Dulwich

I had once opined that those who complain about London being too crowded were just too idle to venture to the quiet bits. I think I said that in the context of Hampstead. Well today I sauntered around South London's equivalent of Hampstead, Dulwich. Its incredibly leafy and ever so middle class.

I started my walk by gawping at Dulwich College, a public school which rather unbelievably when you look at the huge edifice now, began as a school for 12 poor boys.

Then past some old cottages

And then past London's last remaining toll-gate.

Then a fairly steep climb up a wooded path which fortunately had at the top the London equivalent of El Dorado - a nice pub. The Wood House (aptly named) was able to supply me with a pint of scrumpy to help sustain me on a warm afternoon. A very welcome stopover, with a lovely beer garden. And I wasn't in the least put off by the young athlete that raced up the hill beside me. After all, I wasn't the one panting with my hands on my knees at the top. And I had a pint with my name on it not an energy drink to look forward to.

Across the top of the hill are the sort of splendid large houses one might expect, including, as in Hampstead, the odd awful modernist thing that middle-class intellectuals of the Thirties were proud of but now look dated, or at best "brave". And the first house was once lived in by John Logie Baird, inventor of the TV, allegedly.

Then I plunged into Sydenham Hill Woods, a genuine bit of ancient woodland, dark and dense but with some nice features including a little Victorian folly, a designer bit of ruined abbey. And a disused railway bridge from which Pisarro once painted.

The end of the pathway then passed that most quintessentially English site for a summer Sunday afternoon,

 a cricket pitch. Now no longer a national joke as we seem quietly to have become the best cricket nation in the world again.

Of course you would expect a nice area like this to have a nice park, and Dulwich Park doesn't disappoint.

But what Dulwich is most famous for is its Picture Gallery, the first public art gallery in Britain. It has a wonderful collection in a beautiful building, but just a little small for a special visit across London.

 Built on a collection intended to found a Polish national gallery, so it does have a top quality set of old masters, Rembrandt, Murillo, Van Dyck, Canaletto, Rubens. Poussin, Gainsborough, but nothing "modern". This they have made up for by having an exhibition comparing Cy Twombly with Nicolas Poussin. Sorry quite ridiculous. One caption started along the lines of "At first glance they couldn't seem more different but..." No, no, no not at first glance, or second or third, they just couldn't be more different to anyone who wasn't actually registered blind. Posussin is a classical artist and Cy Twombly basically scribbles. See below the contrast rather than the similarity. Its supposed to be in their poetry. Sorry, wrong medium.

 And finally into Dulwich Village itself, with its large Georgian houses once a good carriage ride away from London, but now a short train journey to London Bridge. Except when there are engineering works. Like today.

And a place like this obviously has lovely middle class restaurants, at which by a complete coincidence, I bumped into a lovely middle class couple, one of whom is a colleague mine in our tax department. They had just moved in literally over the weekend, so neither of us were exactly expecting to see each other.I joined them for a glass of wine at the restaurant looking out onto the street. Tremendously enjoyable end to the day. Last photo of daddy by the way courtesy of 4 year old Ben. Always credit your sources. Although being a 4 year old it does concentrate rather on his chocolate ice cream. Well you have to get your priorities right don't you?

Royal Academy

At a loose end today after a haircut and some shopping, so I thought I would make the annual pilgrimage to the Royal Academy summer exhibition. Always nice because everything is new, and its all so varied from abstracts to pretty realistic prints, big sculptures (like the pop art thing in the courtyard), to architectural models. And no shortage of visitors.

 I rather liked this dramatic abstract

And I have a particular fondness for the humour of Glen Baxter. Have a book of his cartoons, and liked this one very much. OK its not high art in the classical sense...

Of course the Royal Acdemy is a pretty attractive buiding in its own right, and I also took the opportunity to potter into the Sackler galleries to see an exhibition of Hungarian photography. Nowhere near as grim or pretentious as it sounds.

And it does have the only Michelangelo sculpyure in the country, albeit perhaps not the mot impressive of his works, this tondo

And nearby there are some very posh shopping arcades like Princes Arcade, as well as the famous statue of Eros, thronged with tourists

A long tiring weekend, but no rioting

I am absolutely knackered. My own fault but been burning the candle at both ends for a few days. Thursday night was the killer as I had a night out with one of my younger mates. Was intended to be with two of my younger mates, but the quiet conscientious one cried off with too much work to do (as one might expect) leaving me with the one who works for an investment bank, is over six-foot of muscle and is close to half my age. Even though I didn't quite keep up with him on drinks, that was still too much by the end of the evening. Something quaint about the way I can still be led astray at my age. And that even now I still can't work out when to stop.

Anyway, woke up next morning not feeling hung over so much as rather still drunk. And with no memnory at all as to how I had got home the night before. Which would have been fine as I had the day off work, except that I had to get up to shop and then put together a picnic, and sort out beds, for the afternoon arrival of some friends. Fortunately, my trip to Crystal Palace with two 12 year old boys went like a dream - all the many train connections worked and they were really engaged by the athletics. I had feared they might have got bored or fidgety over what was the best part of 4 hours, but not a bit of it. Result. So my patented method of child control?  Buy them an ice cream. After that they are but putty in your hands. Supernanny, cry your heart out...

The journey home was just a little blighted by the time taken queuing to actually get onto a platform at Crystal Palace station. Basically the Palace is notorious for its inability to cope with crowds which is in part why Spurs' idea to take over the Olympic stadium and just upgrade the Palace for athletics must be resisted at all costs. Even down to civil disobedience. But the athletics was top drawer with several world best performances this year. A few action shots just to decorate the blog...

So we didn't get home until gone 11 pm by which time mother and daughter had arrived back at my house (after a trip to the Royal Academy followed by Yes Prime Minister which they both loved - good recommendation from yours truly) with dad (who had had only a day at work and an evening train journey from Crewe to enjoy - someone always has to draw the short straw). So with the boys straight to bed I just had a bit of a chat with the parents until past midnight

Then an early start again Saturday morning as they all had to get to Winchester for lunch (to return the spare 12 year old that wasn't theirs to the bosom of his family) and I had a dinner party to prepare for. I found the latter a real struggle as I kept wanting to slope off to the sofa to fall asleep in front of the sport on TV. Still managed to get dinner for 5 prepared (although my salmon and prawn pate failed to set. There goes my 3rd Michelin star.) And a very pleasant evening with two of the trainees from my department - my own trainee and her husband and our young athlete Ed (who I had watched race at the UK championships in Birmingham the previous weekend) with his girlfriend.

So obviously another late night with the odd glass of wine. And then Sunday earlyish start to get up to Coventry to see mum in hospital visiting hours. A journey made more time consuming at this end because the whole northern end of the Piccadilly line was out for engineering works, the overground wasn't running either, and even the replacement bus service had to crawl round the high street as Wood Green was closed off presumably from the previous night's riots. (It appears I was just lucky in my little enclave of Poles and Cypriots surrounded by rioting Tottenham to the East, Wood Green to the South and Enfield to the North.) A friend sent me a text asking if I was alright and had anyone set light to me yet. I replied that no one had previously asked that precise question of me on a Sunday morning, but I assumed it was inspired by the disturbances and not a general concern for my inflammability.

So basically today too tired.

Cars, cars, cars

Should you ever happen to find yourself in Coventry with a couple of hours to kill (no, I have no idea why you would be there either, but bear with me on the premise) and you didn't fancy the cathedral, one could do far worse than visit the transport museum. Now I feel particularly well-qualified to say this given I have no interest in cars (let alone motorbikes or bicycles), and I still found the place perfectly entertaining. So not limited petrolheads.

The collection is free (always a good start) and leads one from the earliest vehicles at the end of the 19th century (on which you would have had a precarious perch exposed to all elements where the saving grace would have been the slow speeds and absence of competing traffic) to snazzy new cars in which you would virtually have to lie horizontally to drive. Also of interest is just the demise of the industry in Coventry, and indeed the transfer from myriad small manufacturers turning out a few cars (in the early days with wooden frames over which fabric bodies were nailed into place) to a few giant manufacturers who turned out huge quantities of motors (of low quality), and then, well, to nothing now except London cabs which are still churned out in the city.

The vintage stuff does of course have a certain style, even if it does feel a little comic now...

By contrast there are the super cool racers which even I find aesthetically pleasing

 And then the odd speciality, like the mini from the Italian Job

And the De Lorean from Back to the Future..

And the huge car/rocket that once broke the land speed record



But the most curious vehicle of all was this one.

Built about 1900, the unique design feature is that the driver sits on the back seat. There is room for two passengers in front, facing him, with the steering wheel in between him and the passengers. So the driver would have to peer over or around his passengers. They on the other hand would have their backs to the traffic and no seat back to lean against, or even any substantial arm-rests. Presumably all that saved this from being the ultimate death trap would be its slow acceleration and negligible competing road traffic. Unsurprisingly this design feature did not catch on. Imagine with modern acceleration as passengers get hurled into the drivers lap on setting off (presumably leaving all their teeth in the steering wheel) only to fly off backwards on a sharp breaking manoeuvre. Not every experiment is a success.