Polite graffiti 1: Theobald's Road, London

London is definitely the place for polite graffiti. See this small time near the top of the wall to the exclusive central London greenery that is Gray's Inn. 

churches and pubs (cont'd)

That was only the beginning of our walk. A nose about various public houses and a quick drink in the perfect arts and crafts pub by Blackfriars bridge - the Blackfriar - then along the north bank Thameside path to London Bridge and onto the clipper boat to Canary Wharf.

Why? Because, the Waitrose there is the only place in London I know that you can buy buffalo milk.

churches and pubs

Had a fabulous Sunday afternoon with C, just ambling about the city; starting from the Barbican and then finding ourselves at St Pauls (free to enter on a Sunday, I guess they can’t charge the punters who just want to pray) via ancient backstreets and the wondrously named St Andrew by the Wardrobe.

St Andrews was open, just emptying out of people describing themselves as Indian Orthodox, and clearly pretty high church as we viewed the interior through a fog of incense.

still on the buses

It must already be clear that I am obsessed with everyday habits and public transport as a place where people’s private and public selves intersect. Another (London) shift that did not used to happen, is sitting on the outside of two seats.

And another conversation, having squeezed past into the vacant space (and back out again) on a crowded bus:

“ I am just interested – why do you sit on outside?”

“Oh, there was someone there before who got off.” “

That does not stop you moving over.”

“Just didn't feel like it.”

I know, I need to get a life (and don't get me going on the London 'Boris' buses...)

on public transport

Am quietly pleased in British cities were people still queue to get on the bus (for example, here in Belfast). This no longer happens in London, where getting on the bus has become a chaotic scrum. It feels like a literal manifestation of the shift since Thatcher; competitive self-interest and individualism winning out over any social niceties.

I remember really noticing the change on the tube, about 10 years ago. Someone getting on asked a fellow passenger to move further inside. The reply? “I was here first, why should I?”

otb

Much the same experience at the Baltic . Fabulous Lorna Simpson show, but got very wet getting there, and getting back (enough rain stories now).

to the coast

We have been trying to 'do' things in Newcastle, rather than just work - so took the metro out to the coast (must remember not to call it the beach) for an evening walk, fish and chips and a drink. The coast is beautiful - and so close. But, raining lashing down as usual, so instead of a bit of landscape photography, just us sheltering in the chip shop.   

sleepy

Early morning train to Newcastle again, and 3 sleeping bodies lined up in the cafe. 

wet wet wet

The local Anatolian Festival would have wound up any UKIP voter - the park full of turkish people, women in headscarves, eating pide. But actually it was just like most British summer fetes; lots of marquees with wooden tables and that strange tent/contained grass smell; lots of food stalls selling kebabs and burger and chips; a sound stage with echoing microphones, an over-large presenter and small children standing around looking shy; amateur acts of all sorts; and people dressed up in costumes seeming made out of badly dyed nylon.

And most importantly  - and making it a proper British May fete - it was pouring with rain, the ground was turning to a quagmire, and the marching band didn't look like they were going anywhere soon.

voting voting voting

Couldn't really justify being too lazy/disaffected/distracted to vote this time around; particularly when the polling station was so close, the whole process took about three minutes.

London, as usual, turns out to be a bit of an 'island' compared to the rest of the country. We are a diverse bunch - and have mainly got used to it - so that the easy blame of migration for our troubles doesn't really work here, or at least not for a majority. The UK Independence Party hardly got a look in, in the local elections.  

Christmas already

What to say? A beautiful, bakingly hot July day, and then here is Morrisons the supermarket chain, with a massive facade-sized bow - on a church - saying Christmas. And Christmas trees. Could this point to the craziness of faster and faster fashion cycles (though Morrisons - fashion - what gives)? Or the crassness of over-consumption expanding into every crevice of ordinary life? Or the commercialisation of  religion hits rock bottom?

Or maybe I am just over-reacting (just tell me I am over-reacting....)

Duchamp at the Barbican

The Barbican - which must have two of the most 'difficult-to-use' art gallery spaces in London - is currently showing an exhibition linking the work of Marcel Duchamp, Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg, Merce Cunningham and John Cage; all connected and often explicitly referring to each other in their works. Called the Bride and the Bachelors (and running until 6th June 2013) the show has been orchestrated by artist Phillipe Parreno, to include soundscapes and dance performances, with the aim of moving beyond conventional art curation.

The work - of course - is just fab (well actually beyond fab), and it's nice to have dance interludes and musical accompaniment to an art show. But for all the cleverness of its idea the setting left me cold. Because the captions and wall texts are just the same old same old - dry as dust curatorial explanations of who met who when, and detailed documentation (proof?) of individual borrowings and influences in each case. Nothing taking us beyond the selected group, or having a richer, less interfering, relationship to the works. Surely taking art curation past its intense focus on the visual and the textual needs more than just adding a few 'haptic' activities to an otherwise completely standard mix?

Image from Zimbio  

pop

More music, this time experimental pop (gypsy punk?) at cafe oto, a really lovely, very relaxed venue. Le Volume Courbe/Volume Curve is the band of french-born, london-based Charlotte Marionneau, and like Ichi - in attitude not musical style - makes me feel quite optimistic about the future of contemporary popular music beyond the manufactured mainstream.

city bingo 1: all those dog-walkers

We used to play a game in Moscow called city bingo. The aim was to suggest things that were deeply specific to that particular place, but not so common that you ended up spotting them all the time. Both surprisingly easy and difficult to do. Well, now I am going to start for London. And it has to be something to do with parks and dogs. In my local park, having a dog is a deeply social activity; in fact is mainly an excuse for a lot of chatting.

(And the careful collecting of dog shit in little plastic bags seems quite a 'London' thing too.)

magic

Have been finding difficult to post, hence the months long gap: not quite sure what my 'voice' is/should be (which is another way of saying that I don't quite know why or what I am writing). Coming back to London is such a return to the familiar and complacent - lacking the everyday strangeness that was one of the great joys of living in Moscow - that it is easy to barely notice what is going on, or find it interesting enough to pass on.

But then. But then. Find myself (almost by accident) at theVortex in Dalston watching and listening to Ichi. And it reminds me what is brilliant about living in London. Which is that at some point most things weird, eccentric and wonderful do end up here. Ichi is a Japanese musician who arrives on stage on stilts, one of which converts into a banjo/double bass; whose central instrument is a steel drum, supported by an un-expected array of (musical) household objects and hilarious looking but beautifully sounding home-made instruments. This alternative percussion is then matched by an extraordinary voice and songs about miscellaneous nonsense ("this song  is about a toaster..") which are also gorgeous to listen to.

He is just SO of the moment; a mix up of sophistication, naivety, innovative energy, high seriousness and ironic foolishness.

And I laughed all night.

I should note that Ichi was opening for Richard Dawson, who was also has a very singular style: just so fond of folk music, however raucous or sweaty.

bonfire wars

Brilliantly thrilling - and slightly scary - bonfire night here, with one huge impromptu firework display piled up on some sand in the middle of the estate, and then what can only be described as firework wars between large numbers of children/teenagers not only throwing fireworks at each other but picking up thrown fireworks and running around with them.

some joy

Definitely using the weather as an excuse to eat cakes - and where better to go, if you live in North London than Ottolenghis? If you can bear the everyday scrum that is yummy mummies, creative professionals and ladies who lunch. 

christmas!

Surprisingly excited by Christmas this year, although still find it early for the decorations to be up in Oxford and Regent Streets. Trying not to go on about the weather, but the unlit decs - sponsored by marmite - are a symphony in monochrome with the sky.

halloween (not)

Halloween has been and gone, with plenty of dressing up in the usual fashion (cue ghoulish laughter.) My neighbour however - who also comes in the eccentric category - chose to dress up as his former self, a teddy boy. In the original jacket he has had since his twenties. Respect. 

the man who would not move up the bus

Living elsewhere I learnt to copy 'normal' behaviour for crowds, queueing and using public transport (chaotic, pushy, very closely packed yet also quietly supportive in the case of Moscow). But back in London, I find this is bringing out the worse, as my inner grumpy middle-class english woman returns to dominance.

So I cannot believe how unhelpful people are on crowded buses and trains. I am one of those who bossily asks people to move up (which I now notice has been turned into a recorded public announcement on the buses, since drivers clearly hate to actually talk to their passengers.)

So, here is a bit of naming and shaming for the man who stood resolutely blocking the - relatively empty - back of the bus; thereby ignoring the morning rush-hour crowds stuck outside in the drizzle, as we went from stop to stop without letting anyone on.

grey grey grey

I knew I would find English weather the hardest thing to get used to, now I am back. Another completely monochrome grey sky all day, with that milky light that makes you feel your eyesight is going.

Oh, and of course, matching fine drizzle. (There should be another word besides drizzle for this kind of rain; so fine as to be almost non-existent and yet penetratingly wet. A friend says that in Turkey they call it fool's sprinkler...)