Its Christmas

And whoosh its all over.

But a good time it was. Spent the festive season with my friends in Ealing who have the advantages for Christmas of a large family and two boys of 15 and 10 of whom I am inordinately fond. And rather than weeks of shopping and preparation, I just get to chop a few vegetables and decorate some puddings. (I could wonder at my macho image when others get tasked with opening stiff jars and I am left to decorate trifles as my specialist area, but hey-ho.)

Truly heroic performance from the matriarch in getting through it all while coming down with a cold including a 4:30 am start to get the monstrous turkey (to feed 11) into the oven in time for lunch. But it was certainly Christmas with all the trimmings (what are trimmings by the way?) and the variety of desserts (trifles (alcoholic and non-alcoholic) cheesecakes and pudding (duly lit with brandy)) had to be postponed for a few hours for us to recover from the main course without actually bursting at the seams.Well if one is going for conspicuous excessive consumption, surely Christmas is the time.

And the boys seemed happy enough with my presents which was good. But of course being modern boys what they really love is playing on their X-Box with new games. The 10 year-old is just getting to the quite adorable stage. He has developed the talent of pleading so winningly I can't help feeling he would have had the Bumble in Oliver Twist serving up champagne breakfasts to him.  Just needs a slight tweak to the volume control. (Maybe just turn the treble down a bit and the bass up? There must be a switch somewhere. I'm sure his older brother will know where it is - teenagers seem to be able to find such things without resorting to the instructions.)

And there is something so sweet about being patronised by a 10 year old as I upped my pitifully small zombie kill rate to 10. Have a horrible feeling that his Dad didn't feel killing Nazi zombies is entirely within the spirit of Christmas and I confess it probably doesn't feature in the traditional Dickensian manual, but one has to move with the times. If you told me 20 years ago I would be sitting next to a Christmas tree firing at the undead with a 10 year old I too would have been surprised, but actually for me that particular Ghost of Christmas Future far beats my Ghosts of Christmas Past. And it did keep with the spirit of things to my mind. There was one happy ten year old having fun, and that seems to be the fundamental thing to me. (And it kept me away from street corners mugging old ladies.)
His older brother is just such a cool kid now. Really struggle to think I remember him as a toddler. But actually much prefer them as teens. And now to all intents and purposes he is an adult or as near as dammit. Well towers over me anyway.

Stayed up late with two of his 20+ cousins to watch dvd of No Country for Old men (the teen having cruelly and with great difficulty been persuaded it was bedtime - so not quite an adult). Felt certain superiority in that I was still awake at 2 am when the film finished, unlike my two lightweight companions. Have no stamina these young folk.

Boxing Day most of us (but minus the boys who would have needed to be surgically removed from their consoles) went for a walk in Osterley Park (for the uninitiated, a National Trust house in West London set in lovely grounds with cattle and horses grazing in the surrounding fields. A weird bit of rural England surrounded by suburbia) Bitterly regret not bringing my camera or I would have had some lovely shots of the house in the snow and of the frozen ponds. Unfortunately the paths had turned into sheets of uneven ice and when it comes to ice-skating I am up there with Bambi. Nevertheless survived without mishap and avoided hypothermia as its still incredibly cold.

Having completed an extended stay (due to Tube strike on Boxing Day) I stopped off at the office to do a couple of bits I hadn't quite finished on Christmas Eve and then went for a whirl around the Museum of London (which is only a couple of hundred metres away). I hadn't been since they completed the post-Medieval refurbishment. Its really splendid actually, with some really cool reconstructions, especially the 18th century pleasure-grounds and Victorian shops. Some great bits of architectural salvage. Have nicely avoided the standard dummies to illustrate costume etc and just let the shop fittings speak for themselves. Well worth a visit if you are in the City.

A winter's tale

So heading towards Christmas and therefore some of the things one should expect, transport meltdown as the country freezes, a bout of flu and the office party.

Started week in cultural mode by going to the excellent Canaletto exhibition at the National Gallery. http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/venice-canaletto-and-his-rivals

Essentially they did postcards on a grander scale in the 18th century. Ok it might have taken 3 years for your "card" to arrive, but it would have been a whopper. Actually a really interesting comparison was to go from this exhibition of 18th century viewpainters to Ben Johnson's modern versions in room 1 of the gallery displaying his almost completed view across London from the National Gallery roof, along with his cityscapes of Zurich and Liverpool. The modern versions have all modern techniqes applied and are painted with stencils and spray-paints. The result is painstaking accurate, clinical and flat as a pancake compared to those painted 300+ years ago. Why? Well Canaletto and his contemporaries were really skilled painters, craftsmen who had spent all their working life-times perfecting their art. And people wanted the best so the best came to the top and sold the most to the highest bidder. Modern artists need to produce cheap and don't want and aren't unable to spend the time developing such talents. So they don't bother and keep the "art" as a concept (ie the skill is thinking up the image, not painting it), because the craft is just too difficult. I am not knocking the modern way. It has its advantages. A mass produced photo can be enjoyed by millions compared to a Canaletto being shut away in the salon of a stately home. Just the adaptation to modern life. Probably best thing overall. But suffice to say Canaletto knocks the spots of modern equivalents, just because he was so good in comparison. And Bellotto, Guardi and a host ofther contemporaries.

Then unexpectedly went to see a Winter's Tale. "Unexpected" because one of my colleagues had a ticket and couldn't go at the alst minute. There was a good reason why I hadn't sought to book myself - I had seen the play in Stratford about 18 months ago, and unlike many I don't really like seeing the same Shakespeare plays over and over. And the sense of deja vu became overwhelming as I realised it was exactly the same production with the same cast as previously.

Office party on Thursday night, just as the snow started. Our party was at the the Pigalle Club in Piccadilly. Now the name gives the impression of say classy Burlesque. The menu of a classy West End restaurant. But it is all front. If I tell you that in its heyday the place was a porn cinema, you might have a better feel for it all. Its in a basement, the food which sounded wonderful was sparse and re-heated and the cabaret so cheesey that you could almost smell the whiff of gorgonzola. But of course the audience of works' xmas parties were all out to enjoy themselves no matter what, so we were probably the world's easiest audience.

Then Saturday, well the snow just came and came. We just aren't used to this in London. Was 10 below freezing last night, and in London its rare to go below zero at all. Feel rather cheated if global warming results in us getting colder as everyone else gets hotter. Anyway, the snow was beautiful. The light dusting that is our norm was replaced by a good few inches, so when it finally relented I went out with my camera and went to my local park, followed by the supermarket which was heaving with everyone else who had remained holed up all day but now ventured out to get in supplies.

And then on out to Wembley to see War of the Worlds with my prog-rock loving friend. For the uninitiated, War of the Worlds is not only a famous Victorian sc-fi novel, made into at least a couple if films, but in late 70s was adapted to a concept double-album by Jeff Wayne. Basically music linked together by a narration of Richard Burton. Well 30 years later with a more affluent following and modern effects they put the whole thing on as a show with full orchestra, lasers and as many of the original players as possible (which given the time-lapse wasn't many Justin Hayward (still in fine voice) Chris Thompson (less so) Jeff Wayme conducting and Richard Burton through the aid of a holograph (being rather dead). http://www.thewaroftheworlds.com/Landingpage.aspx

Well it was all rather well-done I guess, with light effects and a giant alien tripod coming down on stage and a film at the back. But did I really feel it such value for money, after my boots filled with snow trying to get there, then our train breaking down at Kilburn and needing to get a taxi to arrive 15 minutes late? And while the special effects were clever, not sure they would really impress a CGI generation. Lucily I doubt there were many folks there under 40. But with a quick curry and the taxi, the night out pretty much cost £100. And my feet were cold and wet throughout. And next morning I awoke with flu symptoms, which I largely attribute to my mate whio had battled out to see me on Friday night through his own sickness. He is off to Zanzibar on Boxing Day. Well, if he can get a flight of course. Otherwise it could be camping holiday at Heathrow Airport.

London at night

Another two gigs down this week. Suede at the O2 first. Yes good, but two drawbacks. The first is that Its an awful long way to get back from at night. The other was the aging females adoring of Brett Anderson. Probably teenagers when Brett was first with the band, but now heading to thirty-somethings. Just why do they feel the need to whoop in my ear-hole to prove their devotion?

Then Echo and the Bunnymen at Brixton Academy. Great gig, which I went to with one of my colleagues. I had plans of sitting down to a nice curry and lager before heading into the show, and we had plenty of time - until London Transport intervened. On reaching Pimlico, just about the only stop on the Victoria Line from which there is no interchange with another line, we were advised to seek alternative transport because of a defective train. So we trooped up in search of a bus. Well we found the stop and the indicator board showed our desired bus was imminent. But then it just disappeared. Big thing to go missing, but there you are. Still, two more were supposed to be due in 10 minutes. After a very long 10 minutes in the freezing cold, two buses duly arrived. But full of passengers and no one wanted to decant at Pimlico, so they just sailed serenely by. And lo, another 10 minute wait for the next one. So we thought, sod this for a game of soldiers and traipsed back to the Tube to find trains were running again. Moral of the story? Never, ever take advice of LRT personnel. They will always be wrong. Don't seek alternative means of transport until someone comes and forces you off at gunpoint.

But Bunnynmen were great and the normally grumpy Ian McCullough was surprisingly chipper. And great to be able to fiscuss it all with K. The pair of us could probably enter Pseuds Corner when it comes to discussing indie bands.

Today I ventured out to the Natural History Museum to take a friend and her 10 year old around the Wildlife Photography Exhibition. This is an annual pilgrimage for me, and always a humbling experience as while I quite fancy myself as a photographer I see how good the under 10s entries are, let alone the professionals. Just stunning shots. No photos allowed, but you can see them on-line http://www.nhm.ac.uk/visit-us/whats-on/temporary-exhibitions/wpy/onlineGallery.do

Entered into a lively discussion on which was the best. Popped across to the V & A for lunch (far nicer than the Natural History Museum which is rather full of kids and redolent of school dinners) then back again for a whizz around the dinosaur collection.

Then I finished the evening with the purchase of a few cds for myself (well it IS Christmas), including getting the rest of  Pendulum's back catalogue. Starting to be a bit of a convert to drum n bass. Followed by a walk down to tthe Thames to take a few photos of London at night. Quite nice really, especially all the santas in Trafalgar Square and the lights along the South Bank, including a Christmas market for those who like that sort of thing. Ok, not me. Bah humbug

British Museum

One of the glories of living in London is being able to pop into the British Museum. So, faced with loads of admin to do today, I decided to put it all off and make use of my membership. Saw the Book of the Dead exhibition, partly because having just come back from Egypt I thought I ought to Bit of a cheat in a way as most of the exhibits are from the BM collection anyway, so they are getting non-members to shell out £12 for what you could see in a different arrangement for free..

What is so staggering is the sheer breadth of the BM collection. I go all round the world but the best stuff is really just down the Piccadilly Line. Although having said that, I do feel we could have been even more efficient in the 19th and early 20th centuries in looting (sorry acquiring) antiquities from around the globe when we had the chance. Seen quite a few statues round the Middle-East that would have fitted in here very nicely. And any suggestion that we hand back the Elgin marbles should be met with armed resistance. If they won't give us a world cup, don't see why they should get our marbles. And they are ours. After all, Elgin is a British name isn't it? Someone will want the Portland Vase next. And new acquisition? - A Zimbabwean 100 trillion dollar note. Amusing, but hardly the Elgin Marbles.

And architecturally, the Great Hall takes some beating, a truly excellent marriage of old and new. See what you think.