Month: September 2011

The British Museum is so huge, we’d need to live a year in this place to do it justice. Today my suspicions that the British were the greatest thieves in history was confirmed. The British Museum in full of booty – marbles, gold, bronzes, gold, urns, gold, mummies, gold, skeletons, gold, Easter Island statues, gold, totem poles, gold – the list goes on.

The rich stole riches from other cultures and put them on display and then became famous for their plundering, and the poor stole trifles from the rich who stole riches, and were sent to Australia.

We were pleased to see the Elgin marbles, that he removed from the Parthenon, seeing we missed them in Greece. They were displayed in a room especially built show them off to the public. It’s a pity the curators haven’t realised there is another building in Athens that would display them more truthfully. The Roman, Greek and Egyptian rooms ate into our day and the small bronzes, Cretan urns, Egyptian funerary objects and paintings from various robbed tombs particularly caught my interest.

We finished off our visit in the Mayan and Aztec room where square metre stone slabs were carved with intricate designs. They were fascinating and I took sketches and photos galore.

London is a huge, fascinating city and has so much to offer and I envy Tom who is about to spend a good deal of time here to explore.

Last night we took a tube to Leicester Square and saw an excellent play, A Dish of Tea with Mr Johnson, which we saw advertised at Dr Johnson’s House. Lots of wit, humour and history in a small theatre with good seats made for a great night. Sharon has certainly experienced a lot of her Boswell connections on this trip and the play was a highlight for us both. Boswell on stage! Theatres, bars, restaurants on every corner around Leicester Square made for a bustling and bright night.

We are off to Kent tomorrow to visit Kate, Tony’s sister we met in Ireland. She is taking us to Chislehurst Caves which we are looking forward to.

A relaxing day today. After a ride to Westminster, we took the boat down the Thames under the bridges, past the Tower past millions of apartments where the docks used to be, past the Globe theatre, past the few pubs they have left perched above little gravelly beaches, to Greenwich. The Londoner giving the commentary asked us all if anyone could understand his brand of English. He was quite amusing. The Greenwich Observatory was up the hill so we strolled through the gardens where the trees were beginning to yellow and drop their leaves. We saw the time ball drop, took the obligatory photo of the feet in both hemispheres and spent an hour (Greenwich mean time) looking at Harrison’s, Kendall’s and Arnold’s clocks from the 1700s. Fascinating. Off to the Arts Theatre in the West End shortly. Will have to go and polish the camping boots.

While having breakfast, we met a young woman in a cafe. She had been looking over my shoulder at the sketches in my book and asked if I was an artist and when I said I just dabble, I had to explain myself. It turned out she was a sculptor which brought back memories of my efforts and my “dog’s head” in France. She takes books like mine when she travels and does as I do, sketch, doodle and dabble. She’s off to Prague to teach sculpture, bronzes. I want to be her pupil!

That inspired us to visit the National Gallery and the Portrait Gallery. Sharon found the Joshua Reynolds painting of Boswell which made her quite happy. She slapped my wrist when I took a forbidden photo of her admiring it. The Gallery is too large for just our short visit so we confined ourselves to the Dutch Masters, some Elizabethan paintings, the Van Goghs and Gauguins and some Venetian artists. I took some sketches. no photos allowed!

We made our way to Fleet Street (I haven’t read a newspaper for months) and had a drink in The Olde Cheshire Cheese, a pub from 1667. Terry Seymour, the man we met at Auchinleck House in Scotland, recommended we visit Dr Johnson’s House, the author of the first dictionary. The curator was quite surprised to learn that Sharon was Boswell’s ggggg granddaughter and insisted she write a message in the guest book.

We sat in St Pauls as the afternoon wore on and admired its grandeur. We’re off to the theatre tomorrow night, (please say this with a plum in your mouth) so will have a quiet day off the bike on the river to Greenwich. That’s the plan, anyway.