Londinium

Had the funniest day yesterday. Arrived at Euston Station to meet the fabulous Karen for a full day of work. I was standing on platform 2, tapping away on my laptop that was perched precariously on a post. A lovely London train man came up and told me not to be perturbed, but I was standing in the middle of a police training exercise. Seems the new British transport police were learning about how to deal with rude and difficult customers. For once, this wasn’t me. Two people were playing the parts of rudeness, but they didn’t seem rude at all. The police were also very self-contained. My lovely train man friend told me that the English are very refined and everyone behaves themselves – which is why the police don’t need to carry guns.

This was quite a funny conversation as the cabby the day before told me that the English have been blowing each other up, or someone has been blowing them up for centuries. I do love a good cabbie. I got a full history lesson from the Templar Knights of the Crusades through Northern Ireland to today. You gotta love a ride in a black cab; a history lesson and a half hours’ entertainment for 10 quid.

Thursday, I had a day off and walked 31km through the stunning English sunshine. I had never been to the Roman ruins below the Guildhall. The ever-helpful Wikipedia tells me that London’s Roman Amphitheatre was built in AD70 for gladiators to flex their muscles in Roman martial arts to the screaming scores of blood thirsty Londoners throwing Jaffas as they fought and died. Well the bit about the Jaffas I made up, but the rest is apparently true.

When I told the delightful wee bairns that I was off to see the Roman ruins, the very sensible Scotland patronisingly reminded me that I was in the wrong city and the wrong country. He obviously doesn’t know his history well, but pretty cool that the amphitheatre was only discovered after Scotland was born.

Seems they were digging up British soil to build the new Guildhall art shack to house the treasures of the City of London Corporation when they stumbled upon the Roman arena. Also seems that the wooden benches of the arena were at one time kept warm by 7000 Londinium bottoms watching criminals be executed. My sedate 31km stroll had taken me through Henrietta Harriet’s Clerkenwell. I did feel slightly relieved that the Guildhall slaughterhouse was well buried beneath the soil in the 1840s or I might not have been here to enjoy the lovely English sunshine.