Dateline: London and Taplow, England
I slept hard last night for something over ten hours and feel like I am starting to become time adjusted. At least I don’t feel like I’m in a fog, although I did fall asleep several times while sitting in railway and underground carriages when I didn’t move for more than ten minutes. Today’s agenda, after the typical tourist hotel breakfast buffet (meh – everything was edible but nothing was really good and the coffee was pretty awful in general), was to catch the train for Taplow, a village in Berkshire. It’s not a lot more than a wide spot in the road and a pub but it is the train stop for Cliveden House, home of various notables, most recently the British branch of the Astor family. Those of you of a certain age will know who Lady Astor, the first female MP in the House of Commons was, and others will know of Cliveden from its supporting role in the Profumo affair (which involved Lady Astor’s son and the swimming pool).
Both Vickie and I have a connection to Cliveden. Back in the 70s and early 80s, it was the site of Stanford’s British overseas campus and she lived at the house for six months. She had not been back since graduating and wanted to see it again. My connection is more slender. Back in the days when the Astors were in residence, my grandfather, being tall, athletic, charming when he so chose, and single at the time, was in demand as an ‘extra man’ at weekend house parties and he was invited to Cliveden several times as a guest. How he knew the Astors, I know not but he was of good and social climbing family, had an uncle who was a national hero, and other connections so someone pointed him their way. He had stories of T.E. Lawrence tearing up the drive on his motorcycle and through the front door, various politicians grousing around the dinner table and Mrs. Astor trying to give him life advice (which he took from no one).
The house is now owned by the National Trust but leased out as a boutique hotel. We were able to go into a few of the larger rooms with a tour (which Vickie says are similar to what they were on her sojourn but now with nicer furnishings) but could not wander willy nilly as it is a working hotel and the guests are paying rates equivalent to my monthly salary to pretend they are the super rich of a century ago. We spent most of our time exploring the grounds, including formal gardens, woodlands, and a walk on the bank of the River Thames, far upstream from London where it is a placid country river. The views of the west country from the house, on a bluff above the river valley were gorgeous. Thomas Hardy eat your heart out.
After several miles of walking, our feet were tired so we hopped the train back into town and rested briefly before dinner and show. The dinner? We both had duck l’orange at an Italian Restaurant off the Embankment and then went to see the new production of Cabaret. I had seen it on the previous trip but Vickie had not and I thought it innovative enough to be worth a revisit. The leads have changed from six months ago. (The MC is better, the Sally is not as good) but the who remains pretty phenomenal and really a must see. Vickie and I owe our forty plus year friendship to that show. A misadventure of a production at Stanford was how we originally met each other and started to get each other. I’ve started to realize how lucky you are in life to find even a handful of people who get you and with whom you remains sympatico year after year and she is one of them.
We have to get up to catch a train again in the morning. I’m trusting her to wake me up.
Life, The Universe, and Everything 