I’ve been waiting my entire life to visit this majestic, gothic, stone beauty; Westminster Abbey. All the life and death that these walls have seen from the inside is unfathomable to my 18 year old being. I’m standing at the threshold with Jess. She shares the same excitement, but she has walked on top of those graves before with her family.
“This might be my favourite place in London, I can’t wait to see your reaction.” She is giddy at the thought of how giddy I will be, and I am already giddy. I’m so giddy I keep chugging my water, because heat and giddiness really parches me.
“It’ll be 9 pounds for you and 18 for you.” The admissions lady says as she hands back our Canadian passports.
“Hold on, I’m a student just like her! I should be paying 9 pounds as well.” Jess never likes to be overpriced, a trait her and her mother share.
“You’re 19, only people 18 and under pay 9 pounds.” She spoke so elegantly with her English dialect, I could do nothing but smile. I was way too excited to be here.
“This is ridiculous! The world is against me!” Forking over her money. Jess leads our way into the Abbey, “I don’t know why you are smiling, I had to pay double the price.”
“Because to be 18 in London means you get to pay children’s admission for most things and are legal to drink, and not to mention I’m in the most beautiful place on earth!” I explained walking into the very cool, air conditioned Abbey.
Jess got over paying double the admission, but she would never let down that that was a prime example of ageism. We began a tour throughout the Abbey with a very knowledgeable man, Hubert. He wore a robe that looked as if he belonged in the Supreme Court, all Hubert needed was the wig.
We walk over Charles Darwin’s resting place, something I feel is very ironic. As we pass other dignitaries and famous people’s plots, all that water and my tiny bladder begin failing me. The cold isn’t helping and the dry air from the air conditioner just makes me more thirsty, though every time I raise my water bottle I panicked, debating whether I should interrupt our tour guide to ask where the bathroom would be in this historic building. I could hold my bladder until the tour was over... hopefully.
“How long does this tour usually last?”
“Do not tell me you have to go to the bathroom again,” Jess looking at me with her annoyed Sarah Jessica Parker eyes, as if she were Carrie Bradshaw talking to Miranda.
“No.” Damn it! She knows me too well!
Hubert took us up the nave, past the quire, to the shire. This was where royalty was buried! But who was here? Which of my favourite royal figures laid to rest here? I could feel my heart racing... and my bladder, needing desperately to be emptied.
“Hubert, where are...?”
No, Lisa, do not ask where the washrooms are in front of the dead royals. Oh! like it matters! But that voice was right, what if -
“Where are the queens buried?” Hubert read my mind... too bad he could sense my shifting legs as a sign that I need a washroom desperately. This is ridiculous, I am not in Kindergarden, I should be able to ask where the toilets were without shame and without-
“Queen Elizabeth is right in there.”
“Oh!” I silently whimper. Caught off guard by the news, I suddenly feel like an 80 year old woman who forgot to wear her diaper... nope it’s just a dribble, nothing to worry about. I take a deep breath and feel a wave of calmness wash over me. I don’t have to go anymore, maybe a little leak was all I needed to hold me off the toilets for a few more moments.
“The second? Since when did she die?!” Jess stormed into the little alcove of a room.
“Jess, this is Queen Elizabeth I.” I’m utterly amazed as I inch near the encasement.
“Oh, so like that chick you think you were in your past life.” Jess said as she rounded the room.
I could only have made up such a tale in my head of being Queen Elizabeth I in my past life, but hey! A girl can dream.
“What’s underneath the Queen?” I ask as I peered below.
“Mary I.”
“Her sister?! The sister who wanted to kill Elizabeth?!” Slightly, I was proud for Lizzie, but felt slightly offended for Mary.
“Ha! I relate to Mary so much right now!” Jess exited the Chapel.
Even though I was the only one in the room now, my claustrophobia was creeping up on me. The thing with my fear for small spaces brings about a reaction that makes me want to go the washroom... so naturally my full bladder made itself present to me again.
Just ask Hubert now, you’ve already seen Queen Elizabeth I.
“My favourite place in the entire world, Poets’ Corner, all these writers and artist are buried there.” Jess saying as she leads me to the literal corner.
“Jess... I really need to go...”
“Lisa! You can not interrupt this tour.”
“I can’t control my bladder!”
“Just do a quick round of the corner and then ask Hubert where you can deposit your waste.”
I take a shallow breath and began my brisk walk around Poets’ Corner, knowing full well that I will be needing to be making a proper round after my bladder became emptied.
I suddenly turn and Shakespeare’s head is two inches above mine.
“Whoa, hey there Billy.”
I step back a few feet and noticed the gaze of the Shakespeare head was staring at my feet. Uh, actually no, he’s gazing at Laurence Olivier!
“Whoa, Laurence!”
This was so cool, but I was basically dancing on Olivier grave, preventing myself from urinating on the great actors resting place.
Hubert was coming up to me, “Doesn’t this just tickle your fancy?”
“Definitely Hubert! But I really need to know where the washrooms are.”
“Washrooms? You must mean the toilets, they are around the corner.”
“Yes thank you!” I turn to hurry off, but stomped on Olivier’s grave and forcibly whispered to the ground “I will be right back to say a nice little non denominational prayer for you and Billy’s souls, I’ll just be right back, don’t go anywhere.”
And I run off to the nearest toilet as Jess shakes her head from Charles Dickens’ grave.
