Day 79: Primary and the Blitz

Now and Then

Primary Program is the same wherever you go, it turns out. There's always the kid who is pulling the hair of the girl in front of him; there's always the girl who sits so everyone can see her underwear; there are always kids clearly too old to be there, but who read their lines robustly, as if demonstrating how it's done; those who are so excited their parents are there that they can't stop waving and those who cry to be in front of so many people. I suspect that these cute antics are the reasons why the Programs continue to this day. Our program did just fine. I had a good time singing next to Alicia (she kept wanting to sit on my lap, but I had to say no :(. )

Kim here has a kidney infection (we think), and she's been sicker than a dog for nearly a week--no sleep, no food. Poor thing. She had to cancel her Norway trip and might have to cancel going to Spain for Thanksgiving, and that's a lot of money down the drain. Having someone so ill in the house is a great way to get everyone involved in service and issues bigger than themselves. I sure hope she gets better soon and that it's nothing serious.

The fireside featured a bishop who was four years old during the London Blitz, and he was excited to tell us about it. He showed us pictures of piddly bomb-shelters, blackouts, craters in the streets with Fords in them, the famous smoking St. Paul's Cathedral, pictures of his family and himself as a little boy. I learned so much about the Blitz and what happened, how long it lasted, why the Chronicles of Narnia children were sent away, etc. Winston Churchill must have been a little peeved, but there was nothing that could be done. Happily a lot of the major sites were not bombed; because it was so dark, the Germans needed landmarks to navigate.

Day 78: The Magical World of Harry Potter

Not Quite a Review

You know what's sad? The entire theater was EMPTY when we went to see Harry Potter. Opening Day. What the--? We went to the Odeon at Whiteley's, super early too, so as to procure Ben and Jerrys and other goodies. There were 12 of us and like 8 other people. I guess the cinema isn't a big thing in the UK. Embarassing. The show was really fun to see (mostly because we got to see London a lot and squeal about how we'd been somewhere or other). I had to pee, not once, but THREE times during the movie. The only concern I had was coming back and seeing Harry and Hermione slowdancing...? Confusion. But it was so fun to see everyone from Leicester on the big screen, giving their all to the last Harry installment probably EVER. Hooray for smart lines and awesome camera and for not sprinting through the plot like crazy people! Bellatrix Lestrange is really, really scary--Emma Watson said acting like she was scared and tortured was not difficult. Helena really looks unhinged in that scene. Also Dobby is boss. Snape was only there for two seconds. Sadness. Secretly not excited to see the next movie because it's all over after that...I sure hope the next big thing is lying in wait.

After some pad thai, it's off to do more homework. I feel so awesome getting everything in on time! I guess the best part of today was realizing that we've been to Tottenham Court Road and Diagon Alley for REALSIES. And saw Rupert and everything. It's so enchanting to look at the pavement in the scenes and know exactly what those stones feel like under your feet, or imagine the smell of the streets, or wonder what road they just stood on and what bus that was that just raced by. So marvelous! In Paris, I was sad a lot of girls hadn't seen Ratatouille and did not indulge my reasonable search for Gusteau's. I think the things that aren't real are as exciting to us as people who really lived; going to Fleet Street and wondering which of the barbershops Sweeney Todd worked in is a chilling experience, or seeing a dark alley on Baker Street and wondering if Holmes is on the trail, or visiting Bloomsbury and checking all the windows to see if Peter is listening in at Wendy's stories, or going to Portsmouth and wondering whether Captain Wentworth is out at sea, or seeing a large estate out on the moors and wondering whether there isn't a secret garden locked behind those monstrous walls--it's the fairyland I hoped it would be. It might have taken a while to get here, but London is some sort of fairyland and living here feels like I'm living someone else's life.

I'm pleased to announce that the Shulers have invited me to Thanksgiving dinner with them, so I'll be well looked after. Bit different food, I can only imagine, but still--there might be real football on the television. That would be marvelous. Gotta write some essays tomorrow, blech. Hopefully I'll go hit up Regents Street and see the lights. That would be a fun outing for sure :)

Day 75: This is the War Room

Snarky Winston Churchill

Back across town we go! Some of the girls weren't super impressed with this site (it's not a pretty cathedral after all), but I loved it. In a basement, across from parliament, is a museum featuring the actual war rooms used by Winston Churchill at the start of the Blitz. We equipped with audio guides that led us through solid concrete hallways, adorned with fire alarms and yellow arrows painted to show the soldiers the exit; some of the rooms had doors with little peepholes, and some were just behind glass. We saw Churchill's bedroom (complete with desk and telephone and bottle of bourbon), his wife's bedroom (pink), his lieutenants' quarters (tiny), a little bathroom permanently occupied (the other side was a telephone to the United States government, no toilet at all), the stenographers' maproom complete with clicking and flashing and urgent reports, kitchen, mess hall, music from the forties, Churchill's voice from the news reports, and room-sized maps featuring the infiltration of those dirty Jerries across Europe.

I loved learning about Churchill, how he was the opposite of diplomatic, that he used these war rooms to be in the "middle of the action" (Parliament would get bombed first, for sure), and that his go-get-em attitude gave his men a lot of optimism where optimism was due. I certainly wish our goverment were like that; President Obama's diplomacy and inability to speak without a teleprompter makes him look utterly weak. At least guys like Churchill and Reagan said what they thought, and I don't remember them ever losing to some foreign power.

My favorite part was the gift shop. Everything was themed forties, and some were handbooks on how to get along with girls/boys, advice on bomb shelters, emergency preparedness, dresses, aprons, and even pro-British propaganda against the Nazis! So delightful. Will they ever have museums featuring the War on Terror? Hopefully it won't be on home soil, that's all I have to say.

Day 73: War Horse

A Packed Week

Between Evensong and an opera, this week'll take the mickey out of us all.

This play marks one of few seen in England (I do hope it's not the best). I read on the Tube about how some guy in the backstage crew of War Horse had been bullied so much that he couldn't stand it anymore and quit. Sissy? Maybe. I tried not to think of that during the show.

Minimalist?

Being a theatre minor, I did my best to suspend disbelief and snootiness. The plot goes a little something like this:

A poor boy gets a horse. He loves it to adulthood. The poor family sells the horse to a captain in WWI. The boy enlists to find the horse. WWI kills most everybody.

With the exception of the bogus plot, lame lanes and excessive overacting (this is NOT me being snooty--this opinion is shared by most students on the program), the director did spectacularly on production design. Obviously the horses were puppets, made of wicker and operated by four to five people. As soon as you suspend your disbelief, a bamboo pole becomes a horse corral, the horses are moving of their own accord, and the goose is your favorite character ever.

After studying all those WWI artists like Levinson and Dix, it was clear that scenes in the play were trying to relive those paintings, and succeeded really well. I was just bothered by the plot, honestly. It's like that part in Independence Day when New York is blowing up, and Vivica what's-her-face is yelling for her dog, and Boomer leaps through the firey air to safety. Even though everyone else dies. I sure hope they don't make a movie.

Day 72: Remembrance Sunday and Evensong

Kings and Queens

During our services, the Queen of England made an appearance at the Cenotaph Monument outside Westminster Abbey, a tradition that has lasted nearly one hundred years, to lay a wreath of poppies in remembrance of all the soldiers from WWI. Ben and Andrew managed a few blurry pictures of the Royal family; our little group, again in the middle of a Tube strike, took a bus clear to Walthamstow, and toddled into the chapel some two hours later. I was paranoid about getting there on time; I definitely had a talk to give.

Charity

President Monson has in recent news released an addition to the three-fold mission of the Church. In addition to Proclaiming the Gospel, Perfecting the Saints, and Redeeming the Dead, the Prophet calls all us members to Care for the Poor and Needy. This latest development is entrenched in scripture, and stems from the teachings of Charity. If we are to Care for the Poor and Needy, we must develop Charity. But what is Charity? How do we get it? And how does it change us?

As members, we often struggle with the definition of Charity. Paul is confusing; he writes to Corinthians that “though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.” When we think of Charity, usually some sort of work or good deed is immediately attached, but Paul says that giving all one’s possessions away is not Charity. Moroni tells us that “Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever”. But what does that mean? He doesn’t mention collecting tins, service projects, or even fast offerings. Just pure love, like that of the most perfect Man who ever lived. How can we struggling, mortal humans develop that kind of love?

In Preach My Gospel, it reads in Developing Christlike Attributes: “A man once asked Jesus, ‘Which is the great commandment in the law?’ Jesus replied: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ Charity is the pure love of Christ. It includes God’s eternal love for all His children. We are to seek to develop that kind of love [by praying] unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that [we] may be filled with this love.”

Charity is a gift from God, given through the Holy Ghost, given to those who earnestly pray for it.

Gene R. Cook said, “As difficult as charity is to describe, it is rather easily recognized in the lives of those who possess it.

• An aged, crippled grandmother who subscribes to an afternoon newspaper, knowing it will bring her delivery-boy grandson to her home every day where, at her knee, she teaches him to pray.

• A mother who, in hard economic times and scarcity of meat, seems to savor only chicken wings, to the puzzlement of all.

• A man who suffers an undeserved public chastisement, but humbly receives it anyway.

Is not the common thread in these examples charity, a selflessness, a not seeking for anything in return? All of our divine attributes seem to flow from and be encompassed by this one. All men may have the gift of love, but charity is bestowed only upon those who are true followers of Christ.”

He goes on, “Yet there stands the devil, the destroyer of this love, replacing it with anger and hostility. My friend William felt that way: hostile. It seemed that whatever happened, it was the Lord’s fault—an illness, a death, a wayward child, a personal weakness, an “unanswered” prayer—all of which hardened his heart. His inner anger, which could flare up in but a moment, was directed toward God, his fellowman, and himself. From his heart emanated unbelief, stubbornness, pride, contention, and a loss of hope, love, and direction. He was miserable! These destroyers of peace blinded William to God’s feelings for him. He could neither discover nor feel God’s love. He did not see, especially in those dark moments, that God was richly blessing him even still. Instead, he returned anger for love. Have we not all felt that at times? Even when we have merited love the least, He has loved us the most. Truly, He loves us first.

Now, my Christlike friend Betty was just the opposite. She encountered many of the same difficulties as did William, but because she felt God’s love, she suffered tribulation in the Savior’s name, partook of His divine nature, and thus gained a deeper faith in and a love for God, along with the strength to handle whatever might come. Her love for others increased. She seemed to even forgive others in advance. She learned how to cause them to feel her love. She learned that love shared is love multiplied. Finally, she learned to love herself more, being more kind, gentle, and long-suffering. She stopped her struggle for self-esteem and started loving herself the way God loved her. Her image of herself became His image of her.”

Elder Cook writes that a lack of charity blinded his friend, while it clarified the view of the other. A famous story in the Book of Mormon involves two missionaries teaching an unlikely group about charity; Alma and Amulek had received news that the Zoramites were worshipping idols and hurried east to fix things. What they found were Rameumptoms, built in every synagogue for the rich to pray from once a week. In Alma 32, they discover that the poor had all been cast out of the synagogues because of the “coarseness of their apparel—therefore they were not permitted to enter into their synagogues to worship God, being esteemed as filthiness...yea, they were esteemed as dross.”

Because these poor Zoramites were no longer allowed in the synagogues, they had created idols for themselves to worship from. They had forgotten the nature of God. They had forgotten they could pray and worship Him anywhere. And because the rich treated them like dirt, they began to see themselves that way, forgetting that they were children of God with eternal potential. Alma addresses both of these immediately; he teaches the poor in chapter 32 about developing faith in God. He explains the nature of God and reaffirms Man’s divine place as His children.

In 34:28 and in harsher fashion, Amulek says, “If ye turn away the needy, and the naked, and visit not the sick and afflicted and impart of your substance, if ye have, to those who stand in need—I say unto you, if ye do not any of these things, behold, your prayer is in vain, and availeth you nothing, and ye are as hypocrites who do deny the faith. Therefore, if ye do not remember to be charitable, ye ARE as dross, which the refiners do cast out (it being of no worth) and is trodden under foot of men.”

The interesting thing about this story is that the missionaries did not tell the RICH to take care of the poor and needy, but the poor, who had no money or means to do so. Charity for these Zoramites had nothing to do with material wealth, but with the truth. They needed to remember the TRUE nature of God and the TRUE nature of man, which became a struggle after being treated so badly. The rich were blinded by their own silks, gold adornments, and the poor’s coarse apparel. The rich thought themselves superior to the poor. But the poor began to see clearly the love an Omnipotent God had for them, and began to see themselves as He does. They no doubt began to realize that rich or poor, we are all children of God and He loves us equally.

But in our busy, stressful lives, we often forget to see each other as Christ sees them. Bonnie D. Parkin asks, “Do we judge one another? Do we criticize each other for individual choices, thinking we know better, when in fact we rarely understand another’s unique circumstance or individual inspiration? Have we ever said, “She works outside the home.” Or, “Her son didn’t serve a mission.” Or, “She’s too old for a calling.” Or, “She can’t—she’s single.” Such judgments, and so many others like them, rob us of the good part, that pure love of Christ.” I suppose then we are as useful to the Lord as those Zoramites on the Rameumptom.

Elder Marvin J. Ashton beautifully observed: “Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.”

Preach My Gospel continues, “As you follow this counsel and strive to do righteous works, your love for all people will increase...You will come to feel a sincere concern for the eternal welfare and happiness of other people. You will see them as children of God with the potential of becoming like our Heavenly Father...You will avoid negative feelings such as anger, envy, lust or covetousness. You will avoid judging others, criticizing them, or saying negative things about them. You will try to understand them and their points of view. You will be patient with them and try to help them when they are struggling or discouraged. Charity, like faith, leads to action. You will develop charity as you look for opportunities to serve others and give of yourself.

This story teaches us that Charity is a kind of wisdom or discernment—it is the ability to see things as they truly are. These things are simple and yet often hard to see. The TRUTH is that we are all children of our Heavenly Father with limitless potential to become gods and goddesses ourselves, endowed with all power, glory, and honor, reigning effortlessly over kingdoms as righteous rulers, blessed for all eternity. Such a sight would render us speechless and on our knees in moments. Kings and Queens. In such a sight, what else can you do but serve them?

Moroni closes chapter 7 by saying: "If so, his ^afaith and hope is vain, for none is ^bacceptable before God, save the ^cmeek and lowly in heart; and if a man be meek and lowly in heart, and ^dconfesses by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus is the Christ, he must needs have charity; for if he have not charity he is nothing; wherefore he must needs have charity." (Moroni 7:44)

I have had some beautiful moments in my life where I’ve seen someone the way the Savior does. It’s not all the time—I’m still working on that particular Christlike attribute. But I bear you my solemn witness that the poor and needy are not what they appear to be. I encourage you to pray to be able to see everyone the way Christ sees them, and he promises that there will be no end to your blessings. I testify that this Church is true, that President Monson is a living prophet today, that Joseph Smith did see God the Father and Jesus Christ, and that through Christ's Atonement, I too can see and dwell with them. I leave these things with you in His name, amen,

The Abbey

Confession: We were given twelve pounds to go to Westminster Abbey, but those were my last twelve pounds for the rest of the trip; I still had Oyster cards to refill and places like the Imperial War Museum to get to. This was why I was excited for Evensong. We went directly from church through the dark, frigid air and stood in line outside for our little concert. I was warned by Liz and Carolyn that I wouldn't be able to see anything; walking in, the nave had little chairs set up in neat rows underneath the organ (I was sad not be able to see him play at all), but I stared up at the copper stone pillars, at the epitaphs engraved in the flagstones underfoot, that unknown soldier's tomb covered in poppies, and the gorgeous statues carved into the walls. I definitely saw the final resting place of Newton and Darwin just sitting in my little chair.

Liz looked up from the program and sprinted across the roomto hug someone she saw; apparently some great friends from America found her in the Abbey. She asked to go sit by them and I thought how incredible it was that she cared about us enough to even ask. Kaitlyn and I (both former organ students) told her to go, and sat to enjoy the music. It was about forty-five minutes; in Remembrance Day fashion, the songs included one written about the Blitz over York (we were totally there!), an elegy for the soldiers, and a final march about the perserverance and bravery of the British people. It was so cool to hear the stops echoing across the abbey and wondered if you couldn't just hear it outside.

Afterwards, we wandered the grounds in search of the Cenotaph and found little patches of those poppy crosses we planted at Serre Road Cemetery; each was laid if you knew someone killed in WWI--it was like being back at the real cemeteries. Flowers just went on for yards and yards, packed closer than dominoes in the hard earth, lit by the nearby streets and darkened by the shadow of the church. We couldn't help but hush at the reverence shown by England for their kindred dead. The Cenotaph was the same way; after the Queen appeared, the poppy wreaths were packed onto the base like soil and the monument would grow into a tree.

In many ways, I'm glad that we don't have the reasons the UK does for having Remembrance Day; however, it was really humbling to see all these different Britons, gathered in the square, in the church, on the sidewalks, all with poppies pinned to their coats, united, silently considering the impact WWI still has on their country. We Americans don't have anything to compare. Sometimes I wish we did.

Day 70: Freedom and Religion

Since I've come to England, I've met Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Anglicans, Catholics, atheists, Easternists, and countless other religious faiths who have learned we are Mormons. Excited to meet them and to talk about what we believe, we ask what they know about the Church.

Their initial reaction is that our church is a cult, rather like Amish or Kool-Aid drinkers, who slap so many restrictions on its members that we cannot assimilate into the twenty-first century, nor live our own lives.

To all of these delightful people (and many more who are confused about our rules in general) let me explain.

Agency

This word means the freedom to act, or literally, "that a man is agent unto himself, to choose right from wrong". We believe strongly that every single person on this planet has this freedom. However, where most people would say they are victims of society or something else that keeps them from choosing what they like, we say that agency is coupled with consequence.

Take our Word of Wisdom, or health code (Doctrine and Covenants, section 89). The Word of Wisdom tells us (back in 1830s) that tobacco, alcohol, coffee and tea are unhealthy and addictive. Every member chooses to keep or reject this code. By rejecting it, they cannot worship in the temple, take the sacrament, or hold a calling. In the world outside the Church, they may become addicted to alcohol or cigarettes, be constantly sick from drug use, spend all their money to drink or use, or even hurt others because they are not in control of their wits.

But by keeping it, as I and all these girls on program with me have, we are freed from the influence of alcohol or drugs. We are free to use our minds to their fullest extent, and thus keep our agency and our health intact. We are free to spend money on other things. We are free to remember every night of our lives and never wonder where we were or what we did. We never have to be responsible for doing something stupid simply because we were drunk. We are free from jail time and rehabilitation clinics. Since we will never drink and drive, we will never be haunted by an accident in which we killed someone. We are free to live our lives.

Is the only argument for alcohol to have a good time? If that's the case, I will keep my frisbees and you can keep your cases.

Intimacy

Perhaps the biggest indictment against the Church is that we choose to obey the law of chastity. This means that we have no sexual relations before legal and lawful marriage between man and woman, nor any extramarital relations therafter.

This is considerably harder to keep. All of us are driven to reproduce; those instincts are surpassed only by the will to survive. It's not a question of never touching a cigarette or a beer. So to make things a bit more personal, I will only speak for myself.

I discipline myself that in my personal relationships I will not be intimate. I've dated a few people, and those relationships have been based on friendship and admiration. After they ended, I do not look back and regret anything I've done or haven't done. Because of this, every time I start a new relationship, I start new, carrying only the things I've learned. It's hard enough to break up when all you did was hold hands--I struggle to imagine the incredible emotions that come from intimacy, especially with your "first".

For all you out there who think this is impossible, I turn twenty-one this week and I'm pleased to announce that I've kept the law of chastity my whole life. It's not because my church is twisting my arm or threatening me to; it's because I want my wedding night to be just between me and my husband. If he is worthy and kept the law of chastity as well, I won't have to worry about getting an STD because it would be physically impossible. I won't worry about whether I am being compared to some girlfriend he had in high school. I won't wonder if he has a kid he's secretly paying child support to. We will give each other everything, never thinking about some other person or comparing that night to some other night. We will be each other's "first"s, based on friendship and admiration, ready to start a family together out of love, rather than mistakes.

Because I've made this choice and am disciplining myself to keep it, I will never have a shotgun wedding, feel the crush in my self-esteem, have ultra-jealous boyfriends, see the horrible results of my own affair--I will be free to choose how I want to live my life, responsibly and unhampered by what might have been.

On Rules

Rules, when kept by willing proponents, keep us free. Really. If alcohol and affairs is the way of the twentieth century, I'm not really interested in living that sordid life of guilt and suicide. By disciplining myself, I am free to be honest and responsible and a good example to my friends and children someday.

For all you folks out there who think the way I do, you are not alone! There are 35,000 students plus staff at BYU who are trying to keep to these standards of living and are happy to do so because it makes us happy. The Church is 13 million strong worldwide. We are trying to keep ourselves free and untainted from the world's standards, which get shorter and shorter as the years fly by--and as they do, our "rules" of "can't" make more and more sense.

Day 69: Armistice Day

Silence in the Square 2010


An early night after not sleeping on the coach, I slept through breakfast and barely caught a group headed toward Trafalgar Square.


Today is Armistice Day. Every single town in Britain, Ireland, France (and most likely Germany, though I haven't been there) have a monument to remember the devastating death toll mounted on a pointless war that staged nearly 100 years ago. Today, the eleventh of the eleventh, at eleven o'clock, they hold a two-minute moment of silence across London. Before the silence, however, we got to hear from London's Community Gospel Choir ("Now That We've Found Love"), Prince Caspian read some poetry from the Somme, and the Saturdays (no idea). A bugle started the silence. I stood bracketed between umbrellas and saw myself on the giant screen more times than I could count, trying to see the darn stage (bit short) through rain-spattered glasses.


After the daft announcer had finished trying to talk to some guy in another country, the blessed moment of silence began. It was really moving, actually; all our moments in class about the injured, the poetry, the loss of innocence, the modern art and questions why this all happened came out as the city around us fell silent. The taxis, ambulances, and tourists didn't let out a sound. Even the pigeons stayed quiet. All we could hear were the resonant gongs from Big Ben, telling us it was eleven o'clock. I thought about how that clock impacted this whole city--not many could actually see the tower, but Big Ben can be heard across the Thames. It's absence is still acknowledged in its time keep; for all those who fell, we have each anniversary of this Armistice Day, gonging across the nation like Big Ben, reminding us of the absence that really isn't.


The silence ended and we were all encouraged to take poppies from the nearby soldiers and toss them into the fountains, in remembrance of the dead and those who still fight for British freedom. The Poppy Appeal began several weeks ago and sells little plastic poppies to the public for a donation to the British Legion. (Naturally I'm all out of change whenever these Appealers manifest themselves.) Their target this year is 36 million pounds (31.2 million last year). I love the visual of the poppy; it reminds us of the poem In Flanders' Fields, they grow where blood has been shed and the earth turned up, turning from white to red, the fruit of opium to make us all forget what happened. But in London, every single jacket lapel has a poppy stuck to it, and probably will for the next week or so.

A Homeworking Afternoon

Field Studies are the bane of my existence. After the lovely morning in the square, I had to barricade myself in the Science Museum, which should have been fun, except that once again I was forced to look at implements used in Jane Austen's day, this time for medical purposes. I saw hack saws, bowls for bleeding, disturbing strait jackets, bottles of ointment, contraceptives, and inoculation kits. I'm so glad we live now, can I just say? I wonder what people in developing countries do. Mum has a friend who works in Africa and teaches quilting there, and she talks about the villages; a baby will get diarrhea, and the women thinks the baby has gotten too much to drink--they stop the baby drinking, and the baby dies. The fabrics teacher told them to give the baby more water, and the infant mortality has dropped. Amazing how we can change the world! Darwin would have survived, except the doctors got to him first. After seeing the crazy tools and lack of anaesthesia, I'm pretty sure I would have died on the table.

I left the girls back in the family history centre (they were off to the British Museum, and I really have a quota for visiting museums) and headed back to Circle Line. Unbeknownst to me, I wouldn't actually be able to make it back on Circle OR District lines. But until then, I loved being in Earl's Court and watching the rain hit the greenhousey roof, taking a turn for the torrential and pounding it in sheets of watery bullets. The train pulled in and looked like a tub overflowing, water spilling over the sides like a white washboard. How I love London! (How safe I was underground.)

After so much considering Emma, of course I came home and watched Clueless. After some well-earned pad thai, of course (no breakfast, I was so excited to eat by 3pm.) Then off to my Stake Interview after a measly bit of homework, mission papers in hand. I'm pleased to announce that I passed with flying colors and in a moment of enthusiasm, and since I was already on Picadilly Line, I decided to pop on over to Leicester Square to see how the premier was going.

Dan Rad and Co.

It was about 7pm when I left the Tube. Leicester was full of Potter fans and shenanigans handing out flyers. There was a monster screen like in Trafalgar (three, actually), except this time the daft announcer was interviewing Neville Longbottom. He is one good-looking guy now, given his awkward beginnings. The park where my BYU comrades were currently fenced in had two stages, sweeping search and can lights, banners of Voldemort blowing in the cold

I ran to the fence in front of the Casino (where the film would actually show), and tried to bustle my way to the front. Unable to keep my excitement to myself, I started talking to some sophomores next to me, each decked out in Hogwarts crests and scarves--they'd run from school and arrived about 5 o'clock and were torn between flailing to get a glimpse of the stars and wanting to pound their teachers for not letting them skip altogether. I saw the red hair of Rupert Grint descending the red carpet ramp to sign autographs and cheered so loud I felt my throat seize up. After him came Neville, Harry, Draco, Lucius, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Dumbledore, Dobby (pretty sure I missed Ralph Fiennes), and Fred and George. This was all from about twenty feet away, but we still go ballistic when the little character from the TV box is actually a human being.

According to the other students (they'd camped out at 3am, dressed like dementors in their garbage sacks, holding signs that say "WE CAME FROM AMERICA TO KISS HARRY POTTER". They had a great time getting interviewed and getting awesome seats and so forth--Amanda's life was fulfilled when Daniel came out and was within arm's reach. (He nodded at their posters, and was flattered they came all the way from Vegas). After a fan interview, I had to say goodbye to my cute high school friends and go back to the Centre where these crazed girls would soon descend, telling their adrenalined stories. What a night had by all! Me and Brianna hid upstairs to avoid the rush.