Canal, teddy bear and Halloween newt

A London birthday weekend - my birthday this time. We were staying near the Regent's Canal again - oh joy for the walk from Shoreditch to Islington. Friday was a beautiful day. I didn't realise this photo had such great reflections - I was too busy looking at the boats and the willow tree.

Later we walked back the same way and were easily waylaid by a secondhand bookshop in a boat. Ok so it meant we had to wear another layer of clothing on the Ryanair flight home to offset the book weight but it was worth it. Here's the splendid craft (beyond the green narrowboat):








Joe had arranged for us to do a house swap, though our swapees have yet to come to us - they'll do that next spring. It was a perfect place for us - part of a terrace (Georgian?) in Shepherdess Walk, everything we needed, such a lovely house,  park behind,  canal at one end and buses at the other. And from the roof garden this was the view:

A highlight (apart from the canal) was the Grayson Perry exhibition at the British Museum. I hadn't realised what they'd done to the museum for the Millenium. This roof over the courtyard was stunning:

Called The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, the exhibition had Perry's own fantabulous pots and other pieces next to astonishing craftsman(woman?)ship from within the Museum.

Here's the motorbike Perry travelled round Germany on, with his teddy bear Alan Measles in the 'popemobile' at the back (I know, it sounds weird but it wasn't).





Unbelievable detail on Perry's pieces and those he chose. And I loved his descriptions and explanations of everything. So articulate and they really did make sense of a grown man travelling with his old teddy bear and dressing up as a little girl. Hmm. That sounds weird altogether but it wasn't.

The strangest exhibit, perhaps, was the delicate earring which I was admiring in its case. I read the information about it and realised it said there was a section of ear attached. The ear was very black due to age. This was not one of Perry's works.

A play at the Almeida in Islington on Friday - 'My City' by Stephen Poliakoff which got very mixed (read bad) reviews on the BBC review show but which we loved. They just didn't understand metaphor I think (says she disappearing up her own arse). It's always different when you go to a production knowing you have to appear on television or write something erudite (not that I have) than if you go following a good dinner with the expectation of having an interesting time.

We went to the Tate Modern but found we weren't in the mood - enough, I think, of exhibitions. But we did have a look, on the way there, at the protest outside St Paul's.

I'm glad to see the Church has come to its senses and is no longer stuck in confrontation and attempts at eviction. Whatever you think about the protesters methods, how can you call yourself a Christian and not support their arguments enough to at least get into a discussion with them.








We had dinner that night at Sabor, a South American restaurant in Islington. If you live near there and haven't been (oh all you Islington readers of my blog) then go! It was wonderful. Of course you wouldn't normally have the parade of Halloweeners passing the window in various stages of dismemberment/witchery/zombiedom. A newt went past at one stage (a newt? for Halloween? Surely they're hibernating by now). After the dinner I had a chocolate martini. It was that sort of night.

Trip to London

There are an awful lot of people in London. Thank heavens for the London Underground, although you wouldn't want to be too claustrophobic when the trains are full. We popped up from the depths at Russell Square close to our hotel, The Lancaster in Bedford Place. A little oasis of calm except for the helicopter hovering overhead, still spying on the student demo that started in Russell Square. Glad we missed that one. Didn't fancy getting caught up in a kettling incident.

That evening we ate at a little bistro in Islington which was full of theatre-goers before crossing the road to the Almeida Theatre. The play, Becky Shaw, was excellent. Dark humour, very well written and at no point did I have that theatre moment where you're very aware that these are actors on the stage, not the characters they are portraying. It's a lovely theatre too with a stage that revolves to reveal the next set.

We were sat next to an American fellow who'd lived in Geneva for 20 years. He worked in International Property Rights at the United Nations. Great conversations during the interval.

Sunday morning and off to Camden Town for brunch and the markets. It was Joe's birthday, and for someone who has a love of markets like he does, this is the place to go. Many of the shop fronts have sculptures hanging high up on the wall above the door. Or maybe you wouldn't call them sculptures. Figures of people, shapes to illustrate the name of the premises, slogans and names. The place we went for brunch had one. This was one of the more tasteful.

The brunch was a full english breakfast but none of your greasy caff stuff here. The sausages were proper butcher's affairs, the rashers were thick and tasty, the eggs done just right. There were hash browns too. Not thoroughly english, I don't think. A touch of  over-the-pondness to them.

Across the road and one of the markets was scattered through a nineteenth century group of stables, workshops and warehouses, brick built and two- and three-storeys high. There were cobbled ramps to allow horse movement between levels. Everywhere were life-size statues of horses. Some more than life size. Here's the birthday boy wearing his new stripey cap just purchased for £8 across the road.

Camden is on the Regent's Canal, and as we can never go anywhere without some waterways interest, we took a walk from Camden Lock to Little Venice in cold winter sunshine. There are more bits of market at Camden Lock - this seemed to be mostly a food area - but then the bohemia is left behind for narrowboats, mansions and exotic birds. The narrowboats are obvious as we were on a canal. The mansions were less expected.


Theses vast classical buildings were constructed between 1987 and 2008 by Terry Quinlan in the style of the architect John Nash. They are quite outrageous, situated in Regent's Park overlooking the canal. Not too far from the zoo, so they doubtless have an interesting background sound track.





The towpath passes through the zoo, right next to the beautiful aviary designed by Lord Snowdon and built in 1964. It was wash time for the pelicans as we walked past.

After the pelicans and mansions and canal it was time for a bit more culture. A dash to the Royal Academy of Arts by Very Slow Bus caught in traffic. The dash was purely in the mind except for the last hurtle down Piccadilly. I'd bought tickets in advance, and you have to give a time. I'd said two and it was already half past. This being London, not Dublin, we didn't know how much it mattered. The woman on information didn't seem bothered. I doubt whether anything much perturbed her. She looked through the envelopes of pre-booked tickets, asked for our address, sighed a little. I mentioned that I'd booked on the phone, the online form getting in a tizz about the lack of postcode.

'Oh, you booked by phone,' she said in a tone you might use on a child walking mud into the house.

'Did she ask?' I said to Joe as we left the desk. 'Did she ask if we'd booked by phone or online?'

'No,' he said. 'She never asked.'

The exhibition of Modern British Sculpture was incredibly interesting. The most amazing and powerful piece was 'Adam' by Jacob Epstein. Some gorgeous works by Barbara Hepworth and Henry Moore. Then we were into the very modern including Damien Hirst's 'Let's Eat Outdoors Today', two perspex boxes full of flies, rotting food and maggots. There was half a pear hanging from the ceiling with half an apple glued to the cut side. And by artist Gustav Metzger, a line of pages of The Sun's page three stuck to the wall. Co-curator Penelope Curtis said

"We chose this piece because it reflects quite well on the literary, journalistic day by day quality of the way we perceive British culture now. How, for most people, the way they understand what British culture is, is through the press, through imagery, through magazines so it comes to you pre-digested."

I wonder whether Gustav Metzger, who is 84, chose it for the same reason.