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| Inside the Wallace Collection |
(I’ve gotten cards, letter, telegrams and missives asking me about the title of this series. It is unrelated to the song by The Clash which I’m unfamiliar with. Here’s where it comes from: “The phrase “London Calling” is a reference to BBC reports that were broadcast during the darkest periods of World War II. 'This is London Calling,,' a voice would say, before delivering the news to people who worried about their very survival amid the most destructive war in human history.” Or so says Wikipedia.)
That was fun.
Nice to be back home with the missus who’s healing nicely from her injury. I’m not ashamed to say that it was difficult being apart, me having grown so used to and happy with her company.
It was a very good trip highlighted by the Arsenal match and everything surrounding it. My last full day was Tuesday. I went to see the Wallace Collection which, as they say on their website, is: “a national museum housing unsurpassed masterpieces of painting, sculpture, furniture, arms and armour, and porcelain.” The museum used to be the house of a bloke named (drum roll) Wallace, who compiled a fantastic collection of art.
I happened to be there when they had their daily “highlights” tour. The tour was led by Maggie Smith’s cousin or at least someone who could play her in a biopic. She was so very prim, proper and British. Definitely someone’s stern but kind aunt and perhaps a grandmother as well. She lives for tea. She also knows one helluva lot about everything in the museum and all the origin stories. She knows the gossip of the Wallace clan and shared it and some was even juicy but coming from the dowager it came across as racy as Queen Victoria. As it was the lady rambled on too much. Much too much. She was still yapping away when I broke away after the designated hour was up. Fully half the others who started the tour had already taken their leave.
There was an incredible amount to see and wonder at. Great artists, great craftsmanship, great wealth. Paintings, sculptures, candelabras, furniture and a knick knack or two. I bloody love a good museum and the Wallace is right up there even if their tour guides need editors.
That and walking about was pretty much the day. I had a great final dinner at an Italian restaurant called Bella Italia on Queensway in Winchester. Check it out.
Yesterday I got to the airport ridiculously early given that I — as is always the case in such circumstances — had a book handy, this was not a problem.
The flight seemed excruciatingly long because I stayed awake for all but about 45 minutes of it, wanting to be tired enough at home to get back into sleeping at the right time. I’m damn good at fighting jet lag. I tried the in-flight video fare and will now return to ignoring it. Piffle.
My least favorite part of my journey was the two times I stood at the baggage carousel waiting for my suitcase. I live with a dread fear of lost luggage. Returning home the experience was made worse by the fact that we were sent to the wrong carousel. I then took the BART ride from hell back to the Easy Bay followed by an Uber ride with a driver who couldn’t be bothered by helping a passenger with his luggage. Hmph.
One of the things that most impressed me on this trip was how very nice all the Brits I encountered were. Very helpful, especially at tube stations, but really at anyplace where one deals with the public. I love London and the UK in general though as I write this I realize I’ve a lot more to see of the island.
I hope to do it soon.
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At night alone in the apartment I needed company so naturally turned to Netflix (Hulu doesn’t work over there). At younger daughter’s recommendation I watched Baby Reindeer which has been quite the popular show.
It should be.
You probably know that this seven-part series concerns a British comic who is being stalked by a portly older woman. You may also know that it’s based on a true story which only makes the telling more remarkable.
I was blown away by the story which is much more layered that I’d imagined. One of its themes is obsession. Many of my favorite films center around an obsessive character. Such stories are naturally cinematic. It’s also about loneliness, sexual desire, sexual confusion, anger, revenge, compulsion and more such as mental illness which we all have dalliances with in one form or another. The amazing thing about Baby Reindeer is that I’ve had nothing like the main character’s experiences but I related to virtually everything he went through. How is that? I’ve never been stalked or sexually abused, nor dated a transsexual nor lived with my ex-girlfriend’s mother, yet as I watched his struggles I kept relating to them, him and even those around him. That’s a direct consequence of first class storytelling but also suggests the universality of certain themes and feelings that we experience in different forms. The story reminded me of a relationship with a woman I had in my early twenties that was seemingly unhealthy for both of us, but did us no harm and helped us make sense of ourselves. The woman was then a closeted lesbian, we sometimes slept together out of shared loneliness. When her younger sister visited town I seduced her and they both were in love with me. It was always so complicated between us. It had very little to do with Baby Reindeer but everything was exactly the same. I love a show/film that brings up feelings and makes me think and makes me wonder and makes me reflect and ponder. What a great series.
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