The final day of my stay in London began with a sky looking a tad grey. Having arisen around 8:30, the forecast on Breakfast was for a slight improvement, but not much. All in all, the weather’s been quite un-London-in-October, really and one cannot complain in the slightest.

“Palace of Westminster, London” by I.A.M.

After the usual trip down to Caffé Nero for breakfast and e-mail, I arrange to go on a walk along Southbank with Christopher Fowler, who’s been so very good to me over the past week, sharing both his love of people and what is probably the city with the most complicated historical and cultural structure of many World Capitals. There’s probably others who are more complicated in both those ways, but this is certainly the most fascinating of places I’ve ever been. Granted, people often say one ought to get out more.

We meet, and then take the tube to London Bridge Station. Only after emerging from the gloom does one realize that at some point we travelled under the Thames. Slightly disoriented, we head into a market where things have been sold and bought for literally hundreds of years. Mr. Fowler tells me of the re-discovery of Porter Ale’s recipe which was solely due to a barrel of the stuff which was found at the bottom of the river but hadn’t leaked a drop (being surrounded by water probably kept the wood swollen enough to maintain the seal, for a start). After some boffin did some chemical analysis of the beer inside, then discounted some bits due to things gathering mould and so on due to age, proper Porter Ale was once again in production after years of ‘best guess’ versions. Having enjoyed that form of beer myself for years, it’s fascinating to hear that it was very nearly lost altogether. How good that the old becomes new once more.

“Southbank Promenade, London, UK” by I.A.M.

The walk along south bank of the Thames [image, right] is now completely accessible by wheelchair and scooter, much to some complaints regarding replacement of the old stairs with ‘new fangled ramps’ and slow inclines. Mr. Fowler points out the obvious advantage is that older citizens now may easily go for a wheel along the river of an afternoon, if they so wish, and indeed there’s many a person seen doing so as we walk. Additionally, a large number of nearby apartment developments have been designed specifically for ‘mature residents’. “Suddenly people are able to have the time to enjoy things like this,” he says, waving to the beautiful and spacious areas, “and then, because there’s some stairs in the way they can’t go there? Where’s the sense in that, I ask you!” Apparently many of the shop keepers along the river walk complained about the ‘modernization plan’ as well. How stupid are they, one wonders, to refuse to see the logic in having more people able to visit the shops previously on the other side of impenetrable staircases. It’s as if some people’s cash is preferred over others’! Logically, these days at least, anyone’s money is welcomed if not down-right yearned for by the average retailer.

Shortly after leaving the tube station, we stop in at Southwark Cathedral, a beautiful place of worship, and examined the mosaic in the entrance way as a memorial to a boating party who were lost in the river a few decades ago. While you can drown in as little as four inches of water or thereabouts, it the Thames seems so innocuous when you look upon it. “Everyone forgets how powerful it is”, he tells me. “Every year someone gets pissed and then decides to swim across to get home instead of heading to a bridge or bus line. Inevitably, they have to be fished out of the water when they get pushed down stream and are unable to get out of the claw of the currents’ grasp. Remember, that river has a tide! It’s terribly cold when you get toward the bottom as well! You’re never in control on the water; it controls you!”

I look again at the water, and wonder what else is at the bottom that has yet to offer up its secrets of the past. Probably most of the crap down there is a combination of every version of shopping trolleys made during the past millennium.

We pass the HMS Golden Hinde quickly, pausing only long enough for me to grab a quick photo of it. Shortly thereafter Mr. Fowler tells me of a wall which was discovered, in a bizarre turn of events, inside a wall. For some reason about a century or so ago, someone decided to build their new wall using an old one as a kind of shoring material, and encased the old one inside the new, where it remained until a building project was taking down the outer wall to reveal the one inside. The stained glass window in the original, inner wall is being refurbished and will be placed in roughly the same spot and at the same height as it was years ago before it was hidden away. And again, the old is re-discovered and made fresh again.

Does one see a pattern building here? There are no new bits of London, just old ones that have been hidden for a while awaiting re-emergence.

“Dali Meets Palace of Westminster, London” (idea c/o C. Fowler, Gentleman Author)

We pass the Globe Theatre shortly thereafter and nearly miss the thing. It’s so un-assuming and restrained in calling attention to its existence. Had it been New York City, there’s be some huge neon monstrosity on the roof flashing “World Famous Globe Theatre! Visit History! See Birthplace of Culture! Be Elizabethan for a Day!” Thank Christ this is England.

Right next to the Globe is a really old building and — here the memory gets dodgy — it’s the oldest building in Britain (or, possibly, London) which is still in private hands… or the oldest still owned by the same family… or something. Next to it is an alley,which is now closed, but what that detail in my notes means is something that’s disappeared. Answers on a postcard, please…

On we head to the west and the Tate Gallery of Modern Art, the great showroom of art which some decry as ‘tripe’ and others declare ‘the brilliance of cutting edge creativity’. I’m not sure where I stand, frankly; when something has an effect upon me, that qualifies as “good” right off the bat.

We strolled through the Generator Room (the building was a power station originally, after all) where a massive piece is viewed with multi-brightly coloured metal bunk-bed frames are set up in rows, some with books on them, and a couple with little radios playing odd sounds. On the rear wall are projected snippets of odd films, including one which was quite possibly from Fahrenheit 451°: a massive library-sized collection of books are blown-up, the camera showing the view from far above them, as they fly both up and apart in slow-motion. It’s a striking image, one which speaks of both the physical and spiritual destruction of society and its ability to provide a structure and collective existence.

Far too heavy, this. Time to bugger off and find something fun! [see image above, left] Read the rest of this entry »