A Monday in London
Aug. 31st, 2008 08:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rhythmaningAfter my brush with the law, I wandered westwards through Clerkenwell and Farringdon towards the British Museum. I didn’t stop taking photographs, and I saw lots of things I wanted to look at…
Indeed, had I not been stopped by the police, I would never have noticed the building on the right: I was standing right beside it whilst being interviewed. The detail below the windows intrigued me: it reads “National Penny Bank”. I had never heard of this institution before; its headquarters appear to have been in Great Eastern Street, a little to the east of Clerkenwell, and it promoted thrift. The photograph is of a building called Penny Bank Chambers. The bank ceased trading in 1890. (What did we do before Google?)
I was going to the British Museum to buy tickets for the Hadrian exhibition; I had tried to buy a ticket over the internet before I left Edinburgh, but they wanted to send me the tickets (which really wouldn’t work!), and I had tried to buy a ticket over the phone, but they wanted to charge me £2 on top of £12 (a whopping 17%) for the privilege, so I said no thanks. When I got there, I found that the exhibition had as many tickets available as I wanted, that I wouldn’t have to wait, and I wouldn’t have to pay extra to buy the ticket. So I bought one for immediate use, and went into the show.
I was really impressed. I thought it was wonderful. There statuary was really impressive, the stories the exhibition told were interesting and the architectural heritage fascinating. I was completely engrossed. Several of the items were newly discovered – including the massive bust which features on the posters, which was discovered recently in Turkey.
The exhibition is in the former reading room of the British Library, and somehow they seem to be able to cram a lot more into the space than I expected: they must have the same architects as the Tardis.
The exhibition is well laid out, and despite it being busy, it was easy to get to see everything. I just loved it. I think I might need to go to Rome (and Tivoli) soon.
I resisted taking many photographs, unlike my last visit in February; but, after all the architecture featured in the Hadrian exhibition, I couldn’t resist this ironic column…
After a grabbed sandwich in the Great Court and a quick trip to the other current exhibition, The American Scene: prints from Hopper to Pollock (which was interesting-ish, but didn’t really grab me; it might have something to do with a three year old child who was literally being dragged around the gallery as she screamed “can we go now can we go now can we go now”; if she couldn’t, I always could), I walked south down Museum St, into Drury Lane, across Aldwych and through Somerset House, which was acting as a children’s paddling pool for the week – rather a fine one, I thought, with tall fountains ensuring that the kids playing there were soaked.
Somerset House used to be something to do with the Admiralty, I think, which may explain these rather aggressive mermen that decorated the outside southern wall.
I was heading to the Hayward Gallery to see an exhibition called “Psycho Buildings”. It was quite interesting: a strange take on interior and exterior design by artists rather than architects. I was disappointed by Rachel Whiteread’s contribution, which was a village of dolls’ houses. I did like Ernesto Neto’s “Stone Lip, Pepper Tits, Clove Love, Fog Frog” – a tent-like space made from material which contained those substances. It was very, very hard not to touch (visitors were entreated to smell, but not touch). Indeed, much of the exhibition was very tactile.
I particularly liked Do Ho Suh’s “Fallen Star” – two buildings crashing into each other – Atalier Bow Wow’s “Life Tunnel” – a large tunnel made of steel (a bit like an air conditioning shaft), through which one was invited to walk. Kids loved this, thumping through – and so did I: I think I wandered the tunnels length five or so times. (It was very photogenic; it was a shame that the Hayward adamantly bans photography indoors).
Outside, there was “Normally, Proceeding and Unrestircted With Without” (don’t ask me, I didn’t name it) a pool filled with water on which people were rowing little boats – and a huge queue – and elsewhere, a geodesic dome – Thomas Saraceno’s “Air-Port City”: anyone could go inside, but some people – if they won a lucky dip – were allowed to walk on the top of the dome. I didn’t get the pink ball that allowed one on top (a rather camp lucky dip, if you ask me), but I did go inside.
After the Hayward, I was going to walk to Elephant and Castle to get the train back to Old St, when I realised buses must go that way, too. I saw a 76 bound for Tottenham, which made me think of home matches (all burnt out); I got on, and it took me right back to my hotel.
The reason I was down in London was to celebrate my uncle’s 70th birthday that night: there was a large dinner party at the Reform Club. I needed a tie. I had been told by mother that I would need a tie, but despite my best intentions – and a choice of many, many ties (which I very rarely wear now), I had forgotten to take one. Fortunately, there’s a Marks & Sparks just by Finsbury Square. I went in, grabbed a tie, told the guy behind the cash desk that I didn’t need a bag since I was going to wear it, sat in front of a mirror and tied a tie for the first time in at least six months.
I walked from Green Park tube along Pall Mall; I was fifteen minutes early, and I didn’t really want to hang around there, waiting by myself. So I walked down the steps and across the Mall to St Jame’s Park itself.
St Jame’s Park reminds me of crucifixion, thunder and tropical rain; lightning hitting the lake and my heart frozen cold. I was hoping to see the cute blue-beaked duck again; but there were few ducks. (I did see the pelicans, not crossing but sitting on nests like beached galleons.) The beds were planted with tree ferns, banana trees and pineapples – an over-excitable gardeners trying to make up for the dismal summer with some tropical colour. Maybe he was thinking of tropical rainstorms, too.
The Reform Club was a strange place. The party was good, stuck away in a private room; there was lots of good conversation, there was lots of food – pretty mediocre (I do not understand why stuffing meat with cheese was ever thought to be a good idea – it never works, as far as I am concerned. Ugh) – and lots of drink – too much, given my hangover the next morning.
Indeed, had I not been stopped by the police, I would never have noticed the building on the right: I was standing right beside it whilst being interviewed. The detail below the windows intrigued me: it reads “National Penny Bank”. I had never heard of this institution before; its headquarters appear to have been in Great Eastern Street, a little to the east of Clerkenwell, and it promoted thrift. The photograph is of a building called Penny Bank Chambers. The bank ceased trading in 1890. (What did we do before Google?)
I was going to the British Museum to buy tickets for the Hadrian exhibition; I had tried to buy a ticket over the internet before I left Edinburgh, but they wanted to send me the tickets (which really wouldn’t work!), and I had tried to buy a ticket over the phone, but they wanted to charge me £2 on top of £12 (a whopping 17%) for the privilege, so I said no thanks. When I got there, I found that the exhibition had as many tickets available as I wanted, that I wouldn’t have to wait, and I wouldn’t have to pay extra to buy the ticket. So I bought one for immediate use, and went into the show.
I was really impressed. I thought it was wonderful. There statuary was really impressive, the stories the exhibition told were interesting and the architectural heritage fascinating. I was completely engrossed. Several of the items were newly discovered – including the massive bust which features on the posters, which was discovered recently in Turkey.
The exhibition is in the former reading room of the British Library, and somehow they seem to be able to cram a lot more into the space than I expected: they must have the same architects as the Tardis.
The exhibition is well laid out, and despite it being busy, it was easy to get to see everything. I just loved it. I think I might need to go to Rome (and Tivoli) soon.
I resisted taking many photographs, unlike my last visit in February; but, after all the architecture featured in the Hadrian exhibition, I couldn’t resist this ironic column…
After a grabbed sandwich in the Great Court and a quick trip to the other current exhibition, The American Scene: prints from Hopper to Pollock (which was interesting-ish, but didn’t really grab me; it might have something to do with a three year old child who was literally being dragged around the gallery as she screamed “can we go now can we go now can we go now”; if she couldn’t, I always could), I walked south down Museum St, into Drury Lane, across Aldwych and through Somerset House, which was acting as a children’s paddling pool for the week – rather a fine one, I thought, with tall fountains ensuring that the kids playing there were soaked.
Somerset House used to be something to do with the Admiralty, I think, which may explain these rather aggressive mermen that decorated the outside southern wall.
I was heading to the Hayward Gallery to see an exhibition called “Psycho Buildings”. It was quite interesting: a strange take on interior and exterior design by artists rather than architects. I was disappointed by Rachel Whiteread’s contribution, which was a village of dolls’ houses. I did like Ernesto Neto’s “Stone Lip, Pepper Tits, Clove Love, Fog Frog” – a tent-like space made from material which contained those substances. It was very, very hard not to touch (visitors were entreated to smell, but not touch). Indeed, much of the exhibition was very tactile.
I particularly liked Do Ho Suh’s “Fallen Star” – two buildings crashing into each other – Atalier Bow Wow’s “Life Tunnel” – a large tunnel made of steel (a bit like an air conditioning shaft), through which one was invited to walk. Kids loved this, thumping through – and so did I: I think I wandered the tunnels length five or so times. (It was very photogenic; it was a shame that the Hayward adamantly bans photography indoors).
Outside, there was “Normally, Proceeding and Unrestircted With Without” (don’t ask me, I didn’t name it) a pool filled with water on which people were rowing little boats – and a huge queue – and elsewhere, a geodesic dome – Thomas Saraceno’s “Air-Port City”: anyone could go inside, but some people – if they won a lucky dip – were allowed to walk on the top of the dome. I didn’t get the pink ball that allowed one on top (a rather camp lucky dip, if you ask me), but I did go inside.
After the Hayward, I was going to walk to Elephant and Castle to get the train back to Old St, when I realised buses must go that way, too. I saw a 76 bound for Tottenham, which made me think of home matches (all burnt out); I got on, and it took me right back to my hotel.
* * *
The reason I was down in London was to celebrate my uncle’s 70th birthday that night: there was a large dinner party at the Reform Club. I needed a tie. I had been told by mother that I would need a tie, but despite my best intentions – and a choice of many, many ties (which I very rarely wear now), I had forgotten to take one. Fortunately, there’s a Marks & Sparks just by Finsbury Square. I went in, grabbed a tie, told the guy behind the cash desk that I didn’t need a bag since I was going to wear it, sat in front of a mirror and tied a tie for the first time in at least six months.
I walked from Green Park tube along Pall Mall; I was fifteen minutes early, and I didn’t really want to hang around there, waiting by myself. So I walked down the steps and across the Mall to St Jame’s Park itself.
St Jame’s Park reminds me of crucifixion, thunder and tropical rain; lightning hitting the lake and my heart frozen cold. I was hoping to see the cute blue-beaked duck again; but there were few ducks. (I did see the pelicans, not crossing but sitting on nests like beached galleons.) The beds were planted with tree ferns, banana trees and pineapples – an over-excitable gardeners trying to make up for the dismal summer with some tropical colour. Maybe he was thinking of tropical rainstorms, too.
* * *
The Reform Club was a strange place. The party was good, stuck away in a private room; there was lots of good conversation, there was lots of food – pretty mediocre (I do not understand why stuffing meat with cheese was ever thought to be a good idea – it never works, as far as I am concerned. Ugh) – and lots of drink – too much, given my hangover the next morning.
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Date: 2008-09-01 09:26 am (UTC)