That's a pretty depressing title, but don't worry, I'm just tired of London and, ergo, life. At least according to Dr Johnson that is. I got back last night after four days in the big city and, as much as I love it there, it's nice to be away from it again. It's just so full on all the time, especially when you are staying in Covent Garden. Basically this is ground zero for tourists, con men (preying on the tourists), buskers (preying on the tourists) and expensive cafes (preying on the tourists). Now I understand that while here I am a tourist but all the other tourists still piss me off. There's the huge groups of European school kids all with matching backpacks and all unable to keep to one side of the road/pavement/escalator, creating a huge, noisy, brightly coloured polyester roadblock wherever they are. Then there are the Americans, lovely people I'm sure but we don't all need to hear about your medication and latest surgical procedure (why do the yanks say "procedure" when the rest of the world says "operation"? Is that buzzy game called Procedure! in the US?). Still Covent Garden is a great location and the cheapy Travellodge on Drury Lane is both cheap and cheerful.
It was only about two blocks from the British Museum so I went there on the first afternoon. I only wanted to see one exhibition about Eric Gill the sculptor which is probably the best way to visit, if you just go there and wander about it's just overwhelming because of all the stuff in it. I'd suggest you decide what you want to see before you get there. The bit I wanted was just one room and pretty deserted so it was ok. I have now discovered what a strange man Gill was, and not a little unpleasant. I love his fonts, graphic style and his sculpture but I'm not so keen on his rabid catholicism, misogyny and mistreatment of his daughters (whom he had pose naked for him. Seedy much?). He was also completely obsessed with sex and genitals. Which just goes to show how catholic he really was. The rest of the Museum was completely heaving with school kids and yet more Eurotrash. I suppose it shows how weak Sterling is that all these foreign johnnies can come here and have a look at the stuff the British nicked from them in the first place; you have to look pretty closely to find the British items in the British Museum.
At least the foreign tourists want to be there. I was at the British Library next to see the exhibition of sci-fi stuff. Lots of first editions and examples of great works with interesting explanations (and a TARDIS obviously. The BBC must have a clause with all UK institutions that the merest mention of space or time must involve a cross-promotion for Dr. Who) when these three northerners come noisily in to the room;
"What's in thur Garry?"
"Just loads more borin' books"
"Bloody hell, it's a bit shit in 'ere in't it"
Books. It's the British LIBRARY! Fuckwits. I was more annoyed because they were next to me and I was looking at Orwell's original notebook with the ideas he'd scribbled down for 1984. I'm in awe and these dicks just want to watch Deal Or No Deal. The next day there was a headline in the Evening Standard that one in five Londoners can't read. I'm not sure if that shouldn't be "will not" or "do not" read but either way there could be no hope for this country. I can't imagine Chinese people being led past the original of Li Bai's poetry and calling it a boring book. (I looked that up by the way as my knowledge of Chinese literature is about the same as those northern gits knowledge of English literature, but at least I know who George Orwell is.) The BL is a really interesting place to visit though, I mean you can't borrow any books but they have some great things on display. And an excellent bookshop.
After such a depressing stop I headed back to the hotel for a cuppa and a sit down. Just down the road, on the corner of Drury Lane and Long Acre, is a massive building which I've never managed to work out what it is, but this week there were hundreds of similarly dressed men going in and out and generally hanging around in the vicinity. They all had dark suits, waistcoats and various tiny lapel pins. It turns out this massive place is the Freemasons Hall. You'd think that a secret society wouldn't build a massive stone temple right in the middle of London then all hang about outside. It's almost as if they want to get found out. Gods know what they do in there but it obviously involves slim briefcases and, judging by the shop over the road, lots of regalia. I know now where to get a little apron adorned with "mystical" symbols. And swords. Who knew there was still a demand for a sword shop in the 21st Century but you can buy anything in London.
This was further proved by a wander round the Inns of Court. This is the area where all the Barristers roost and is centred on the Temple Church (as in Knights Templar and the Crusades) south of the Strand and the Royal Courts of Justice. It's like a different world with different rules and strange terminology, the whole place is stuck in a time warp. Apart from the Jaguars and Aston Martins parked in the car park. It seems the legal profession isn't totally keen on sticking with the old ways. The church might be 12th Century but the cars and suits are not. Although this is where I saw the only wig and gown shop I've ever come across that doesn't cater to drag queens and country and western singers, just lawyers, judges and barristers. Although there may be some cross over for all I know.
I went to Greenwich the next day, a place I've never really taken too but was convinced to give another go by some friends. I went down the river to get there which was different, freezing and deserted. It's odd that the trains are packed but the ferry had three people on it, all of us tourists. It's not as though it's slow as Westminster to Greenwich only took about 20 minutes. Perhaps the commuters don't fancy a freezing wait on the dock each morning. Can't say I blame them for that. There was a massive ship parked (?) at Greenwich called
The World which I thought was a bit odd, it's not exactly cruising season, but it turns out it's no ordinary vessel. The people on board actually live there and constantly cruise around the world. It sounds like hell on earth to me but apparently it's very exclusive. The Smallest studio on board cost US$600,000 and there are US$20,000
per month utility fees! I thought my strata fees were astronomical. It also explained the number of orange people with tightly stretched faces and giant sunglasses walking around Greenwich. And also explained the number of Maybachs waiting at the jetty. What a weird isolated world they must live in on the worlds most exclusive floating Butlins. I wonder how many of them succumbed to the wonderful tat for sale in all the gift shops in town? Normally I wouldn't be looking but someone asked me where they could get a tasteful snow globe when they visit London. It appears that there is no such thing as a tasteful snow globe, but you can buy some wonderful stuff. Union Jack Gemstone iPhone Cover anyone? My favourite are the royal wedding souvenirs which were obviously over ordered. There is a gift for everyone, even republicans. At least I assume that's who the ashtrays are for so they can stub out their fag on Kate and Wills' faces.
I went off to Canary Wharf on the way back to town. What a strange otherworld this place is. A land of expensive suits, skyscrapers, dated marble corporate lobbies and tax-payer bailouts. It's a bit like Manhattan on the Isle-Of-Dogs, just with awfully dated architecture, a lot of it with a whiff of the pharaohs about it; all slanted uprights and weird pedestal roofs. A tiny bit of hubris from the Tory backed developers at the end of Maggie's reign I think. Mind you it's not as if anyone working there seems to have noticed that they owe the UK taxpayer a huge wodge of cash and a great big thank you. This week there's a car show going on, guess what the cheapest brand there was? BMW. I've never seen so many expensive vehicles in one place before in my life. Jag, Bentley, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, Range Rover, Mercedes. There was a £350,000 Lexus that everyone was sitting in. Looks like there's still some bonuses to be spent.
Every year the Royal Academy has a summer show where both very famous and unknown artists can show their work. I went this year to have a look as for the first time they had a photography gallery. I cannot believe how much some of these people want for their work, and not to sound too conceited, I can take pictures as well as any of them in there. Well unless they have people in them, then my abilities completely disappear. Maybe I need a career change, as long as I can charge £700 for every print of course. The rest of the works on display were a bit too IKEA for my liking, lots of dodgy watercolours and white canvases with white paint on them (stuff which gets contemporary art a bad reputation in my opinion). Nearly everything in there was also on a massive scale. Who buys a painting which is 10m by 5m? Or a sculpture of a twitching dog rummaging in a rubbish bin? I assume they are all aiming to be bought by institutions, or more likely by Charles Saatchi which is a guaranteed career maker. It worked for Tracy Emin. A print of her's was for sale in the RA show. It consisted of a litho of five handwritten words and was a snip at £15,000. Really? Really! It's not even in biro. She wrote it and some other mug printed copies. Even if I didn't already hate her for being a talentless bint I'd certainly hate her for her brazen money grabbing cheek.
Luckily my day was saved by the tube trip back to the hotel. Some stations are so deep that they need lifts to get you to street level and these talk to you, to let you know the doors are opening or closing and which lift arrives next. It appears that the Queen has recorded the voice at Kennington station as it's the poshest lift I've ever heard. Even the grammar was archaic: "Lift number two shall be the next lift". Everyone at the station was in hysterics so I assume it's new. Maybe its for the Olympics, they certainly need to do something to get the locals on side. There are London 2012 shops at all the stations and tourist centres all selling the most dreadful crap. To be fair it's crap mostly because the logo is terrible and the
two mascots they've created look like sex toys. But you can buy commemorative models of great British engineering emblazoned with the 2012 branding. These are a Mini (obsolete), Concorde (obsolete) and a Routemaster Bus (extremely obsolete). All a bit sad and tragic really, much like the UK's medal tally is likely to be.
Royal Courts Of Justice: note the TV crew:
Temple Church: Next stop Jerusalem:
Bargain time:
Canary Wharf, where the sun always shines and you can never go bust:
She was the Queen of Hearts you know:
Go on, stub it out, right in her eye:
Great Court at the British Museum. Amazing roof, average coffee:
You have to be careful in Soho as to which are the sex shops and which the cake shops:
