office is by the little red sideways sign on
the building on the right side of the pic; the end of the line stretched a fair
ways off the left side of the photo...)

At ten the queue started moving. Soooooo slooooowly. The line behind me stretched the length of the block. I tried to take comfort from the fact that if so many people were waiting behind me, there must be hope for me... but I started to be convinced that I wouldn't get a ticket, that I'd have to sit in the returns line again, or else go back disappointed.

But. BUT. I did eventually make it to the ticket window. And not only were there places left, but there were actual physical seats (not just standing places) left for the matinee. So I bought one. And I jumped and squealed and nearly cried. I just couldn't believe that all that waiting had actually paid off.

I went back to the flat, had a quick nap, showered, and headed back in for the matinee. Thankfully, despite having just two hours of sleep that night, excitement kept me wide awake. After all that trouble, I was going to enjoy that show.

And I did. So much. I'm pretty safe to say it's my favourite of all performances I've seen. It was funny, and tragic, and classic, and modern, and inventive, and so ridiculously well acted. I won't say any more now, bc this post is long enough already, but I'll blog in detail about the show tomorrow. 

I left the theatre so high on the show. It had completely emptied me, in a way, like any great tragedy should. I was so enthralled by the show that I couldn't focus on anything else.

Except for then I could, because that's when Andrew Scott showed up, making my fantastic day better than I ever imagined.

Sadly, the epic tale of Rachel's trip to London has a slightly depressing end. I had planned to take the overnight bus up front London and arrive back in St. Andrews in time for church on Sunday morning, but unfortunately, the bus had other plans. When we had just passed Carlyle (northwest England, right by the border of Scotland), the bus got a flat tire. So we sat there. For nearly two hours. Finally a replacement bus rescued us an took us to Glasgow where we were hastily allocated to different buses. After another transfer, I finally arrived back in St. Andrews early Sunday afternoon. Total journey time: 13.5 hours.

It was a crazy weekend, with more travel and less sleep than I've ever had (I think...) Tomorrow, I shall describe the play that made it all worthwhile...

A Day in the Life of a University Student: Bad Bus Luck

Today was… how shall I put it… interesting. There were some very high points, some very low points and some just plain random points. Some of it has to do with being a writer, a lot with being a university student, some with being a Doctor Who fan, and everything with being me. Since there’s just so much to tell about today, I’ve decided to break this post up into three parts. Here is number one, Bad Bus Luck.

First of all, you should know that I had two midterms today. One was a psych midterm worth 20%, the other was a poetry test worth 15%. I studied like crazy for the psych midterm since I knew it was going to be hard. The poetry one, not so much. Anyways, I had been preparing for today for a long time, had gotten all my work done last night really early so that I was in bed by ten. I woke up feeling all refreshed and ready to write the tests.

Then, before I left, I sat down on my bed to pray and ask God for help on my midterms. However, I spent just a little longer on it than I had intended, so when I opened my eyes it was already 8:29, and my bus usually gets to its stop between 8:29 and 8:31. I kinda freaked out at this, so I dashed downstairs, threw my lunch in my bag, grabbed my coat, shoved my shoes on, exploded out the door and ran down to the path to the street… only to see the bus pulling away from the stop.

This is kind of a catastrophe. It’s now 8:30, and my exam starts at 9:30. It takes me approximately an hour and eight minutes to walk to King’s. If I ran I could probably make it, but there’s no way I want to show up at my exam panting from running for an hour. The other option is to sit around and see if there’s another bus I could catch. There’s two busses that go by my place, the one I usually take and another one that normally comes before it. I could wait around and see if the other bus is late, or I could start running.

At this point, I have a brilliant idea. My bus has to go through a whole subdivision before coming out again at the main road. If I run really fast, maybe I can make it to the intersection before the bus, and so I’ll catch it there. So I cross the street and start running with my laptop bag swinging around my waist and my coat billowing out.

Just then, the second bus pulls up to the stop just behind me. Great. If I had just waited a minute longer I could have gotten on that. But there’s absolutely no use waiting here now, so I just keep running, then slow down to a walk because I’m really out of shape. About five to ten minutes later I arrive at the intersection, only to see the second bus there at the other side. The light’s red, so I can’t cross over. As soon as the light changes, the bus pulls away.

It’s now 8:40. The next bus won’t get here for another half hour. If I wait for that, then I’ll miss my transfer at main campus and end up at King’s about five minutes late for the exam. Unless I start walking, there’s no way I’ll make it in time.

So I start walking. I speed-walk through another subdivision, glancing longingly at all the cars that pass, until I come up to another major road that’s serviced by about four or five different busses. I take a well deserved break, and five minutes later another bus shows up going east. I grab that, ride it for about two stops, then get off, dash across an intersection and take a north going bus up to campus. Once there, I wait for about ten minutes until a shuttle comes, which takes me to King’s. Arrival time, 9:18.

Despite missing my bus and ending up taking three different busses and walking way too far, I got to campus only about twenty minutes later than I usually do. In the end, it didn’t work out that badly. It just doesn't make sense; I nearly missed my exam because I was praying for help on the exam. How ironic is that?