Do Not Feed the Horses

When the tall, dark-brick buildings of London, with their fancy window frames and black roofs came into view from the Megabus last Friday at 9:50 a.m., I was quite awed.

It's strange seeing Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, and the Globe Theater in real life. Up till now they only existed in other people's pictures and on the Internet. The architecture and impersonal bustle of London is as exciting as the first slap of crisp air before winter, but the cold might have numbed my sense of appreciation.

Yes, Big Ben is big, and he's golder than I imagined, like a glowing Smaug in the sunlight. Yes, I was surprised at how Roman-looking the Abbey is, with all the stone figures and intricate carving. But the unexpected and random things that happened might have been more memorable.

At the entrance to the Household Cavalry Museum all the tourists were pressing in and competing for a photo opportunity. I felt sorry for the horse on duty. It kept champing its golden bit, which probably tasted like nasty water fountain water. I was standing there pitying it and waiting for a turn, when I remembered I had packed an emergency apple in case I got hungry and was tempted to buy food.

It would have been the perfect consolation, but the policeman I asked said the beast was likely to be on a strict diet and that anyway the guard atop the horse might take my arm off with his sword if I tried.

That warning, plus the plaque on the wall telling about the danger of being kicked or bitten, made me quite nervous even to stand close.

Looking back, I think that I should have at least petted its nose. I was the only one it turned its head toward, but it wasn't about to bite me. I think it must have known about my apple.

The Household Cavalry Museum entry tickets were only £7, but we decided to just look at the shop. I was tempted by all the expensive horse pendants and cups and badges and chocolates and teas, but we managed to leave and crosse the Horse Guards Parade empty-handed, with the pebbles crunching under our feet and the strangely horseless air in our noses.

 

 

 

 

Posted with Blogsy