Mr. Joyce Takes on the World

The House of Jane Part One Who's House? Jane's House! The train to Alton takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. When that train is delayed it takes about ninety minutes. When one is caught in London traffic on their way to Waterloo station, then it takes about two hours. As I boarded the train to Alton, I had this silly feeling. I felt that if my teenage self could have been here, he would scarcely believe that he was finally going to Chawton. I could scarcely believe it as an adult. It’s evident why people travel to Alton. The banner with a well-known silhouette and the dates 1775-1817, and the words, “This way to Jane Austen’s house!” are a complete give away. Though one is encouraged to literally follow in her footsteps and walk the forty-odd minutes to her cottage, I decided to take a cab. Luckily there’s a cab stand in front of the train station. Clearly someone was enterprising enough to consider flatfoot travelers from across the globe. ...

Meditation on London 2 Westminster Bridge, just before I walked across it.  The first time I met her I didn’t know what to think. She was loud. She was scented by petrol fumes. There were people clamoring all around her. Everyone wanted to either be with her, be in the same picture with her, or at least have a weekend fling with her. She’s been the mistress of kings and queens. The muse of authors, artists, filmmakers, rock musicians, and fashion icons. The streets that course through her are like veins that carry her lifeblood; her people. It’s the Thames that gives her those curves, as it caresses her sides, and holds her together. It’s like the laces of a corset that zig-zag across her back.             Her name is London.             I can’t help but feel a little smitten with her. I’m in love with Bath. I find Stratford-Upon-Avon charming. Manche...