Unwinding in the London Summer

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Having spent the summer that I lived here traipsing around the continent, putting on as much weight as I could humanly manage whilst on a gastronomical tour of Italy, France, Slovenia and Croatia, this time around I settled upon spending a few weeks of the summer in London. One night I was walking to a pub in Notting Hill to see a friend from my teenage years spent in Ballarat and, lo and behold, who should be walking towards me but none other than Jimmy Page! I did an about-face as he entered a restaurant to my right, felt giddy and realised that I was wearing the grin of an inbred half-wit who just experienced for the first time the rush gained from drinking his uncle-daddy's moonshine. With the classic Led Zeppelin riff from Kashmir flooding my mind, it was in an exulted state of ecstasy that I charged into the bar and ordered a pint from the barman of the tastiest London ale he had on tap. My friend arrived a few minutes later to find me holding an empty pint glass and in a jubilant state. Naturally, it was back to the bar for a second helping of dark ale and to begin catching up on what life had presented us with over the nine years that had passed since we had last seen each other.

I have spent my days languidly unwinding and escaping the southern winter by reading books and plays that have been on my 'To Read' list for far too long now. The usual setting for this consisted of lying on a picnic rug in Kensington Gardens, overlooking the pond and interspersed with drinking freshly squeezed orange juice under the arcing path of the sun. My moments of tranquillity were, however, occasionally interrupted by a helicopter setting down in the grounds of the palace that a young royal couple are moving into. He is a helicopter pilot isn't he?

When the weather became inclement, as it is wont to do in England, I tended to avail myself of one of the free museums that abound in London. The first one on the agenda was the British Museum, for the simple reason that I was fed up with visiting awe-inspiring historical sights across the continents only to learn that many relics and artefacts were permanently housed in London in this very museum. I'll admit, at these moments, when standing amidst an Aztec ruin, or in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt or other comparative sites, I was usually incredulous upon learning that this sarcophagus, or whatever, was taken in the name of the British Empire. My cynicism knew no bounds; however, after seeing so many people fill this museum who have not had the chance nor the privilege to visit some of the far flung places I have been fortunate enough to visit, I mellowed somewhat, realising that for many of these people it may very well be their only chance to see such memorable pieces from antiquity. Added to that, the sheer throng of school students in the museum also made me think that if this museum ignites a passion and whets their appetite for exploring the fascinating history of our world, then that is surely a good thing, isn't it?

The primary reason for my visit was to lay my eyes upon the Rosetta Stone, the stele that finally enabled us to decode Egyptian hieroglyphics, thus unveiling secrets and histories that had been lost to civilisation for thousands of years. I spent much time gazing at the inscriptions carved into this stone, which since I was a young lad I had only ever seen in history books. The entire Egyptian wing is supremely impressive (as is the architecture of the museum itself, for that matter) and was easily the most populated wing of the museum. Another highlight for me was seeing the remains of the burial tomb for Mausolus, including a statue of this man, whom we now owe the term mausoleum to, due to the stupendously large and ornate Mausoleum of Halicarnassus he had constructed, which, incidentally, was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

The other museum I wanted to visit was the Tate Modern and I certainly wasn't let down. Often museums are too vast for me to fully enjoy the experience, as I rush through them or simply run out of steam and call it a day. (Once, I even curled up for a nap on a comfy seat inside the Louvre, which drew a few puzzled looks. Hopefully it wasn't an exhibit!) The Tate is quite different in this regard, as it's layout is simple and not overly cluttered. As usual, I spent most of my time in the wing that housed surrealist art by the likes of Dali and his cohorts. This wing had some interesting Picasso paintings and a couple of arresting pieces by Jackson Pollock. My unexpected highlight was discovering the works of a person whom I had previously had no awareness of whatsoever. His name was John Heartfield (originally Helmut Herzfeld) and his photomontage collection from the 1930's wholly captured my attention. In fact, I returned to this room three times just to look at his compositions. They are witty, at times hilarious, often scathing and consistently politically charged portrayals of the Nazi Regime, in particular ridiculing the Swastika, Hitler, Goebbels and Goering. Unsurprisingly, these works were hugely unpopular with those associated with the Third Reich, not to mention the fact that Heartfield was an overt Communist supporter, which is an ideology the Nazi Party outlawed not long after the man with the absurd moustache rose to power.

I have also spent time eating my way around the stalls at Borough Markets and meandering along the markets of colourful Portobello Road, even seeing the house that George Orwell once inhabited in this very road!

The other obvious bonus of spending some time in London is catching up with friends from all different phases of my life, as well as making new ones. Sometimes this has been quite civilised, such as being invited to a home cooked Sunday Roast. Other times, this has been the catalyst for drinking with reckless abandon, which is something I have just about mastered the art of doing with nothing short of sheer brilliance. Such highlights include: falling asleep at a club; walking front on into a traffic light in the middle of a traffic island on a busy stretch of road; knocking over glasses of water in my inebriated sleep onto electrical wires (note: I clearly was thinking somewhat sensibly by having water at the ready to help rehydrate throughout the night/morning). Along with seeing some live music of varying quality and talent, it has been a rather enjoyable time, even if I can't accurately recall every moment of it...

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