From my lunchtime vantage point.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Steps on the Path to Becoming A Farmyard Animal or, London! Just Add Sun!
Something cool happens in London on sunny days.
It is as though people conspiratorially throw a glance of each shoulder, tilt their chin to the sky and with their eyes dazzled by the sunshine, shrug their shoulders in unison and agree to be far less uptight than usual.
Consecutive weekends have brought clear days with temperatures in the mid to high 20's, and like a sheep trotting along behind the herd I have lapped it up, even sinking to depths which I would never have admitted to a few short weeks ago; that is, in a mini-skirt and singlet last Sunday I settled in on a park bench in the gardens up the road and read Harry Potter until my skin changed colour.
Today has been another one of those days- temperature wise I mean. And with Frilly away for the weekend and friends busy doing other things, I decided to have a slightly self-indulgent, almost touristy day out.
And so it was that after a nice sleepy lie-in, I got up and did some washing, swallowed some cheese & vegemite on toast, walked to Earl's Court tube and headed over to the biggest book shop in Europe - Waterstone's at Piccadilly. It is one of those big old book stores where you can sit in a big comfy chair and read for as long as you bloody-well like. And nearly two hours later, I walked out of there, arms-full, purse lighter, with three books and a gift.
A pal had tipped me off that just next door was a place called the Japan Centre which is, I think, a rather unimaginative name for what is in essence, a one-stop purveyor of everything Japanese right in the West End! They have handicrafts, books and all that kind of thing, as well as a ground level restaraunt dishing up what looked like delicious, reasonably-priced Japanese nosh (the place was packed!) and a lower-ground with a fresh sushi stand, as well as such treats as "Pocky". I grabbed a few bits and pieces and a tray of delicious fresh sushi (for a startlingly cheap 3 pounds or so) and plodded down Regent Street, Haymarket and (I think) Pall Mall and ended up in a packed Trafalgar Square to eat my lunch!
I was on a patch of grass out the front of the British Museum, which was a perfect vantage point for the fountain and monument, as well as to watch tour groups of various ethnicities undergo the indignity of having bird seed sprinkled in their hair, having photo's taken in awkward looking poses and with uncertain smiles allowing pigeons to perch all over them.
Hehehehe. Funny. See my photo's on the photostream.
After finishing my lunch, and being unable to find a bloody bin (damned hard to find at the best of times in this city due to I suppose, security-related reasons) I dropped my rubbish in the trolley of one of the maintenance-y looking blokes who hover around the Square, and then walked up St Martin's Lane to Covent Garden for a spot of, ahem, shopping.
My regular readers know doubt saw my sarky little post of a few days ago about my imminent trip to the Cyclades Islands in Greece to meet a friend. And I have to say, all the things that I always thought seemed a little foreign about British holiday culture, that I had picked up here and there from various magazines and television shows, are starting to become crystal clear.
The imperative to purchase new items of clothing, for example, has had my heart pumping as I scour the sale racks for 'that' perfect summer dress that shall see my (I hope) sunned self, tracing a path through the streets of Santorini.
I think this is quite an ingrained English thing, such that, editorial in fashion magazines contains lines like 'this crisp linen mini-dress will take you straight from day to night on your Mediteranean summer holiday'. An astute antipodean reads between such lines and sees the truth: 'Let's face it, British weather is so unpredictable and frequently dismal that you are NEVER going to be able to wear a crisp linen mini-dress anywhere here, except perhaps on one of those three warm days that we are expecting this summer. Conclusion- buy it for your holidays.'
Again, this bleating sheep, this oh-so conformist follower of herds, bought not one but TWO mini-dresses today for her mediterranean holiday, albeit that neither of them are crisp white linen.
But I digress. The difference between previous "garment for holidays' purchasing I have done and this new variation on the theme, is that I am highly unlikely to ever wear either dress in London, and certainly nowhere north of here! My holiday clothes shall sit waiting for holidays!
Aaah such extravagance.
I have realised, in other news, that in an administrative oversight I have forgotten to tell you about the theatre that I have seen here thus far.
My first excursion was to The Old Vic to see a great production of Gaslight a play that I vividly recalled my father in, when I was a lot younger. Tracey and I saw it in the middle of the "great deluge" (also known as the period of summer which included the video that I made of the hail for a previous post) and were upgraded to better seats, far away from the leaky drip-drip of the rain weedling in through the gaps.
Second excursion was organised by Frilly, and was to see a brilliant contemporary ballet production of The Car Man, which was (I am told) loosely based on Bizet's Carman, of which I knew nothing. I was in awe at the ability of the dancers to tell in detail a sordid tale, without ever uttering a word.
With Kim coming to visit me in a couple of weeks, I am planning the next theatre trip and I am currently tossing up between Avenue Q and In Celebration which is a play that Orlando Bloom is currently in..... Anyway, it is almost redundant to point out the abundant choice in entertainment here - musicals, plays, ballets every night of the week. Sigh. Sometimes I think that I could easily become a lady of pure, unadulterated leisure. ;-)
Ok, well that is enough for now. I am having a Saturday night in and am rather excited about it. A book, some stir fry and possibly a Monk (the drink) or two. Until next time, adios.
It is as though people conspiratorially throw a glance of each shoulder, tilt their chin to the sky and with their eyes dazzled by the sunshine, shrug their shoulders in unison and agree to be far less uptight than usual.
Consecutive weekends have brought clear days with temperatures in the mid to high 20's, and like a sheep trotting along behind the herd I have lapped it up, even sinking to depths which I would never have admitted to a few short weeks ago; that is, in a mini-skirt and singlet last Sunday I settled in on a park bench in the gardens up the road and read Harry Potter until my skin changed colour.
Today has been another one of those days- temperature wise I mean. And with Frilly away for the weekend and friends busy doing other things, I decided to have a slightly self-indulgent, almost touristy day out.
And so it was that after a nice sleepy lie-in, I got up and did some washing, swallowed some cheese & vegemite on toast, walked to Earl's Court tube and headed over to the biggest book shop in Europe - Waterstone's at Piccadilly. It is one of those big old book stores where you can sit in a big comfy chair and read for as long as you bloody-well like. And nearly two hours later, I walked out of there, arms-full, purse lighter, with three books and a gift.
A pal had tipped me off that just next door was a place called the Japan Centre which is, I think, a rather unimaginative name for what is in essence, a one-stop purveyor of everything Japanese right in the West End! They have handicrafts, books and all that kind of thing, as well as a ground level restaraunt dishing up what looked like delicious, reasonably-priced Japanese nosh (the place was packed!) and a lower-ground with a fresh sushi stand, as well as such treats as "Pocky". I grabbed a few bits and pieces and a tray of delicious fresh sushi (for a startlingly cheap 3 pounds or so) and plodded down Regent Street, Haymarket and (I think) Pall Mall and ended up in a packed Trafalgar Square to eat my lunch!
I was on a patch of grass out the front of the British Museum, which was a perfect vantage point for the fountain and monument, as well as to watch tour groups of various ethnicities undergo the indignity of having bird seed sprinkled in their hair, having photo's taken in awkward looking poses and with uncertain smiles allowing pigeons to perch all over them.
Hehehehe. Funny. See my photo's on the photostream.
After finishing my lunch, and being unable to find a bloody bin (damned hard to find at the best of times in this city due to I suppose, security-related reasons) I dropped my rubbish in the trolley of one of the maintenance-y looking blokes who hover around the Square, and then walked up St Martin's Lane to Covent Garden for a spot of, ahem, shopping.
My regular readers know doubt saw my sarky little post of a few days ago about my imminent trip to the Cyclades Islands in Greece to meet a friend. And I have to say, all the things that I always thought seemed a little foreign about British holiday culture, that I had picked up here and there from various magazines and television shows, are starting to become crystal clear.
The imperative to purchase new items of clothing, for example, has had my heart pumping as I scour the sale racks for 'that' perfect summer dress that shall see my (I hope) sunned self, tracing a path through the streets of Santorini.
I think this is quite an ingrained English thing, such that, editorial in fashion magazines contains lines like 'this crisp linen mini-dress will take you straight from day to night on your Mediteranean summer holiday'. An astute antipodean reads between such lines and sees the truth: 'Let's face it, British weather is so unpredictable and frequently dismal that you are NEVER going to be able to wear a crisp linen mini-dress anywhere here, except perhaps on one of those three warm days that we are expecting this summer. Conclusion- buy it for your holidays.'
Again, this bleating sheep, this oh-so conformist follower of herds, bought not one but TWO mini-dresses today for her mediterranean holiday, albeit that neither of them are crisp white linen.
But I digress. The difference between previous "garment for holidays' purchasing I have done and this new variation on the theme, is that I am highly unlikely to ever wear either dress in London, and certainly nowhere north of here! My holiday clothes shall sit waiting for holidays!
Aaah such extravagance.
I have realised, in other news, that in an administrative oversight I have forgotten to tell you about the theatre that I have seen here thus far.
My first excursion was to The Old Vic to see a great production of Gaslight a play that I vividly recalled my father in, when I was a lot younger. Tracey and I saw it in the middle of the "great deluge" (also known as the period of summer which included the video that I made of the hail for a previous post) and were upgraded to better seats, far away from the leaky drip-drip of the rain weedling in through the gaps.
Second excursion was organised by Frilly, and was to see a brilliant contemporary ballet production of The Car Man, which was (I am told) loosely based on Bizet's Carman, of which I knew nothing. I was in awe at the ability of the dancers to tell in detail a sordid tale, without ever uttering a word.
With Kim coming to visit me in a couple of weeks, I am planning the next theatre trip and I am currently tossing up between Avenue Q and In Celebration which is a play that Orlando Bloom is currently in..... Anyway, it is almost redundant to point out the abundant choice in entertainment here - musicals, plays, ballets every night of the week. Sigh. Sometimes I think that I could easily become a lady of pure, unadulterated leisure. ;-)
Ok, well that is enough for now. I am having a Saturday night in and am rather excited about it. A book, some stir fry and possibly a Monk (the drink) or two. Until next time, adios.
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