Some sort of learning at the British Museum

I recently went to the British museum for the first time ever. What a great place! When you arrive you know it's special. It's in the type of building that has droves of tourists outside taking selfies in front of it. I have no idea if the architecture is as significant as it looks because what's inside is even more distracting. The British Museum basically houses everything we Brits ever stole from another country as we expanded our empire throughout the world.

Did I make full use of this fantastic resource and learn extensively about all the relics of rich culture around the globe? No. Well, maybe sort of.

During the course of that museum visit, I came to develop a theory that one's experience of an exhibit depends entirely on who you go with. I just so happened to be there with  Jess (who you may remember from the aqua aerobics class). We are two highly energetic and distractable souls, so happy to see each other that we couldn't stop talking long enough to read any of the placards in the building. In this way we educated each other about everything we saw. I told her all I knew about Roman coinage and she taught me about the Rosetta stone. Neither of us knew much about mummies so we swept through the Egypt section and speculated briefly. Sometimes if something was particularly  interesting, we would read half the placard, usually out loud in order to share the information with the other (and stop them from talking!) When you look at a sign and a particular word jumps out, that's how you know you've found the half worth reading. If you're wrong, you'll never know. Sometimes we stood in front of the sign, intending to read it, but couldn't get to a suitable point to pause our conversation and so just generally got in the way.

One of my favourite stories was the Elgin marbles (a great game - I suggest you ask a member of museum staff how to play). Apparently Greece want them back but we keep telling them that the marbles are too delicate to move and so for many years now we've been bound to keep them in the British museum. Our lies were then totally blown open when we took the marbles on a tour of Russia. That's awkward! But our blushes were spared as the Greeks then accidentally blew up the Parthenon (an old building storing old Greek treasures and, apparently, gunpowder) so now we tell them that they are too irresponsible to have their marbles back and we'll be keeping them safe in the British museum for the foreseeable future. At least, that is my recollection of Jess' version of events and with a story like that who cares for an alternative?!

The Elgin Marbles. To be honest, they're already broken.

Loving what we're seeing. Don't know what it is.

It's the type of architecture that tourists take selfies with.

Every Londoner should know about The Euston Tap

This post is not a narrative for once, but instead I have to write and report a fantastic new discovery, which I feel I should have learnt about within my first week in London. I can't believe it's taken me nearly 18 months to find the Euston Tap and I now feel obliged to spread the word! One very serious blog post coming up...The Tap impressed me for several reasons. Firstly it seems to be built inside a monument reminiscent or marble arch in style. Secondly it serves pints for under £4 (which is a big deal in London) and thirdly the graffiti in the toilets is so amusing that I must have been in there for a good 10 minutes just reading it. As you would imagine, the place is full of hipsters who are quite friendly (they have to be, it's cosy) and also very beardy.

So if you haven't already been, here's another bar for your London bucket list.

Some sort of Victorian gatehouse.
Don't be put off by my crummy photography

Some self (re)discovery up London's Monument

Oh my gosh! I've just been up the monument at Monument. I think my legs are still shaking.

Initially I'd never thought to question how the tube stop got its name, so was slightly surprised to discover that an actual monument existed (it does make sense though) and even more surprised to find you could go inside. I mean, look at it, it looks like it's made of solid stone! But, as I now know, there's a little door hidden at the back. Inside are an awful lot of steps that go up in a tight spiral. I started climbing these with a great gusto that had thoroughly worn off by the 200 step mark. At this point I looked over the banister to see how I was doing and realised that I was afraid of heights. Also I was a long way up on a flimsy looking staircase. It's horrible to think about how much stone vs thin air is under your feet!

When you get up to the top the view is great. You can see quite far in all directions and get a good view of Tower Bridge off to the South West. However, my capacity to appreciate any of this was severely compromised by vertigo, which had kicked in like a bucking bronco giving up heroin. It was extremely windy up there and I had an irrational feeling that I might blow off the viewing platform if I didn't hold on to the wall. Why didn't I remember this fact about myself before climbing the massive tower!?! It would be a highly relevant fact for someone to recall when gazing up at the massive pillar they're about to climb (something that I'd only done about 10 minutes before). I suppose I haven't been off the ground in anything less rickety than a large passenger aeroplane in so long that I'd forgotten it might be an issue.

There's a scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere climbs up the fire escape to Julia Roberts' room to give her flowers. His character is afraid of heights and keeps holding on to the wall. I remember wondering what on earth he was up to when I first watched it but I've now become that person!

Gere puts the Roses in his mouth so as to use both hands to hold onto the wall.
Very sensible.

The view from the top is excellent, but you do have to let go of the wall if you want to take pictures of it.

It feels like there is an almost infinite number of steps (seriously, can you see the bottom here?) My advice: don't look down! Taking photos like this is an extremely bad idea as it is likely to cause you to realise how high up you are, sending unhelpful survival instincts into overdrive.

When I got down they gave me a certificate of achievement to show I'd climbed the 311 steps to the top. To me it was so much more - proof I'd kept calm (and successfully held on to the wall) 50 meters high. I'll consider framing it.

If you would also like to have a go at climbing the monument and finding out if you too have a fear of heights it costs £4 and is right next to Monument tube station on the district, circle & northern lines.

Be a tourist in your own city...but don't visit tower bridge

Tower Bridge is one of London's greatest landmarks and worst tourist attractions. Can someone please shut down its visitor centre to save Londoners the embarrassment?

The view from the top is similar to any other bridge in London, only you pay £9 for the privilege

You might think that its overpriced views are excusable, and that interesting information on the famous structure would more than compensate. Yes, I thought  that too, only it turns out there wasn't any!!

There are a limited number of facts provided, but the staff haven't managed to memorise them yet in order to impart the knowledge to guests. One member told us that 4 million rivets were used in the making of the bridge. A second told us there were only 2 million used. Frankly I didn't care how many rivets had been used until it dawned on me that I was standing on a bridge with 2 million of them missing!

The exhibition feels like it has been made by someone who doesn't like Tower Bridge very much and doesn't want to draw any attention to it. I can't help but wonder if some of the displays were actually donated by another museum that was having a clear out. Subjects include: the role of institutions in London; the role of Women in London; the role of Philanthropy in London. We already have Wikipedia for this and it's free!

Throughout the exhibition there is an evident determination not to tell you anything about the landmark that you have come to see. Makers of the exhibition are so desperate to achieve this that they have resorted to listing the types of fish in the Thames. Not depicting them. Not describing or conveying any type of information. Just listing the names of the fish. In Latin and in English

There is a quiz machine where you can chose a range of subjects. All are totally unrelated to tower bridge. e.g. The wives of Henry VIII

Happily, a little information about the bridge is provided but it is not particularly useful (or interesting!). The bridge is made of metal. Mechanical power is used to open the bridge...No shit Sherlock!

Such is their desperation not to tell you anything about tower bridge, that facts and pictures of all sorts of other bridges in the world are provided. Although information is quite brief, it is interesting and well chosen. I can't help but wonder why on earth tower bridge is not included in this display. Instead you're tantalised with all the very interesting bridges in the world which you are not currently visiting.

This is actually a real shame because the bridge should be interesting. It has some great heritage and some interesting stories. For instance a bus once jumped the gap between the two halves as it was raised unexpectedly and the driver chose to accelerate over the gap. It fell several feet and some passengers had to go to hospital but no one was seriously injured. The bus driver was given a £10 reward. There was also chaos once when Blair and Clinton crossed the bridge, but their security escort were stuck on the other side as a ship came along and the bridge was raised. Our security forces went nuts thinking that there was some kind of conspiracy to assassinate both leaders at once but the 'bridge driver' refused to lower the bridge to let them cross because 'them's the rules'. In the visitor centre both of these stories are mentioned...but in a single sentence: "a bus jumped the bridge and a president was held up". You actually learn more about the bridge by going on a tour of general London (I know this because one of my house mates was doing that that while I was in the visitor centre and he told me both stories when we got home)

There is a selfie mirror on the ceiling above the glass floor. So if that's your thing it might be a redeeming feature. Lots of people sit or lie down in order to get a better picture and it is quite amusing watching grown adults do this.

Fight through tourists to take your photo on the glass floor. For us it was Chinese, but  you can chose any type of tourist you like.

This was my favourite part of the exhibition. I have no idea what it has to do with Tower Bridge. Frankly I no longer care. As art goes, it's a fun picture.

If you are visiting London, my advice is to go on a tour of the East End's street art, make sure you try some interesting food (Ethiopian is a current favourite) and the British museum is also worth a visit. Hyde park rowing boats in summer are great. Go to parliament, watch a debate in action. Get a workout climbing the monument at monument.  Or use a discount website to get some cheap theatre tickets and make the most of the West End. There are loads of options. Just, whatever you do, don't visit Tower Bridge!

Aqua aerobics at Virgin Active

I was supposed to be having a day of Christmas card writing and sleep when I got a message asking if I might like to come to a fitness centre instead (of course I would). My friend (Jess) had got 2 induction sessions at Virgin Active which meant that we could use all the facilities for free as long as we pretended to be interested in becoming members (although if I’m honest, when we learnt that there’s a 90s disco dance class in which they turn the lights out and give everyone glow sticks, we very nearly were interested).

It felt a bit voyeuristic being shown around the gym while feigning enthusiasm. My favourite part was spotting a woman on a leg exercising machine while totally engrossed in a novel from the waist up. What we really wanted was for the tour to be over so we could go swimming.

Eventually it was and, once changed, we shuffled out of the changing rooms in our brightly coloured bikinis (feeling a little self-conscious because all the serious gym-goers were in black one-piece costumes manufactured by speedo). More awkwardly still, we found we’d shuffled into the wrong room and were standing in a busy stairwell. The place was like a maze! You don’t really want to be lost in your swimwear though, it’s quite a compromising time to walk into inappropriate rooms. Someone pointed us in the right direction which was relatively helpful and (after another unintentional foray into a deserted corridor) I followed Jess into the pool room. She was looking over her shoulder, talking to me and reversed straight into a very toned, good looking Asian guy wearing nothing but a small towel around his waist. He seemed alarmed but I thought it might make my day.

After doing the obligatory few introductory lengths in the pool we spotted an aqua aerobics class a few swim lanes over and decided to join in. A lot of the ladies were taking it very seriously but we were not (perhaps me least of all because I had left my glasses in the changing rooms, couldn’t see a thing and was making up a good 60% of the manoeuvres). Our instructor didn’t seem to mind though – I suppose as long as she sees a lot of happy ladies exercising enthusiastically then the class is a success. A new level of glee was reached when ‘good Christian men rejoice’ came on and it was announced that we were to do some sort of barn dance/ceilidh. I can’t get enough of those on land let alone in the water! As it turns out, this is not an easy thing to do in a swimming pool as you move at half the speed owing to the water resistance, which in turn means it takes twice as long to correct your mistakes (which should be numerous, or you’re not having enough fun). There was a lot of splashing and a lot of giggling (from one particular dance pair, who couldn’t believe their luck at ending up in a swimming pool barn dance). Whenever the dance allowed us to get close enough, we'd continue our conversation. The conclusion of which was that when you reach an age whereby you can no longer muster an enthusiasm for clubbing, you go to aqua aerobics classes instead. This fulfils a basic human need to laugh and dance at the same time.

You might think it would have been funny to be a fly on the wall during this scene, but there’s a group of middle aged men on exercise bikes who went one better than that. One wall of their gym is made of glass and overlooks the swimming pool. I do find that slightly weird, but it’s hardly worth worrying about.

After this strenuous class we went to the sauna. I didn’t think I liked saunas (the air is so hot it’s almost dense and so they make me feel claustrophobic) but once inside I changed my mind. I actually found the sauna quite a funny place. It reminded me of the London underground. Everyone sits in extremely close proximity but we all do so in silence, as if no one else was there. Only in the sauna they’re all wearing speedos (going one up on the underground) and of course no one comments on the weirdness of the scenario. The steam room was a bit better in this sense and seemed to feature wearers of longer shorts. But the bubble pool was best of all.

Christmas at Portsmouth Historic Dockyard

There are few things that please quite so many senses at once as a warm cup of, deep red, spicy smelling, Christmassy tasting mulled wine. It's a shame the thing doesn't make any noise - then it'd have all 5 senses covered!

Portsmouth historic dockyard was so full of Christmas this weekend that whatever your trigger, you couldn't help get into the Christmas spirit. Rosie, Cara and I went round the Christmas market buying ill advised Christmas presents (Cheese - What a terrible idea! Now I'm going to have to keep it in the fridge (which I share with 3 others) until late December. Probably gift wrapped); we were buffeted by flurries of fluffy white snow (which ranged from a light dusting to an intense blizzard depending on how near to the snow machine you were); we also listened to some sea shanties; saw all sorts of characters attending the fair in Victorian dress, including street urchins singing songs from Oliver and a couple of French sea admirals swanning about (it was as if there were a finite number of costumes in the box and all had been used on this occasion including the 'Scottish orchestra' outfits). Come darkness we got lost in a maze of aromatic Christmas trees beautifully adorned with fairy lights which led us to the ships.
It would have been foolish at this point not to take the opportunity to walk around the Mary Rose (which I was disappointed to find isn't actually fit to be trodden on as it sunk in rather a spectacular fashion a long time ago in not the kind of way that can be restored). However by the time I left I was quite convinced that the recovery of said ship may have been the most significant archaeological  find since the pyramids (although it's questionable whether these were ever lost in the first place). In particular I was fascinated to learn about the process by which we can work out who someone was based on examining their skeleton - apparently we can recreate a facial likeness good enough for friends and family to recognise in 60% of cases (which puts Bones into perspective for any fans of the TV series). I was considering the way in which the likeness of one reconstructed man was felt to be particularly good because he had an outstandingly distinctive nose, which is silly because skeletons don't have noses, when all the screens in the museum shut down in a not-so-subtle hint that it was time to leave. What a shame, now I'll never know where reconstructed noses come from.

This disappointment did not last long as we were distracted by the prospect of a ride on the merry-go-round. apparently Rosie had never been on one before. It was all a merry-go-round should be, only maybe brighter, faster and generally better (or possibly I just went to lower budget fairs as a child).

As I left it was getting dark. So for the first time I noticed that someone (horrendously brave and good at climbing inadvisable objects) had arranged fairly lights in the shape of a Christmas tree in the rigging of the Victory. It looked beautiful in the dark night. Portsmouth 1, Oxford Street 0.

All in all, I've decided that Christmas should start as soon as possible because it's the best part of winter. Nowadays I've come to realise that the run up is more fun than the day itself and so should be embraced as such. Also, no one serves you mulled wine in January, even though it's cold, so you have to make the most of it when  you can get it. Let's all throw ourselves into the Christmas spirit now!

What marks the start of Christmas for you?

It was all a merry-go-round should be, only maybe brighter

Someone had put Christmas lights in the rigging of the Victory

Argentinian cuisine : proceed with caution

After work I went to see Bill at an Argentinian restaurant called Moo on brick lane. I don't think I've ever had Argentinian food before so I was quite excited. I ordered something off the menu called Salachichi* or something like that, reassured by my trusty mantra that it's always a good sign when you can't pronounce what you're ordering, it means you're expanding your food repertoire. I was vaguely expecting something classically Argentinian that was to come with guacamole (which now I come to think about it, should have made me suspicious, but didn't). What then arrived was a VERY large sausage! It looked distinctly German (an unexpected cultural influence to be sure). The type of low grade knockwurst that could be vegetarian and you wouldn't know. I'd also misjudged the sides and ended up with both chips and mash. I can no longer remember what part of ordering unknown items off menus is sensible!

*Turns out it's called a 'Salchicha' - I looked this up in case any aficionados judged me!

The most upsetting cinema trip

One of the things I enjoyed most today was going to the cinema with the girls to see Suffragette! Our age means we get in for £5 at the Barbican and so we basically couldn't go wrong from there. To my disappointment the film turned out not to be feel good comedy as I'd expected (like Made in Dagenham) but an emotional roller coaster that had us laughing and then crying to such an extent that I began to fear for the safety of my contact lenses. We all came out with very different opinions of it too. Rebecca and Tash felt a sense of righteous indignation and believed that it was a film everyone ought to see. However I had a number of issues with it. Firstly I felt that the main characters marriage wasn't very convincing. It fell apart so easily. Secondly I wondered why our heroine kept going to feminist meets when she didn't believe in the cause at first - that behaviour made her life very complicated! Third I wondered whether they glamorised violence a bit and overplayed the roe of media attention. After all, if violence really was all that effective then the IRA would be respectable by now and if press  coverage were that big a deal then fathers for justice would have justice by now. I kind of felt that there was more story that didn't get told. Yes a woman died in front of a racehorse but (aside from the question of whether the rider survived) it's not clear how this translated into votes then or my ability to buy a cinema ticket using my own money today. Tash says that's the point, the story isn't over yet. To be fair, that's one thing the film did really well. There was so much we wanted to talk about afterwards and I've been thinking about it all week. It's struck me that since the film industry is one of the most unequal industries today, this is an ironic meta study of inequality. In fact I've found the film so thought provoking that I've started recommending it to people. This in itself is a great reason to see it.

Needoo Curry House

This evening after work we were supposed to go to the increasingly famous curry place Tayyabs. It's in the 'up and coming' backstreets of Whitechappel. They feel pretty rough but I suppose that this must be what brick lane was like before it 'up and came'. However, I spoiled all of our plans by not managing to leave work on time. It was 7pm before I got away and by the time I arrived, Tayyabs, which by now has a reputation for itself, was full, with queuers loitering between the tables. As such we went to the spin off restaurant around the corner. Needoo was apparently founded by a rogue waiter after an altercation at Tayyabs. From the outside it looked so seedy that we nearly didn't go in but it was by now so late that we were hungry enough to risk it. All in all I'm glad we did. There were no people queuing in awkward places, the service was exceptionally fast and there was giant cutlery mounted on the wall which amused me. If anything the food was actually too authentic as Sam and Joe struggled with the spice. All the dishes were said to be 'medium' so there was no way out for the faint hearted, unless you are preprepared order from the less authentic 'chicken tikka masala' section of the menu, which no one was. We speculated that even the mint sauce had a kick to it and had to call in emergency yoghurt. I personally quite liked it but must admit that the level of spice did stop me from comparing the 4 dishes we'd ordered as they all tasted of 'robust heat' to me. In a nice way. Sam disagreed, but then he had begun an affliction of wild heat-induced hiccups.

Posh kebabs?!

I was so tired by the time I left work this evening that I couldn't decide what to do about food. I even texted mum to tell her this, which is a reflection of the extent to which I totally wasn't functioning! (This also made me worry (briefly) about the content of the emails that I'd been sending before leaving the office!) Anyway, I ended up going to get a 'posh Kebab' at a shop called Chifafa. This is something I've been meaning to try for a while - There is everything intriguing about an oxymoronic concept like that. The problem is that I was then too worn out to develop a comprehensive opinion on the matter! The 'medium' level of spice was significantly more lively than it was mediocre and I'm not sure if I can ever feel indulged while eating meat wrapped in bread - it's not really that far removed from a glorified sandwich. On the other hand it was significantly better than the kebabs I was served in Istanbul at the weekend; the meat was properly BBQ-ed and it wasn't served out of a polystyrene tray but a foil wrap (like any self respecting burrito). No one could accuse it of being a greasy late night option for desperadoes (not least because the shop shuts at 9pm).  This synopsis seems to have covered everything but taste. The problem is that I like eating, most things taste good to me and this was no exception. Certainly it was good enough to go back another day. In my wretchedly tired state I then slipped into some sort of philosophical stupor. Can a kebab ever be up-market? Is it really enough to put good quality ingredients in or is it by nature a squalid supper. Then, even if it is posh, is it ever any good?! I never did answer these questions, I think they may be the basis of hardcore philosophy. The next time someone tries to draw me in on politics or God I'm going to ask them if they think a kebab can ever be posh. That'll stump them!