Hookay, so having just got back from two weeks down south, I had to get my act together for two weeks in England. In a town noted for having highly variable weather, to put it mildly, and with a variety of events and two shows requiring different modes of dress. So packing was going to be an issue. I tend to overpack anyway and last year was a shitshow of getting luggage-shamed as I hauled my big suitcase and duffel, plus assorted little stuff, around very crowded trains.
This year, I’d decided to improve my game – I was going to get an airBnb with a clothes washer (more on that later), and I was going to swap out the duffel for a medium-sized suitcase on wheels, which would be easier to handle, and I was also going to be prepared to say ‘fuck the luggage shamers, I need all this stuff’. Y’all traveling with just a carry-on probably don’t need to bring a CPAP machine and a complete set of score and parts to an entire opera. Just sayin’.
So, anyway, I have a half-day on Friday and was working from home, so getting packed and closing up the apartment wasn’t a big deal. My flight was at 7:30 or such, plan was to leave for JFK at 4:00. I live in the same borough as JFK, but at the opposite end, and invariably, traffic there is a mess, especially on a Friday afternoon where you’re running into the folks trying to get out to Long Island for the weekend. And sure enough, traffic was a snarly mess, and the Uber cost way more than usual, but I got there, took about an hour.
Things got nicer from there. First of all, when I trundled my two wheeled suitcases over to Virgin Atlantic, I was greeted by an employee who guessed I was on the Manchester flight, and just pointed me over to the counter, no ‘print your bag tags yourself’ nonsense. No issues with suitcase weight. (again, I tend to overpack) No real issues going through security. (because of the pacemaker, often they have to pat me down instead of sending me through a machine).
Found my gate, no fear, and decided to grab some dinner (I hadn’t had lunch) at the bar next to it. Fish tacos and a cosmo, and the cosmo was super expensive, but meal not too bad. And then they boarded us, quite early. I was flying Virgin Atlantic, ‘premium’ class, which is the middle of the three classes, and gives you two meals and booze and entertainment and a fairly comfy seat. I’ve now learned that on the big planes, if you get an aisle seat on the inside, often the middle-middle seat beside you will be empty, and that was true here, yay.
Flight was really short, something like five hours and 15 minutes, not even really time to get any sleep. And they served us two big meals, a ‘dinner’ and a ‘breakfast’. I did my usual knitting and reading and maybe conked out for a little bit.
Oh, hey, it’s early Saturday morning and here we are in Manchester. No problem with customs. (it used to be that they’d interview you and often would get hung up on the fact that I’d be there to conduct a show at a music festival, but it wasn’t a job and I wasn’t getting paid for it – but now you just have your passport scanned and pretty much just go through). No problem with luggage. And I’d taken the bus just two years ago, and had figured out pretty much how it worked. Did the normal thing of putting the luggage in the spot where a wheelchair user would go (and crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t have to move it) and sitting behind it. I remember the first time I did that bus, and realized that I was sitting in the ‘old person’s’ section and feeling guilty. I now am an ‘old person’, so eff’em. And that’s a nice bus ride, although longish, like an hour forty-five.
Got off at the end of the line, at the top of the hill in Buxton. A logistics thing I always knew I’d have to deal with is that it’s now mid-morning, but I can’t get into my airBnb until noonish and here I am with all my luggages in very hilly Buxton. I can’t even just hang out at a pub for two hours, they’re not open yet. But my dear friends, the Bartons, live in Buxton and K had already volunteered to have me come over. She’d said (in a text) that she’d meet me at the bus stop or give me directions. I’d been to their house before, I knew where it was.
But I got there and texted her and got no response, so I guessed what was the best way to go to their house and guessed completely wrong. (I won’t go into detail, but Buxton being VERY HILLY meant there was a good way and a stupid way to get to their house schlepping luggage, and guess which way I picked?) I ended up in a little car park by their house, and pulled out my phone to call them. (Meanwhile the guest at the airBNB next door came out to glare at me for standing in his car park, but I explained what was going on.) P&K showed up quickly and were all like, “why did you go THAT way?”. And I’m like I TEXTED YOU TO ASK AND YOU DIDN’T RESPOND. Aaaaannnnyway…
Some schleppage later, I was sitting in their sunroom drinking coffee and getting caught up, which was lovely. I ended up hanging around there for a couple of hours. They invited me to go out with them while they went around the Saturday market and ran errands, but of course I’d had no sleep, so decided to stay and stare at the wall. They came back and K made us sandwiches, lovely and helpful.
Don’t know what I would have done if my airBNB host hadn’t done what I was expecting, but sure enough, I got a noontime email saying, ‘you can get in now and here’s the code to get into the lockbox to get the keys’. So P&K and I went (the easy way) back to the bus stop to meet their next ‘temporary adoptee’, my buddy Kay, at the bus, and after some standing around chatting, I headed in the other direction to find my lodgings.
So, yeah, this was my 10th festival and my 8th time in Buxton, and every other time, I’d stayed in a bed and breakfast (or a hotel). Definitely part of the experience was sailing downstairs in the morning to have my Full English breakfast and a rack of toast or whatever presented to me. But what a lot of us Savoynetters do is the ‘self-catering’ thing, where my buddy Marisa lines up several rental houses with four bedrooms apiece and creates little four-person temporary communities. I really need my own space (and bathroom), but decided that, this year, I’d go for the delights of having my own clothes washer and forgo the Full English. It was very much an Experiment, and I told myself if I ended up hating it, I just wouldn’t do it again.
Spoiler alert, I loved it. I stayed here. It was a teeny rowhouse. Downstairs was just a living room and a kitchen, upstairs was two little bedrooms and a bathroom. The amusing part, though, was how aggressively cutesy it was. Pictures below, but I wish I’d taken the pictures before I cleared out the thousand throw pillows, etc.
Definitely my favorite parts were the fluffy-feathered light fixture in the ‘main’ bedroom’ and the faux-fur rugs.
But functionally, it was great, just the right size. I’d thought I was getting just a clothes washer, but there was a dryer too. I spent a lot of time in that little armchair under the stairs, that was perfect for morning coffee and internet reading. I was only somewhat successful in getting my laptop to connect to the TV so i could watch my own streaming services, and they were refusing to show The Gilded Age in the UK, but I had plenty of other content. There was no dishwasher, but there was a toaster and a microwave (and a stove and range, which I never used) and an electric kettle. Coffee setup was a French press, which I had to learn how to use, but liked a lot. I figured that breakfasts would be either peanut butter bagels with raisins, or (instead of the frittatas I usually make) pre-made quiche, and that’s how it played out, it was fine. (especially when I ran out of bagels and replaced them with crumpets. Have to remember that one next time.)
There were two bedrooms, but the one with the double bed had two nightstands and a couple of closets and that was it. The one with the single bed had a couple of dressers, so that became the ‘dressing room’ and clothes folding and all that. I also had the thought that often someone needs just a ‘bed for the night’ during the festival, and I could have provided that, but it never came up.
I did some quick unpacking, got the lay of the house, grabbed some grocery bags and went out. I’d never stayed on that side of the High Street before, it was all new to me, but I did some experimental wandering and by accident found a great way to get to the church where we’d be rehearsing. Continued on to the car supply store to get ‘deionized water’ for my CPAP machine, but it was already closed by then and wouldn’t be open until Monday, oh well. Went to the Waitrose to do food shopping, and got a little too ambitious, as I ended up with two VERY HEAVY bags I then needed to schlep back. (the one downside of my digs was that it was on the opposite side of the hill from everywhere else I needed to be) I ended up, finally, on my little block, huffing and puffing, where I saw a family getting out of a car. The sun was right behind them, so I couldn’t see who they were, until the mom came zooming up to me and was like, “you doing OK there?” It was SJ Hall with her family, all there to be in the shows, and staying on my block. So I gave her an exhausted cheek smooch, said hi to the boys, and got my groceries in.
After a shower, touched base with our cruise director Marisa and found out they were headed over to the Cheshire Cheese, which quite conveniently was the closest pub to me. Met Marisa, Kay and Andrew there for drinks and dinner.
Back to the cottage, where I tried to read, but it was not even 9:00 and I was literally dropping my Kindle in my lap as I fell asleep. OK, then, haul my tired ass up the stairs and to bed.
Next up: a new day in Buxton and the first ZOO rehearsal!
The Toast Point Page 