Since the days have become so much alike, I decided to stop enumerating them. Instead, here's my typical day at the British Library.
Since I'm staying in Chelsea this time, it takes me AN HOUR to get from my place to the BL: first walk to South Kensington tube, then take the oh-so-slow Piccadilly Line nine stops to King's Cross, then emerge onto the Euston Road just two blocks down from the library. As I enter the courtyard, I see an immense sculpture based on one of William Blake's 
prints. Turn right toward the front of the library, and go in the center doors and queue for the mandatory bag search.
Head downstairs to put things away in the locker room; only certain items may be brought into the reading rooms: notebooks, pencils, laptops and mobiles (with sound off--oh the scorn heaped upon those who don't know how to mute the "Windows" sound on their laptops). The locker room is the first place one notices the unspoken but strict conventions that regular readers follow. Select a locker, hope that it isn't someone else's favorite locker, and stick with it. Mine is #342. Right now, the library is full of Uni students working on final projects, so the locker room is experiencing a
bit of anarchy. However, most non-regulars go straight down the middle aisle, which is almost always full.
I always go to the Rare Books Reading Room, which is on the second floor. Sometimes I head up to Manuscripts, which is just above Rare Books. There are also two Reading Rooms for Humanities, which I dislike because they are always crowded; they are also rumored to be place to go if you wish to "meet" other scholars. There are also rooms for boring things like Science, which I have never visited.
The Rare Books Reading Room is shaped like an L. I like to sit around the corner, in the little part of the L, near the Issue Desk and the Catalogue Terminals. Again, regularity typically reigns and once a desk is chosen, one is expected to sit at it every time. Of course, a major difficulty is selecting a desk that, seemingly empty at the current moment, in fact turns out to be someone's regular seat. One day this week a woman came and set up directly next to me, even though there were many empty desks available. The normal etiquette is to leave an empty desk between you and the next reader whenever possible. This is not only to be polite, but also because working with rare books takes up quite a bit of space, with the stack of books, the book cradle, the notebooks, the laptop, the extra sweater (it does get cold in those Reading Rooms!). This trip has been so short that I haven't been able to settle at a regular desk, which I find rather disconcerting.
This is the lobby of the BL. Of course, one can't take take photos inside the Reading Rooms.
Order books, pick them up at the issue desk, get chastised for not following the rules (yes, you can ORDER ten books per day, but you can only have SIX on reserve at any one time), take notes and/or transcribe passages, head out intermittently for a coffee from the cafe, a sandwich from Pret, or a plate of cheap and delicious chips from the Restaurant, or for yet another expensive mechanical pencil from the shop, come back and work some more until closing time.
Hmm. It's really much more fun than it sounds.
So I didn't really cover Day 6 in that last post. Well, Days 6 and 7 have been essentially the same: many hours of research in the British Library. Except today, when I went to (you guessed it) Pret a Manger for lunch, I also got a free latte! Laurie would be so proud.
Yesterday I went with Dr. S to St. Paul's for the sung Eucharist, with an all-male choir including some sweetly amusing, fidgety, easily distracted young boys. The Bishop of London gave the sermon, which is something of a Big Deal. He has the kind of voice that could make a reading of the Periodic Table enthralling. For his theme, he spoke about "peace" in the broader sense, about social justice and human beings' obligation to create a peaceful world by behaving kindly and taking care of one another. He also didn't hesitate to call out those whom he thought were not contributing to this ideal, such as the leaders of Burma, the wagers of war in the mideast or those who would call themselves Christians but ignore, undermine or deny this ideal of peace.
On the way there, and after, I thought quite a bit about the previous, and only other time I'd been to a service at St. Paul's. It was the 9-11 remembrance service. A group of study abroad students and I had arrived in London not 48 hours before the first plane crashed into the towers. I had been grocery shopping at the Oxford Street Tesco when it happened, and arrived back at the flat while BBC news was showing footage of what then was still thought to be just a bizarre and tragic accident.
We all went to St. Paul's early, as a group, and were seated inside about 2/3 of the way back. The crowd grew until the entire area outside of St. Paul's was filled with mourners. The service was sad and incredibly painful, yet comforting and somehow inspiring of hope. Over the next few months, as we continued our study abroad program we were also unavoidably but unconsciously developing a global perspective on 9-11 and on the US reaction to it. And a huge, seemingly unbreachable wall arose between ourselves and our friends and family. Most of them had turned so deeply inward that they could only perceive our objectivity, our "outsider" perspective as intentionally insulting and uncaring. It was so, so hard on the students, who struggled even to find the vocabulary to describe the alienation they were experiencing, but who at least knew they could trust one another to understand, wordlessly.
After St. Paul's yesterday, we walked in the too-hot sunshine down to Covent Garden for lunch. All of the usual tourist-attracting antics were in progress. But the Doc Marten's flagship store had disappeared. I was sad. No new shoes for me.
Very nice people at the BL sorted out my registration problem. Yay. Today I started working again with one of my 1770s finds, and it felt like a long-lost, prized possession. I hope, and rather expect, that noone else has looked at it in the past six years since I checked it out last. I think I'll ask the librarians tomorrow.
On Friday night, Dr. S, the students and I saw an excellent production of Joanna Baillie's Witchcraft--apparently the first production in at least 150 years. It was performed in a tiny pub theatre near Earl's Court. The night before we attended a production of King Lear at the Globe; the photo is our group in the audience just before we were chastised for taking pictures inside the theatre.
Old favorites sampled so far: Covent Garden Carrot and Coriander Soup (1 bowl) Plain Chocolate Digestives (a few) Pret a Manger sandwiches (2) Starbars (3) Strongbow Cider (not counting)
Day 1. So happy. So so happy. And tired. But happy.
Day 2. Not so happy.
My British Library Reader's Card has expired. So, I figured, no problem: renewal, another scary photo, and back with the rare books. But no. Due to increased security, I did not have enough proper identification with me. Old Reader's Card? Sorry. Passport? Not enough. Faculty ID, Business Cards, Credit Cards, Pre-printed Bank Deposit Slip (and who knows why I have one of those here)? Too bad. Tomorrow, we will see if my Voter's Registration Card (again, why do I have this? when I emptied my wallet and left my driver's license at home, apparently stupidly despite the fact that I will not be driving a car, yet did so On Purpose) will be adequate proof of my scholarly trustworthiness.
Also, no more off-shore bank account. Ha.
Since the days have become so much alike, I decided to stop enumerating them. Instead, here's my typical day at the British Library.
prints. Turn right toward the front of the library, and go in the center doors and queue for the mandatory bag search.
bit of anarchy. However, most non-regulars go straight down the middle aisle, which is almost always full.
This is the lobby of the BL. Of course, one can't take take photos inside the Reading Rooms.
