Saturday, July 13, 2013:
London
Saturday Sans Plan:
Things
seemed to go particularly badly for me today. Pre-dawn wake-ups (today at 4. 50
am after which I forced myself to go back to sleep and then wake at 6. 10 am)
means that I feel extremely drowsy mid-afternoon and can barely stand, forget
about trying to force my eyes open.
I
did a bit of work on my PC, then washed, dressed, had a muesli breakfast while
watching BBC’s Breakfast show and
began to look forward to Saturday Kitchen
with James Martin which begins at 10 am. Meanwhile, when I pulled the
battery out of my camera to charge it, I discovered that it would not fit into
my US adaptor. Fortunately, Currys,
the digital people, have a store at Holborn Circus—a trip downstairs would be
in order. But wouldn’t you just know it? Since lawyer-centric Holborn comes to
a virtual commercial standstill at the weekends, Currys was closed—even on a Saturday. I crossed the street to Blacks who stock travel supplies—they
had no adaptor, but the sales assistant suggested I “try Argos, Miss” (It has
been a long time since I have been addressed as “Miss”, so I felt flattered).
So Argos came to the rescue and with the nice Indian assistant helping me out
there, I was well equipped to re-charge my camera battery and add to my photo
collection.
Back home, I watched Saturday Kitchen with astonishment at
the amount of weight James Martin has put on in four years—he used to be cute
and sexy and slim when I used to watch his show while I lived in London.
Accompanying him was Rick Stein showing viewers how to make a Bhaji, if you
please—an Indian breakfast dish he claims he learned in India. He served it
with chappatis topped with a fried egg for breakfast! Other than the chappatis,
I could find nothing Indian in that Indian breakfast. Needless to say, I was
disappointed—more so because the promised Coffee-Walnut Cake (my favorite) was
never demonstrated step-by step although the completed cake was tantalizingly
shown several times.
At 11. 30 am, I decided to
investigate, by means of Journey Planner, how I could get to the Horniman
Museum by bus. Once I had figured it out, I realized it would take one and a
half hour each way. It was already too late in the day to set out and decided
to postpone the trip to Monday. First things First, I thought: Let’s get some work
done at my office at NYU. So I stepped out into the sun and the startling heat
(thankfully it was not humid) when I discovered that I had misplaced my clip-on
sunglasses at the Royal Academy of Arts yesterday for that was where I
distinctly remember last having them on. I went back upstairs, did a thorough
search of my bag and my trousers’ pockets and drew a blank. I could call the RA
and find out if someone had turned them in to the Lost and Found (they hadn’t) or
I could simply go to a pharmacy and find another pair. I was deeply despondent
by this time for nothing seemed to be going right.
The bus to Bloomsbury trundled up
soon enough. I walked briskly to Bedford Square but Vincent, the Weekend Porter
on duty, did not know me and needed to confirm my credentials before permitting
me to use office facilities. A quick call to one of my former London colleagues
and that hiccup was sorted. I descended into the basement computer lab and
spent the next one hour working: printing and editing some text and trying to
print out a chapter that has been reviewed by the editors and that needs to be
reworked by the end of this month for it has a strict publication deadline. The
printer worked well initially then something happened, and as so often occurs
with these machines that have minds all of their own, it simply stopped
functioning. Still, I had managed to get a sheaf of material printed out—which
means I will be intensely busy in the next few days getting some solid work
accomplished.
By 1.30, I had completed my work and
stepped into the Spec Savers on
Tottenham Court Road to buy myself a replacement clip on-pair of sunglasses. I
was informed by the sales assistant that such things are not manufactured in
the UK and can only be custom-made by a private optometrist/optician (for a
bomb, no doubt). Disappointed, I stepped into Boots pharmacy next door—and hey presto, there they were and on
sale too for ten pounds! I snatched a
pair eagerly and stepped out on to the street vastly relieved at being shaded
from the mounting glare.
Reading Festival at Trafalgar
Square:
Then,
I was on the Tube to Charing Cross intending to poke around the Reading
Festival at Trafalgar Square which was crawling with students. Unfortunately,
the demographic focus was adult literacy and although the place was stuffed
with school kids and some events were scheduled on the stage, there was nothing
to hold my interest.
An Afternoon at the National
Gallery:
After
picking up a few book marks, I stepped into the café at the National Gallery
which seemed like the most sensible place to be on an afternoon in which the
mercury climbed to a steady 90 plus degrees! There I ate my ox tongue sandwich
and took a bit of foot rest before joining folks for the start of the 2.30 pm
guided tour given by someone named Carly. The National Gallery is one of my
favorite places in the whole wide world and something of a second home to me as
I know my way around it almost as well as I do the Metropolitan Museum in New
York. This is what Carly showed in her hour-long tour:
1. The
Martyrdom of St. Sebastian by the brothers Antonio del Pollaiuolo
and Piero del Pollaiuolo
2.
Diana in her Lair by Titian
3.
The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein
4.
Queen Charlotte by Thomas Lawrence
5.
The Bathers at Asniers by Georges
Seurat.
It
was a good tour—but the galleries were noisy and crowded. Everyone wanted to
beat the heat by finding refuge in its air-conditioned interiors. It finished
at 3. 30 pm and since the next tour was at 4.00, I had half an hour in which to
investigate the special exhibition entitled “Saints Alive” by Michael Landy. It
was a truly bizarre show in which iconic Old Master works on the portrayal of
saints from the National Gallery’s permanent collection are taken by the artist
and given a new twist. Landy chose portraits of martyred saints and using the
concept of the mechanical wheel as in kinetic art of the 1970s, mangled the
originals so completely as to create moving sculpture and mechanical
installations. For example, he took
Lucas Cranach’s Saints Genevieve and
Appollina and created a sculpture in which the figure pulls out her teeth
as the tortured saint had hers forcibly removed. Similarly, St. Jerome, Saint
Catherine of Alexandria, St. Francis of Assissi and others were subjected to
the same weird treatment. Thanks to the film that accompanies the show, I was
able to make a great deal of sense of the artist’s vision and objective but I
must admit that I did not find it even remotely appealing.
At
4.00 pm, I joined Carly’s Highlights Tour again. This is what she showed to a
much smaller group on her second round:
1.
The Wilton Diptych
2.
The Origin of the Milky Way by Jacomo
Tintoretto
3.
Mr and Mrs William Hallet by Thomas
Gainsborough
4.
Autumnal View of Het Steen by Peter
Paul Reubens
5.
Bridge over Water Lily Pond at Giverny
by Claude Monet
The tour concluded at 5. 00 pm and
Carly was kind enough to introduce me to Tania at the Audio Guide Desk who said
that since I was a docent at the Met, she would gladly permit me to use the audio
guide, free of charge, if I showed up while she was on duty. I was thrilled as
I hurried to the bus stop to get back to Holborn, shower, dress and leave for
the Hog Roast to which I was invited at St. Paul’s
Hog Roast at St. Paul’s Cathedral:
Every year, Year Eight students of
St. Paul’s School (attached to St. Paul’s Cathedral), have a Send-Off Barbecue
at attached Amen Court (designed by the great Sir Christopher Wren in 1672). These
young lads are choristers—they form the boys’ choir that sings at all the great
events that the Cathedral organizes. Over the years, I have had my
favorites—but by the next year when I return, they have disappeared. Their
voices crack and they must leave for more grown-up pastures. This year, since I
was in town, I was invited by my friends Bishop Michael and his wife Cynthia to
attend. I arrived at their place at 6. 15 pm and found the Court already alive
with happy families—parents, siblings and the proud young graduates themselves
were present around the marquees set up on the lawn. There was even a dog
called Jacob, clearly in Doggy Heaven from all the scraps the kids were feeding
him.
It
was great to see my friends Michael and Cynthia and their son Aidan again and
to gab non-stop as we always do. Since I stayed at their place less than three
months ago, I felt as if I had never left. When we stepped outside, into a
still warm evening, Cynthia introduced me to a number of interesting parents
including Saro from Kerala whose Year Eight chorister son Kevin had done the
Reading in church on Friday and, as I could see then, had been bristling with
nerves. Eventually, we got down to some sipping (orange juice for me—no lager
in sight) and eating: pulled pork (it was, after all, a Hog Roast), red cabbage
coleslaw, a green salad, quiche. I avoided the bun (am trying to eliminate
carbs in an attempt to lose ‘cruise weight’) and then returned to Cynthia’s
table with our plates—so much easier to eat roasted meat with a real fork and
knife.
Back
outside, we circulated some more. I met the Music Director Andrew Carwood and
the Deputy Head of the School, Clive Marriot—before the speeches began. And
what lovely speeches they were too--funny and moving at the same time! They
boys were given a really warm send-off with so many sincere Thank-yous
mentioned all around. Their mentors were thanked and their parents and their
siblings—and all those responsible for having provided them with the unique
opportunity of serving as choir boys in one of the world’s greatest houses of
worship. Most go off now to prestigious boarding schools around the country
already having achieved more than most boys their age have done. I had a lump
in my throat at the farewell speeches, I have to say, although I did not know
any of them personally. It is always touching to perceive the innocent promise
of youth untouched by the trials that the world presents. That’s why I have
always loved graduation ceremonies.
“Choc
Ices” followed for dessert after the speechifying. I stayed long enough to meet
Kitty, the Colcloughs’ present house guest whose dad John I happen to have met
on an earlier visit to London. She is a vivacious New Yorker ready to start
grad school in London in the fall. We chatted for a long while and then I left
and came ‘home’ to High Holborn ready to drop into bed after what had started
off as a lousy day but improved considerably as it progressed.
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