I have had an excellent and memorable long weekend in London with my first highly enjoyable experience of Lebanese food at La Roche, St Martin‘s Lane, followed by an unexpectedly satisfying three course prix fixe lunch with wine and coffee at the Café Rouge, Victoria station. There was my first visit to the Whitechapel Gallery to experience the work of Sophie Calle, only one of handful of large space exhibitions where I was overcome with WOW and also a close identification with the work which I need to test its reality. In contrast this was my most disappointing visit to Tate Modern where only one work was of interest and nothing provoked Wow or a search for notebook and pen. I have not been to the science museum for several decades and was much impressed with the strides made to cater for the most young of children and their parents. I was fortunate to attend the first day showing of a film about the life of Seraphine de Senlis and an evening of Baroque music by candlelight with the Festive orchestra of London at St Martin’s in the Fields, lazed an afternoon at the Royal Festival Hall, eat spiced chicken wings in a quiet corner of St Pancras station and a prepared salad close to the East London Mosque having visited the area where I worked for British Olivetti 50 years ago close to Petticoat, Brick Lane and Toynbee Hall. There were five conversations with strangers and my only regret was not to have brought my camera to have taken a shot of four beautifully dressed Asian young women talking excitedly about the social function they were about to attend across the road from the dodgy looking Nags Head gentleman’s club.
The journey to London, which I now make only three or four times a year, compared with a dozen or more during the 1990’s and around 50 during the twenty years as a local authority chief officer, was the best I can remember. The sun was bright for the walk from my home to South Shields station for the Metro train to Newcastle and I left early to call in at the Wetherspoons for an English Breakfast and coffee noting the number of early morning beer drinkers, many of them regulars, mixed with those taking breakfast, morning coffee or waiting to enjoy an early lunch. There was time at the station to visits Smiths for a copy of Time Out as a last minute development meant that I might be spending the weekend on my own and had made no plans about where I might go and what I could experience. I had also selected the train time as the best price for the midday early afternoon and was pleasantly surprised to find it was scheduled to be an exceptionally fast journey with only a stop at York before Kings Cross.
I had chosen a table seat although I had decided not to have my laptop to hand but to finish reading Kate Hudson’s book on the History of the CND movement. As I ashamedly admit from time to time I am still of big body but the young woman occupying the window seat was even larger and I therefore resisted the opportunity to sit opposite another young and attractive girl to go further along the carriage to an unoccupied seat without a seat ticket and where the window seat was also free as the individual booking the place did not arrive. A lady of my generation, but younger by a few years, was faced with having her case on her lap because there was no space left at either end luggage compartment and a notice asked for the luggage not to block the aisles. The suggestion it was placed below the unoccupied seat, was readily agreed and as a consequence enjoyed a conversation all the way to York. Subjects included the take over of the line by the British Government from National Express, the opportunities of the national bus pass for long journeys, the flooding in Cumbria with the loss of life of the policeman leaving a widow and four children, the death of so many young men in Afghanistan, wartime memories and flooded fields alongside the track on the approach to York, a city which is under constant threat of flooding almost every year. After she departed at York I read and promised to read through the book again soon with notebook to hand for a writing.
I did not have to wait long at St Pancras for the Brighton Thameslink train to East Croydon having purchased a single journey ticket at the automatic machine. There was time to notice that the area under the station width departure and arrivals board at this end of the station was now converted into a sales area for breads, cheeses, continental meats, olives and wine with large kitchen type tables to sample the food and drink as well as take away. I did not need to buy anything for the evening as I had eaten a French baguette with salami on the train down and decided to enjoy a soup, some pot noodles, grapes and dates for supper. This left a large prepared salad of lettuce, tomatoes, a sweet yellow pepper, cucumber, olives and a mixed bean salad for the following day. I was in my room on the 7th floor of central Croydon Travel Lodge by six pm
I decided to watch the first four episodes of the 4th and last series of the 4400 on the DVD I had brought with me, rather than the TV, missing Question Time but catching part of the weekly cocoa time political banter between Diane Abbott, Michael Portillo and what’s his name! For a day spent in packing, unpacking and travelling it has been an enjoyable one. On the train I had studied Time Out and marked possibilities. On page 46 there begins the notices for Major spaces and Exhibitions and on page 48 the was the announcement that Seraphine, winner of seven French Academy awards including best picture, was opening at the two Curzon’s cinemas, two Odeon’s, the Barbican and the Coronet Independent on the following afternoon. I must confess that it was only when her work was displayed in the picture that I associated the name with the work, which had never appealed, although by the time the film ended several of large canvases did, but fairly low in the pecking order of works I would like to have close by had I the funds and inclination to do so.
On page 49 under major space Critics’ choice. The fifth and final was Sophie Calle. I will write separately about the Sophie Caller experience. I immediately turned to page 50 where the Whitechapel Gallery was listed alphabetically in the major space section. There was a half page advert for the Seraphine film in film section where I looked to see if the children’s film UP was still showing somewhere in 3D.
Under literary events I noted that Professor Robert Barsky from the USA was talking at Peace News about the work of Noam Chomsky at 5pm on Friday at Houseman’s almost 50 years to the day I was offered a temporary job there over for a month until Christmas. Martin Bell was at Wanstead Library that night and Stephen Poliakoff at Foyle’s also on Thursday at 6.30. Jules Holland was at the Royal Albert Hall and James Morrison at the Wembley Arena. There was a Mozart Requiem on the Friday evening, the Baroque on the Saturday. There was an England National Opera Production of Turandot on Thursday evening with the Messiah on Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. Separately before departure I had checked out events, paid and free at the South Bank, including at the National Theatre where Richard Griffiths and Frances Le Tour were starring with Adrian Scarborough and Alex Jennings in the Habit of Art, a play about Benjamin Britain meeting with WH Auden. There were other possibilities all depending on whether I was to be on my own or not. I also wanted to visit the British Music experience since World War 2 at the Millennium Dome where the ATP tennis tourney was taking place with semi finals days on tournament Friday and Saturday and where interest would depend on the progress of Any Murray. Before going to bed I knew I would be on my own until the following evening and decided on Sophie Calle and Seraphine. I then found it difficult to sleep.
I had been up at 5.am in order to try and get cheap Travel Lodge accommodation for the cricket next April and May and had been amazingly successful getting 12 nights in all for £102. This included five nights at Nottingham and three in Leeds and then four in London after discovering that there was a relay of La Boheme from Covent Garden. Having booked the accommodation I then found there was no relay at the Odeon Covent Garden which on further thought was logical in that why would people pay several hundred pounds to watch the opera in the Theatre if for under £10 they could see the same show at the cinema a few yards away. I was to learn the following day that it was not being shown at the Curzon’s although Carmen from La Scalla and It Travatore from Barcelona were. Then I had a moment of good fortune with was to herald the rest of the weekend. There was a relay showing at the Odeon Wimbledon. I have been to the Odeon once when staying at the former home of my birth and care mothers. I am staying where I am staying now in central Croydon and a short distance away outside East Croydon Station there are trams to Wimbledon. I booked a ticket and according to the seating plan was the first person to do so.
I had gone to bed around eleven pm on the Wednesday night, between two and three hours earlier than usual. I had not managed to sleep or so it seemed the following morning. I had risen for an hour between 2 and 3am for a milk drink but this did not seem to work. I had tried to count chicken. I have no recollection of any sleep or waking dreams. On Thursday evening I was too excited about the following day to sleep. Usually what happens is an anticlimax. This occasion it will remain not just a day remembered but perhaps the eight day in a decade which had significantly changed the rest of my self aware experience, and in this instance for the better.
The journey to London, which I now make only three or four times a year, compared with a dozen or more during the 1990’s and around 50 during the twenty years as a local authority chief officer, was the best I can remember. The sun was bright for the walk from my home to South Shields station for the Metro train to Newcastle and I left early to call in at the Wetherspoons for an English Breakfast and coffee noting the number of early morning beer drinkers, many of them regulars, mixed with those taking breakfast, morning coffee or waiting to enjoy an early lunch. There was time at the station to visits Smiths for a copy of Time Out as a last minute development meant that I might be spending the weekend on my own and had made no plans about where I might go and what I could experience. I had also selected the train time as the best price for the midday early afternoon and was pleasantly surprised to find it was scheduled to be an exceptionally fast journey with only a stop at York before Kings Cross.
I had chosen a table seat although I had decided not to have my laptop to hand but to finish reading Kate Hudson’s book on the History of the CND movement. As I ashamedly admit from time to time I am still of big body but the young woman occupying the window seat was even larger and I therefore resisted the opportunity to sit opposite another young and attractive girl to go further along the carriage to an unoccupied seat without a seat ticket and where the window seat was also free as the individual booking the place did not arrive. A lady of my generation, but younger by a few years, was faced with having her case on her lap because there was no space left at either end luggage compartment and a notice asked for the luggage not to block the aisles. The suggestion it was placed below the unoccupied seat, was readily agreed and as a consequence enjoyed a conversation all the way to York. Subjects included the take over of the line by the British Government from National Express, the opportunities of the national bus pass for long journeys, the flooding in Cumbria with the loss of life of the policeman leaving a widow and four children, the death of so many young men in Afghanistan, wartime memories and flooded fields alongside the track on the approach to York, a city which is under constant threat of flooding almost every year. After she departed at York I read and promised to read through the book again soon with notebook to hand for a writing.
I did not have to wait long at St Pancras for the Brighton Thameslink train to East Croydon having purchased a single journey ticket at the automatic machine. There was time to notice that the area under the station width departure and arrivals board at this end of the station was now converted into a sales area for breads, cheeses, continental meats, olives and wine with large kitchen type tables to sample the food and drink as well as take away. I did not need to buy anything for the evening as I had eaten a French baguette with salami on the train down and decided to enjoy a soup, some pot noodles, grapes and dates for supper. This left a large prepared salad of lettuce, tomatoes, a sweet yellow pepper, cucumber, olives and a mixed bean salad for the following day. I was in my room on the 7th floor of central Croydon Travel Lodge by six pm
I decided to watch the first four episodes of the 4th and last series of the 4400 on the DVD I had brought with me, rather than the TV, missing Question Time but catching part of the weekly cocoa time political banter between Diane Abbott, Michael Portillo and what’s his name! For a day spent in packing, unpacking and travelling it has been an enjoyable one. On the train I had studied Time Out and marked possibilities. On page 46 there begins the notices for Major spaces and Exhibitions and on page 48 the was the announcement that Seraphine, winner of seven French Academy awards including best picture, was opening at the two Curzon’s cinemas, two Odeon’s, the Barbican and the Coronet Independent on the following afternoon. I must confess that it was only when her work was displayed in the picture that I associated the name with the work, which had never appealed, although by the time the film ended several of large canvases did, but fairly low in the pecking order of works I would like to have close by had I the funds and inclination to do so.
On page 49 under major space Critics’ choice. The fifth and final was Sophie Calle. I will write separately about the Sophie Caller experience. I immediately turned to page 50 where the Whitechapel Gallery was listed alphabetically in the major space section. There was a half page advert for the Seraphine film in film section where I looked to see if the children’s film UP was still showing somewhere in 3D.
Under literary events I noted that Professor Robert Barsky from the USA was talking at Peace News about the work of Noam Chomsky at 5pm on Friday at Houseman’s almost 50 years to the day I was offered a temporary job there over for a month until Christmas. Martin Bell was at Wanstead Library that night and Stephen Poliakoff at Foyle’s also on Thursday at 6.30. Jules Holland was at the Royal Albert Hall and James Morrison at the Wembley Arena. There was a Mozart Requiem on the Friday evening, the Baroque on the Saturday. There was an England National Opera Production of Turandot on Thursday evening with the Messiah on Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. Separately before departure I had checked out events, paid and free at the South Bank, including at the National Theatre where Richard Griffiths and Frances Le Tour were starring with Adrian Scarborough and Alex Jennings in the Habit of Art, a play about Benjamin Britain meeting with WH Auden. There were other possibilities all depending on whether I was to be on my own or not. I also wanted to visit the British Music experience since World War 2 at the Millennium Dome where the ATP tennis tourney was taking place with semi finals days on tournament Friday and Saturday and where interest would depend on the progress of Any Murray. Before going to bed I knew I would be on my own until the following evening and decided on Sophie Calle and Seraphine. I then found it difficult to sleep.
I had been up at 5.am in order to try and get cheap Travel Lodge accommodation for the cricket next April and May and had been amazingly successful getting 12 nights in all for £102. This included five nights at Nottingham and three in Leeds and then four in London after discovering that there was a relay of La Boheme from Covent Garden. Having booked the accommodation I then found there was no relay at the Odeon Covent Garden which on further thought was logical in that why would people pay several hundred pounds to watch the opera in the Theatre if for under £10 they could see the same show at the cinema a few yards away. I was to learn the following day that it was not being shown at the Curzon’s although Carmen from La Scalla and It Travatore from Barcelona were. Then I had a moment of good fortune with was to herald the rest of the weekend. There was a relay showing at the Odeon Wimbledon. I have been to the Odeon once when staying at the former home of my birth and care mothers. I am staying where I am staying now in central Croydon and a short distance away outside East Croydon Station there are trams to Wimbledon. I booked a ticket and according to the seating plan was the first person to do so.
I had gone to bed around eleven pm on the Wednesday night, between two and three hours earlier than usual. I had not managed to sleep or so it seemed the following morning. I had risen for an hour between 2 and 3am for a milk drink but this did not seem to work. I had tried to count chicken. I have no recollection of any sleep or waking dreams. On Thursday evening I was too excited about the following day to sleep. Usually what happens is an anticlimax. This occasion it will remain not just a day remembered but perhaps the eight day in a decade which had significantly changed the rest of my self aware experience, and in this instance for the better.
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