February 9th, 2005

Carravaggio

london calling

Live from Maccas. They have pcs here. How sophisticated. So, in a few hours hopefully I'll be leaving London. I've tried so hard, on many occassions, to like London, but I just don't. It's dirty, squalid and full of Londoners.

My accom is a real little fleapit. It has hunting prints on the wall, so if you've seen Enigma, you've seen my room. Bliss. I've been fretting about wanting something better, something with a bathroom, and calling myself a snob, but I'm nothing compared to the princess in the breakfast room this morning. The egg was too hard, the toast too brown, the tea too weak, the utensils too dirty. Hey, this ain't the Four Seasons, biatch. Honestly, some people. So I figure I'm not too bad for fretting about the ensuite I paid for but didn't get. I only wanted it cause I needed it. Nver mind. Checking out after I sign off.

Yesterday I walked all the way to nearly Hammersmith to the street that features in the opening credits of the Sweeney. Yes, I am that sad. What was really tragic was this Oz girl asking for a loan of my map, map which has crosses and Sweeney and Stranglers written all over it. Humming 'Golden Brown' I trotted up to Leighton House, to discover, to my eternal grief, that it's open every day except Tuesdays. Wail. Gnash.

Walked back to Earl's Court because I couldn't find anyone who spoke English so was unable to ascertain the correct bus to catch. Fi on Melvyn Bragg and his story of English if the only place they don't speak it is England. No trouble finding English speakers in Japan. Here? Nada. Bah and humbug.

Tootled along to the Natural History Museum. The dinosaur exhibit was closed, the T-Rex on tour. So there goes that bit of research. Lovely building though. Quite the folly inside. Sat down and put third set of bateries in digi cam and it finally agreed to work, if churlishly. Luckily I have my old SLR along as backup.

Staggered across to the VA. I missed varina8's company and wit most terribly as I trundled about. 2/3 of the place was closed for rennovations. My heart was sad but my feet said thank fuck because I was really on my chinstrap by this stage. Had tea in the fabbo tea room. The coffee is still dreadful, btw. Saw some new stuff, at least, but missed old stuff. Especially the early Brit stuff but I did get to revist the Elizabethan and Regency rooms, and the hall of silver. Sharpe fans should note that the VA now sells Tippoos Tiger kits that you make in cardboard. Why, I don't know, but I bought one anyway. It was in the kiddies section, of all things.

Then there was the Raphael caroon that featured various saints being offed in increasingly nasty manner, all graphically rendered. It bemuses me that religious art requires no warning or certification. Ditto those US evangelists who are always going on about sex and violence on the telly, but never mind all the begatting and smiting in their source book. Strange world, this. Seriously nightmare inducing bit of art, though. Splatter ain't in it.

Dropped back for a nap, much needed. Then off to the theatre for Picard vs Pacey. Remember my rant a while back about tv pretty boys sharing the same space as old theatre hams? Exhibit A. Seriously. Patrick was brilliant and I felt it a rare treat and privelege to watch the man eat it up and blow poor Pacey off the stage. Still, I did get to see Mr Mighty Duck in his undies, so all was not lost. Up close too cause the girl did get my damn good seats, as promised (one of the perks of being just one).

So that was fun. Then it was to bed in my pokey room and now I'm going to log off and go pack. Next stop: Scotland.
Carravaggio

you take the low road and I'll take the railroad

Dateline: Inverness. And fuck, it's freezing, my shitty little umbrella fell to pieces and my gloves are MIA, and I know I had them in London. Bugger.

It was freezing on the train and I was hoping for a hostel room for myself. I pity my room mates as I'm gonna wheeze and snuffle all night as that cold I had is mutating into something quite nasty.

Long, long train ride from London. Watched the scenery whiz past. Cheered at little when I sighted a few castles off on the horizon. I really like that old churches are still the highest point in most towns. I'm a filthy heathen, but I just like the aesthetics of it, which of course puts me entirely at odds with Management.

Side note: dear sweet fricking hell, everytime I sit in the lounge of these places, Friends is on the tv. I loathe Friends with a passion. This too must be endured. I've sat throgh more Ross and Joey in the last 48 hours than in the last ten years.

One more leg to go, then I will crawl into my Aunt's guest bed and not move for a week. That's the plan, as of now.

Had other things to say, but I've forgotten them all now. Maybe later. I think I'll recap when I get back from my journal. Won't that be fun? Don't all blow raspberries at once.

Inverness seems a lot, lot bigger than I remember it. Weird. Certainly that walk from the station in the driving sleet stretched for miles and miles. Thank goodness for one of those roving elderly Scottish ladies that they send out in squads to make sure you get to where you're going. Bless.

btw, spent at least $30 on hot chocolate and tea on the train. Entirely necessary. It was bloody freezing.