June 28, 2011

A Day in London

 

I had a lot more fun than I was expecting to.  But that was mostly the yarn shop* (and the cafe http://www.lepainquotidien.co.uk/#/en_UK/locations/royal_festival_hall_se1).  The party, eh.  The party was a party.   And yes–it was HOT.  

        I went to the yarn shop first, and after an hour of lust, adrenaline and HEAT I was fading badly by the time I paid for my latest foray into vice and staggered back out into the street.  The party was at Whitehall [sic] so the logical thing to do was go back to Waterloo** and find a cafe in the South Bank Centre near the pedestrian bridge over the Thames;  Whitehall is about a five-minute walk*** from the other end of the bridge.   So that’s what I did.

Walking across Hungerford Bridge

Presumably the great barbed barricade is to prevent people from jumping the gap and adding to the ornamentation on the train-bridge pillar wall (the train bridge runs slap next to the pedestrian bridge) but the thing that fascinates me is that if you kept your nerve you could do it anyway. It's like they almost want you to try. Ewwww.

Note the date as well as the nice use of grocer's apostrophe

Party. Ceiling. Good grief.

This--the Banqueting Hall at Whitehall--was the last thing Charles I saw before he was led outdoors to have his head removed. It might almost have helped resign him to having it all over with.

I am, as we know, easily amused. Here we have old pillar, middle-aged chair, and hot, happening (purple) spotlights. Plus people having a good time (?) and a few fire extinguishers.

I assume when they don't have purple spotlights on them they're white and gilt.

Sorry. I'm mesmerised.

And our fearless leader (with pillar) gave a speech about how wonderful we all are. Did you know it's the 75th anniversary of BALLET SHOES?

Then I came home.

Party All Stars. With party socks. And feet, very glad to be out of them. I did have a pair of sandals with me in case the heat got too much, but I don't WALK in sandals.

* * *

* In case any of you missed this:  http://www.iknit.org.uk/shop.html  And it is INCREDIBLY impossible to find.  It’s part of  what looks like a really nice, funky neighbourhood community main street, but the neighbourhood is surrounded by the Dead Marshes, well populated by corpse candles, wills o’ the wisp, and Gollums.  If I hadn’t found a nice cop-like person–I don’t think he was a cop, but he had a kind of cop-echt uniform–I might still be wandering in spirals around Waterloo.

** Lower Marsh Street is on the opposite side of Waterloo from where the station shoots you out onto the tarmac.  So you can go out the door and turn left or go out the door and turn right.  I hesitated, staring at my map, and chose left.  Of course I should have gone right.

*** Even when burdened by fresh manifestations of iniquity.  Which I’m saving for tomorrow’s post.  I need sleep.  I need sleep NOW.

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