Do You Think the Lamp Will Fit On My Stool?

Dear Reader,

Before I begin this story I wish to apologize in advance to any English people out there who may reading. Any insult is, believe me, unintentional. I love England and all of Great Britain and have visited on at least 12 occasions. My paternal grandfather was  English and Welsh, though he had a French name, and my paternal grandmother was English and Scottish. I adore your beer. In my opinion it’s the best in the world and your pubs are the greatest. Your countryside, castles, cathedrals, great manor houses and Roman antiquities are all top notch as are your people. When I complain about the cuisine please understand that it is just a cultural difference and unsettling to a stomach unaccustomed to it. However, let me state here and now that your Indian food is to die for and I’ve noticed a definite improvement in the pub food providing salads and other green vegetables over my last two to three visits.

It’s time for me to tell the York story. Yes, York, England, home of the infamous King Richard III, former Duke of York. York, the land invaded on a yearly basis by the Vikings. York, the home of Europe’s best railroad museum. York, where over 300 Jewish people committed suicide in the large tower to prevent capture during a medieval pogrom. York, the location of one of England’s greatest and largest cathedrals, York Minster. York, for you Saturday Night Live fans, the home of Theodoric of York, medieval barber, judge and physician played by Steve Martin. Yes, York is all of these things and also happens to be one of our favorite destinations. Every other trip to England includes a visit here and should be on your list as well.

It was on one of our routine visits to England beginning in London, as always, and then taking the train north to York. Arriving in York by train is rather like arriving at an amusement park or perhaps a Renaissance Faire.

There are so many people milling around and a row of medieval buildings pop up directly across the street as you are walking next to the ruins of one of the ancient walls. The city is very lovely with green gardens all the way from the station to the center along the ruined walls. There are flowers in bloom everywhere and it can be quite warm in the summer.

You know immediately when you have arrived at the center of York because there is a very large and imposing gate on your right side connected to very high walls. On this particular visit we had reservations in a great pub directly across the street from the main gate into the old city. Our room was huge and had lots of windows. It was on a corner of the pub which was rounded on that end so we had views of the street on one side, the gate and walls on the end and other side as well as the gardens. As is typical in England and all of Europe for that matter, there were twin beds with a tiny end table in-between them with an even tinier lamp. John and I both like to read at night and I was perplexed this time because I could find nothing to raise up the lamp onto so that the light would actually shine over our heads so we could see the print. The overhead light was worthless so we would either have to forgo reading for three nights or find some way to make the tiny lamp useful.

First, we had some touring to do. Yes, even though we’d been to York several times, there is always something to see. Neither of us had walked the ramparts for awhile nor had we visited the new railroad museum so we set off to do these things before dark. Of course, it was also almost lunchtime so a good pub from my list would be located first. We found one from my list inside the old city which literally looks like the Renaissance Pleasure Faire that we used to have in northern California. All of the city is made of half-timbered two story buildings and lots of stone with cobblestone streets.

The pub was very welcoming and had a charming cobbled courtyard. We had some giant beers which were excellent and proceeded to order our food with the usual anticipation. Here I must interject that we had been in England for a week already and as usual I was very constipated. The problem with eating pub food every day is the lack of green vegetables and finding a salad is even more difficult. The usual “green” vegetable served with most meals is peas, which aren’t a green vegetable but rather a yellow one. The English do love their peas. I like peas too but apparently they don’t serve well as the daily requirement of green vegetables. Hence, my constipation.

John and I enjoyed our lunch that day but once again mine came with peas which were overcooked and floating in brown gravy. I was devastated and began to worry about my condition. I would have taken some Immodium but was fearful of having the opposite reaction and that would have been much worse for the backpacking tourist.

Throughout the day I found myself feeling more and more bloated and complaining a lot about the way I felt. This didn’t stop me from enjoying the railroad museum and a nice walk on the ramparts that day but I was feeling a bit desperate. John began to make jokes about it, which is his way and we laughed all day long. I told him I was sick of pub food though and we would have to find something else, preferably Asian, because I needed some vegetables.

That night we found an Asian restaurant which was also on my list. It was in one of the tiny half-timbered buildings on the second floor but the floors were so short John had to walk bent over. We were seated next to a window overlooking the cobblestone street which was only about six feet below us. It was rather strange and we found this amusing. Between courses John had me in hysterics as the comments flew out of his mouth. I was in tears every time the waitress showed up and then we would both stop laughing and pretend to be serious. I wish I could remember the nature of all of his funny comments besides all of the constipation jokes but the only one that comes to mind was regarding a bunch of young people who were parading down the street en masse. I don’t know where they were coming from but it must have closed for there to be such a crowd. One guy trying to impress a girl, I suppose, walked up to a pay phone outside our window and just started punching it repeatedly with his fist. John said “He should learn to use a phone.”, which got us both laughing hysterically until our waitress returned again.

Back in our room that evening we both struggled to read our books while trying everything from hanging our heads over the side of the beds to lying flat on our backs holding our books out directly underneath the tiny lamp but it was no use. My arm got too tired in an extended position and I’m really not good at reading upside down so we finally gave up. I had a very restless night tossing and turning because it had been a long time since I had, well you know, been to the bathroom.

The next day I was really hurting. My stomach was killing me and half the time I had to hold it. After another pub lunch where broccoli was promised with the fish turned into peas. They had just run out of broccoli. It was hopeless. I felt as if I might need to go to hospital if there was no relief. Still we enjoyed touring the medieval guild house and the rather cheesy Richard III museum in one of the other gate towers. We also returned to visit the large tower where the massacre had occurred during the pogrom. It was quite hot so we went to a pub to cool off both inside and outside.

 On our way back to our room we passed by a carvery. I glanced into the window and saw the lovely meats on display being carved and low and behold one of the most beautiful sights I’d seen in weeks, a large salad bar.  I got very excited at the sight of the lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, celery, and other greens available such as green beans. This is what I needed so we decided to return later for dinner.

When we returned to the carvery I grabbed a large plate and ran past all of the meats and headed straight for the salad bar. Even though the meats looked absolutely delicious, I decided to just have a big salad instead. I loaded up my plate with everything that would fit except starchy things like cheese and croutons. I just wanted the vegetables. Then I smothered it in a nice light dressing and sat down to devour it. John joined me shortly with his plate of luscious turkey and pork roast, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans along with a side plate of salad. I had taken two bites when a waiter came over to our table to offer drinks and commented on my salad. He advised me that the large plates are only for the carvery and the small plates are for salads. I looked at him in confusement because what he said made no sense. What difference did it make what size plate I used? I would just go refill it when finished anyway. He shook his head and started to take my plate away but I think I must have looked about to cry because he changed his mind and just said not to tell anyone. I’ve kept my word until now!

It was such a lovely salad and I felt better already by the time we left the carvery. We were strolling back to our room enjoying the fine warm evening and the moon and the stars and my step was quite jaunty. All of a sudden I had an epiphany, which I often do while traveling, and blurted it out to John: “I know what to do, do you think the lamp will fit on my stool?” He turned and looked at me very calmly and replied “Just how stopped up are you?” Then in an instant we once again both lost it in laughter. I don’t know why it seemed so funny at the time but we could not stop laughing. And of course, we both embellished the idea of putting a lamp on top of a giant pile of crap just to make it tall enough to read under. There were all kinds of variations of the joke which went on most of the night, even after we returned to our room and I put the little footstool in the room on top of the nightstand and then placed the lamp on top of the stool, which fit and worked just fine. It was too hard to look at what I’d done and not start laughing all over again.

Luckily for me the salad must have done the trick. I felt much better the next day and finally felt normal for the remainder of our vacation. I had no further stool problems or any peculiar room problems except for having to buy a washcloth because the British apparently don’t use them. I find it very difficult to wash my face with only my hands and then try to throw the water into my face to rinse it off without getting water everywhere. This is an item I usually carry in my suitcase but had forgotten to bring that time. I highly recommend bringing a washcloth when traveling just in case. They really come in handy for showers as well and most reasonably priced accommodations have only showers in the rooms but most have a tiny reading lamp and a nightstand and sometimes even a stool.

Since that day whenever we travel to a place where the reading lamp is too tiny to sit under we always ask each other if it would fit on my stool and start laughing all over again. I guess you’d have to be there but remember these words of wisdom when in a foreign place, if the stool fits wear it.

I’m glad I did not seek the treatment of Theodoric of York who would have said “Bleed Her!”