The House Husband

We woke to rain this morning. Clearly the sun is only over the Dordogne. Still, unperturbed, we set off (after a yummy French breakfast at the hotel) for the Old Town bit of Saumur followed by the chateau at the top of the hill.

A strange air of emptiness was all around us as we walked up the Rue d’Orleans towards the Old Town. Shops which one would expect to be open and streets which one would expect to be crammed with excited and happy shoppers were all deserted. Tumbleweeds moved morosely along the footpaths.

Later, back at the hotel, we discovered that it was a holiday in France. I have since discovered it is Ascension Day (the day that Jesus ascended into heaven having been crucified) and France stops. Ascension day is, apparently, always a Thursday although it’s always wandering all over the place because of Easter. What it means for the casual tourist from another country is that virtually everything is closed. That’s a bit annoying.

What wasn’t closed was the chateau. Except that a lot of the chateau is actually closed because they’re still renovating it. It used to house the towns museum and we thought this would be nice to visit…but that’s now closed for renovations.

But you can walk around the chateau and admire the outside, the ramparts and the workmen busily trying to reproduce exquisite and intricate stone work on the walls. At least you can walk around it if you don’t mind the hurricane force winds and lashing rain which decided to inundate us. The umbrella was pointless and I was even forced to carry my hat against the onslaught.

We managed to get to small tower in a corner of the battlements where I could quickly pop out and take a photo.

The Loire from Chateau de Saumur

Eventually the wind died down to a mild tornado and the rain stopped (occasionally) so we could have a better, more visually interesting, wander around rather than just looking at the ground with our heads being buffeted.

We also went down to the subterranean section of the chateau, the only bit you can see. It was a very, very big cellar with nothing in it. It was impressive given it’s size and being situated so far down but, really, it’s hardly what you’d call satisfying given what we’ve seen at other chateaux.

Not that I’m complaining (really). It didn’t cost much and the building is very grand. It has had a turbulent past, being destroyed on numerous occasions by various religious, political and familial squabbles. I’m very glad I walked up yesterday and managed to get a photograph in the sunshine though.

Chateau in the sun...yesterday

There is also, in the chateau grounds and included in the cost of your entrance fee, a small horse riding museum. It was sort of interesting although I think a lot of the dressage type tricks they want the horses to do look a bit unnatural and uncomfortable for the horses. But what do I know? I’m no horse.

After seeing everything in this little museum (it took about ten minutes) we popped into the Salon de The for a couple of coffees before starting back down to the town when disaster struck.

We were having a jolly chat about Eleanor of Aquitaine and how she celebrated Christmas 1188 in the chateau when a raised gutter appeared out of nowhere, causing Mirinda to pitch forward. Her little friend went flying into the road, as did her umbrella, as did she. Right onto her knee.

We managed to manhandle her back to the relative safety of the footpath and a low stone wall and rescued her various hand items and discovered she’d grazed her knee quite badly. And this is where the fact that it was Ascension Day in France really hits home.

Virtually nothing is open. We staggered passed three locked and bolted chemists on our way back towards the hotel. The whole ghost town thing was in full force. The hotel bed was very pleased to welcome Mirinda back into it’s restful embrace.

After a good solid couple of hours lying down, Mirinda was ready to walk to lunch. We had our fingers crossed that one, something would be open and two that her knee would hold up. As it turned out, both things were true.

The restaurant we ate in had a very odd, very brusque waiter who wore his glasses fixed firmly to his head. I’m pretty sure they were stuck there as a result of some silly waiter prank and he’d been waiting for them to work themselves loose. I also think this may explain why he was so brusque.

He had no time for the niceties of Ascension Day pleasantries. it was all a bit of a rush to get our orders. At first we thought they were about to close and just wanted us got rid of so they could be off to their family celebrations of Jesus going home but that was not the case at all. He was just brusque.

Anyway, the food was quite nice. Though I should mention the bread rock we were given. Mirinda tried to slice it but that just snapped the teeth off her serrated knife. A light sabre may have made a bit of dent on it but we’d forgotten to bring one.

It was odd because we had three rolls (that’s odd between two people to start with) and the first two were fine…crisp but otherwise fine. The third roll took crisp to a whole new level. I’d say somewhere around granite.

And it wasn’t stale, either! Somehow we managed to get it open and the bread inside was all fluffy and fresh. Maybe they sprinkled the top with concrete rather than flour.

Still, the food was fine and, because there may be nothing open later, our main meal of the day. As we sat there, a group of what I thought were hardy Germans, decided to sit outside and drink beer and coffee. They looked like a group of approaching geriatric aged walkers.

As they sat, the sun came out and bathed everything in a happier shade of blue. They were all smiling and happy so I figured they’d been responsible for the change in weather.

It made us realise how the Germans are the heroes of Europe now. They seem to be the only nation with any stability, decent political governance and money at the moment. Everyone goes to Angela Merkel for assistance. I mentioned this to Mirinda, suggesting that they decided trying to rule Europe by declaring war hadn’t worked twice so this time they were just going to buy the defunct countries following the financial collapse. Their first target is Greece. Remember, you read it here first. And I’m not saying it would be a bad thing!

After our repast we strolled along the river (sort of) and then around the unchartered back streets of Saumur until we found this huge horse riding area. An inside, an outside and a giant car park all watched over by the beautiful buildings of the Cavalry School. It all looked gorgeous in the sunshine. I felt happy and tried to cheer Mirinda up by having my leg run over by a tank.

That's going to ruin my jeans!

We then strolled back to the hotel as Mirinda’s knee was feeling the effects a bit. And that was about it for the rest of the day. At least it was nice and restful. Back to St Malo tomorrow.

According to Anglo Saxon legend, the goddess Ēostre found a poor wounded bird in the forest and, to help it escape, she turned it into a hare. It hopped away, gratefully. Because it was once a bird and was now a hare, it found that it could lay eggs. I’m not sure why Ēostre didn’t just turn the wounded bird into a healthy bird but that’s the ancients for you.

I have found a very odd connection between hares and the virgin Mary. Apparently, it was once believed that hares were hermaphrodites and, therefore could mate with themselves. This meant (somehow) that they’d have babies and still be virgins. The Christian church for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, decided to link them with Mary. This, I think, is so the church could appropriate the true meaning of eggs and rabbits and pretty colours.

The rabbit (and hare) and the egg are strong symbols of fertility. The flowers that have started springing forth now that it’s spring, are strong symbols of renewal and the colours, so perfect in nature, are repeated on eggs. This makes for the perfect combination of new birth leading to a better year.

And therein is the difference. Mary gives birth to Jesus and remains a virgin which, rather than a new beginning and a fresh start is actually maintaining the status quo. So, clearly, Jesus had to die and then be resurrected which would be a new start; a renewal for mankind. Dying to save us sinners…that sort of thing.

Of course the reason we now have chocolate eggs is because some genius figured out the best way to get people to spend lots of money at Easter and not just Christmas and birthdays, was by supplying chocolate shaped eggs. They also last longer than fresh eggs. And kids love them. Actually, so do most adults. A genius indeed.

And, I assume, that is why the church has decided we have our eggs on Sunday because that’s the day of renewal, when Jesus left his tomb and took a stroll in the countryside, frightening various apostles.

Anyway, we had a lovely Good Friday and on Sunday, I’ll be making simnel cake again.

Mirinda leads the poodles up the hill

Just to warn my regular readers (both of you) that I’m going to have a little rant today. So you may want to skip this post!

At the moment in the UK we have the Leveson Inquiry into the culture, practices and ethics of the press. This has sprung up from the whole phone hacking scandal and is attempting to solve the problems inherent in the press. I have followed a lot of it on the BBC as it, oddly, is quite good entertainment.

However, I rarely read a newspaper these days so I have no idea if they’ve improved. I’m tempted to say they haven’t after yesterday morning I noticed the headline of one of the tabloids.

The Daily Mail headline, splashed across the front of the paper, was Christianity Under Attack. This has to be one of the worst headlines in quite a while. Apart from making the regular Mail readers froth at the mouth, it is completely false.

Man the barricades!

The story it refers to is this: Councillor, Clive Bone of Bideford Council, objected to prayers being a part of the agenda of council meetings. He is an atheist and objects to prayer being an official part of council proceedings. He won a court case to have them dropped as an agenda item at council meetings. That’s it.

This, apparently, spells the end of Christianity being the dominant religion in this country. I heard someone on the radio the other day saying that this is a Christian country and saying prayers is part of that. I agree, the completely pointless practice of offering thanks or requests up into the sky, is the mainstay of most religions, Christianity being one of them. However, I’m not sure that prayers are an essential part of the political landscape.

I had no idea that prayers were said before every council thing. Does that mean that the allocation of my council taxes are being determined by God’s response to these prayers? Or housing issues? Or the fortnightly recycling collection? Given I believe that prayer does nothing (except make the praying person feel better about passing on any responsibility for their own actions to a non-existent higher power) I would like to vote for the exclusion of prayer from council agendas as well. Perhaps the time could be used a little more profitably.

Most people would think this whole thing was just a waste of time and a very pointless exercise designed to hold up the true meaning of council business but there are people who believe that prayer should have nothing whatsoever to do with how a council carries out its duties. On the other hand, the pro-prayer group believe that, because this is a Christian country, then prayers are mandatory.

I have a slight problem with this. The UK was, perhaps, once a Christian country but in these days of multiculturalism (don’t get me started on this which, like prayer, is actually non existent), all religions are tolerated and, you could argue that in a free country, people should be able to believe whatever twaddle appeals to them. Because there is as much diversity in this country as there are objects of devotion, it should be the case that all religious practices should be given the opportunity to indulge themselves as an agenda item at council business.

So, whether you are a Christian, a Jew, a Druid, a Moslem, a Jedi, a muppet…it doesn’t matter. All creeds get a go. Well, not all of them all of the time. I’m not insane! Of course there’d only be an agenda item for each relevant belief structure. After all, it’s a bit mad to have someone dance around the room with a tambourine singing ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Hare...’ when there’s no Hare Krishna’s in the room at the time.

However, I get a bit carried away because that’s not my problem with this. It’s the headline. And the reason I have a problem with the headline is because it’s an opinion and not the news. It’s clearly the newspaper’s opinion because it’s not quoted in the article at all. The only thing even close to the headline is a quote from Simon Calvert which claims the ruling is an ‘assault on Britain’s Christian heritage.’

It actually makes me quite angry that people who are supposedly looking after the country’s best interests can spend time getting embroiled over something so pointless. They don’t even get the facts straight. A lot has been said about stopping people praying, about banning prayer. This is patently rubbish. You can pray whenever you want to but not as part of a non-secular council meeting.

In fact, Harry Greenway, a former Tory MP and ex-chairman of the National Prayer Breakfast, said: ‘If people do not want to attend prayers of this nature, they can stay away instead of meddling and busybodying with other people’s beliefs.‘ But that’s not the case. If they are supposed to be present for the whole meeting they can’t stay away! Clearly Harry didn’t read the entire thing before reacting in that typical Daily Mail way. Jesus, Harry, the complaint was about the prayers being part of the meeting. Stupid man.

Harry’s not the only politician involved in such a heretic act. Eric Pickles has also waded in with this: ‘The ruling is surprising and disappointing. Christianity plays an important part in the culture, heritage and fabric of our nation.’ He is, apparently, going to try and reverse the ruling. Why? Apart from anything else, it’s a complete waste of our money.

Mr Pickles is the Communities Secretary. I always thought this meant all the communities and how they hold together. I think he’s showing a bit of a bias there. I guess our community is supposed to be Christian.

But, back to the headline…this is plain and simple incitement. It’s designed to make Christian England angry; to get them to gnash their teeth and growl at the destruction of everything they hold near and dear. They’d never bite if the headline read: ‘Councils to stop wasting time.’ That just doesn’t do it when you can give them all barrels with a nice little slice of incitement. It must have been very tempting to somehow tie in the Moslems. Maybe they are in an indirect way. The headline does almost imply a crusade.

The Daily Mail continually makes me angry. And I don’t read it. I’d NEVER read it because I know it would still make me angry but for all the wrong reasons. Maybe they have a place in our liberalist country. I seriously hope not. I don’t think it’s right to inflict one’s own opinions on someone who has no ability to form their own. Education rather than indoctrination, I say.

As I thought about all these things, while walking back from the shops, it occurred to me to wonder why God needs all these prayers anyway. Surely he/she/it/they know everything that’s going on. Isn’t that what omnipotent means? Though I quite like the idea that all the assorted gods are sitting around a bit mahogany conference style desk with the best leather executive chairs, deciding who’s prayers to listen to. Peace in the Middle East? 21 virgins? Lotto numbers? Reincarnation as a very sexy woman? I’d go minute secretary at those meetings.

Honestly, it doesn’t say a lot for the ‘Almighty’ if he/she/it/they needs to be constantly praised before council meetings can start. Is he/she/it/they even interested in council proceedings?

I’m getting quite keen on embedding video in blog posts. So, today, we have an odd little film about Day-z.

I called her and then started filming. She came to me then turned straight back to Mirinda when she realised I wasn’t serious. The thing is, Mirinda had a bowl of cereal. Day-z is quite committed to bowls of cereal. A little later in the day, following study and gardening, she watched me intently from Mirinda’s knee.

Day-z keeping a keen eye out for the appearance of anything edible

I’m not sure what she was expecting but she didn’t get it.

It was Good Friday today. Everything was open in Farnham (albeit some establishments opened later than usual) so it was just like any other day. This is quite good for an atheist. Easter Sunday, on the other hand, is going to be a right pain because everything will be closed. This means I have to plan food a day ahead. This is not something I enjoy.

And there was a lot of religious hoo ha on the radio. Radio 4 seemed to highlight Jesus every time I turned it on and then, in the afternoon while I was gardening, and before I fell asleep in the sun listening to the football, I switched to Radio 4 Extra and what was on? The bloody Life of Jesus! And so I put the football on (Crystal Palace and…someone else) and then fell asleep it was so interesting. Naturally I’m blaming Radio 4 for not finishing in the garden.

Talking of religious appropriation…today I went looking for a simnel cake. I’d never heard of them but Mirinda had some during the week and loved it. I was despatched to find some. I didn’t and so I’m going to make one tomorrow but that’s not the point. It seems that simnel cake has become yet another symbol of Easter.

Originally made in Medieval times, young girls in service would bake a simnel cake for their mothers and take it to them on Mothering Sunday. Since appropriation, eleven little balls of marzipan have been added to the top. These represent the eleven apostles, Judas being left out because he was a little too interested in money. Actually I’ve never been convinced with Judas committing suicide. It seems very unlikely and highly suspicious.

No-one knows why the simnel cake is called a simnel cake. The best anyone can come up with is that it derives from the Latin word simila, meaning fine, wheaten flour which was used in making it. Why the church decided to steal the idea and make it their own is anyone’s guess but it probably involves treachery and an attempt at boosting attendance with a familiar symbol.

Speaking of Easter traditions…I listened, agape (one of the guys Mirinda works with is a total gaper and I just love the idea) the other day while one of the girls in Starbucks related for us the Czech version of Easter. Apparently (and I’ve verified it elsewhere) the boys in her village would go around with these light whips and try and whip the girls legs in exchange for chocolate (it was eggs originally but, understandably, people prefer chocolate now). It was seen as an indication of how gorgeous you were if a lot of boys whipped you a lot. However, the biggest and bestest was if they grabbed you and threw you in the river. Nice.

Now the rabbits I understand when it comes to Easter. It is, after all, a festival time to celebrate the renewal that arrives with spring. For some reason, rabbits popping out and nibbling away at the new growth is a strong springtime image. And eggs as well. Obviously the result of springtime friskiness by the birds. A lot of countries have eggs as Easter symbols.

But why did they become chocolate? When was it considered a good thing to introduce confection to both the Rite of Spring and the Death of Jesus? I love chocolate as much as any other normal person but really…I don’t see it. Was it a fiendish piece of marketing genius by Cadbury’s back in Victorian times? I could probably find out by Googling “why do we have chocolate eggs at Easter” but I’m not going to. I like to think it’s a big conspiracy by the capitalist overlords, perpetrated on the poor and weak. That’s more fun.

Carmen trying to resist my hugging her

I’m just going to finish with this delightfully affectionate photograph of me hugging Carmen. She is clearly enjoying it a LOT!

I looked around the room. I didn’t see any obvious physicists. It was baffling. Tonight was our first Humanist meeting. We didn’t know what to expect and, seriously, how could we have expected what we sat through tonight.

So, what is a Humanist, I hear you asking. Well, thanks for asking. Basically, a Humanist tries to make sense of the world without resorting to silly myths, fairy tales or other religions. A Humanist takes a human-centric view of the world. It sort of really fits well in my ideas of life. I really hate the way that people blame things on invisible creations of primitive humans. People are flawed because they are flawed, not because God made them that way. Religion is not a catch all, excuse bucket. Though many use it as one.

But I don’t want to debate the wrongs of religion because I’m pretty sure my mother would stop reading pretty soon. I want to talk about tonight’s meeting because it’s much more entertaining.

But before I do…a picture of a deflating balloon…

A Virgin hot air balloon that landed in Farnham Park

It fell to earth as we walked along the path into Farnham for our date with the Humanists. It had nothing to do with god, it just landed where it landed because…because of gravity.

So, into the Hop Blossom we marched and then wandered out the back where a nice sized room was waiting with lots of chairs arranged in a circle. We took a couple after chatting with two of the committee and waited.

This bit is going to be a bit tricky because Mirinda told me to be nice. This basically means I can’t say very much. Actually all I can say is that if this was the first Humanist meeting I’d been to and I didn’t get to chat to a really nice guy who convinced me otherwise, I would NEVER go back. It was really, really bad. The sort of thing that gives Humanists a bad name. Sort of like the Catholics during the Inquisition. OK, not REALLY like that but it sure did give them a bad name.

We had two discussions (and I use that word in it’s broadest sense) from members of the group. One on Art and the other on…I’m really not sure what the second one was about. It wandered everywhere and never really came back. Both discussions were way too broad in scope (the scope in the second discussion was so broad it met itself coming back around the curvature of the universe) and when it was question time, made it impossible to ask a question. Though that didn’t stop everyone.

There were questions. And there was some lively debate among the group, not just agreeing and cheering the speakers. That was refreshing.

Next month there will be a guest speaker from the Skeptics in the Pub group which should be a whole lot better.

As I sat in Starbucks this morning, merrily reading The Uses of Literacy by Hoggart (a book recommended by Prof Frank Webster, which looks at the sociological aspects of the working class of Britain in the early 1950s), an idea struck me regarding the success of religion.

In a simplistic sense, the rich need the poor to survive on very little in order for them to maintain their wealth. What better way to keep up the status quo than to assure them that they will have a better life after they die if they suffer a lot beforehand. To cement this, the wealthy (or those in power, who, generally speaking, are always the wealthiest) put in place rules such as “workers MUST attend church on Sunday!” after working the rest of the week. They must be devout. They must pray and be absolved any sins. And so on and so forth. In this way, earthly suffering will be rewarded with eternal pleasures. A bilblical instance is the fact that it is harder for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Why does being wealthy exclude you? You may still be a good person. Just another way of subjugating the worker class. They can cock their snooks at the rich! Yay!

And then we have the wonderful situation where the wealthy had to pay the church in order to assure their places in heaven! An excellent way to maintain the livelihood of the priesthood while still controlling the others. Classic.

Further, and more fundamentally, Jesus said that the meek shall inherit the earth and this merely solidifies this. Naturally the powerful will push this one. Stay meek, stay religious, keep your belief in a hereafter and everything will be wonderful when you die. What a great motivation to maintain a worker class. It’s the donkey and carrot on a stick analogy and it works. Like Pavlov’s dogs, the majority of humans just want to relax and know everything is being taken care of. Which gives veracity to my theory of how religion started.

As we left behind our nomadic life and built great settlements which became towns and then city states, the results of our labours were stored in bigger and bigger amounts. You can imagine a small settlement going out each day to forage and hunt, returning to their huts to find they’d been robbed by some leftover group of nomads or animals or flood or fire or…well, any number of things. The brightest spark in the village declares that someone should be left behind to keep watch. He (or she) could be smart AND lazy or, perhaps doesn’t hunt or gather very well. Next time the settlement is left, this person remains behind, ostensibly to guard the wealth.

Clearly not an onerous job, the guardian kicks back and invents new ways to get out of work. It’s not a long way to imagine stories growing from such an idle profession. Eventually these stories turn to supernatural things which he (or she) has saved the settlement from. This is not a long way from the high priest, demanding food and wealth from his followers in order to guarantee their safety. The idea of a heaven came later and, I believe, was a natural extension when the priest realised he couldn’t actually control the weather.

On Saturday, Professor Fagan introduced me to the Guatemalan pyramid at Tikal. Here was a structure from which the high priest would emerge and proclaim that he (for it was always a he) was the sole representative of the gods on earth (sort of like the pope). It was he alone who could ask the gods to be lenient, to bring good weather for the crops.

However, looking carefully at the pyramid reveals that four deep channels along each side collected rainwater, passing it along to the irrigation systems (they collected rainwater in the same way that our gutters do today). This was clearly a technological and scientific invention which had nothing to do with gods or priests and was made specifically for this purpose. And this is made quite clear by the fact that when the droughts came and the people were starving, they would kill the priest and install someone new because the old one was clearly out of favour. Not a great career move in this instance. Surely if the powerful truly believed in their gods, they wouldn’t have bothered with the channels and irrigation systems, knowing that their gods would provide.

Heaven, of course, creates a great escape clause for the priests (as well as that wonderful old saw that God works in mysterious ways), putting an end to, basically, putting an end to the priests!

Anyway, lecture over.

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The woman in Waitrose was much happier today. When I asked her why she was so miserable yesterday, she told me about a horrendous fall she took outside the bank. Her long list of injuries, combined with the fact that she had to contnue working more than adequately explained her misery.

In the Just Too Ridiculous box, I have found the following item. Apparently, a Christian group in America have organised to send hundreds of solar powered bibles to the people of Haiti. Now, apart from the bizarre, what really strikes me as odd about this is how Christians should be selflessly helping these people with things they need. Perhaps if the solar powered bibles also had a torch in them, it would help a bit. I am truly mystified that these people could be so ridiculous.

You can read about it here, on an Australian news site. I read about it in a blog I subscribe to called J-Walk, which is here. Though I should warn you, it gets pretty controversial and is not religion-friendly.

Being Tuesday, Nicktor came to stay so we could finally go and watch Aldershot. The pitch was lovely and green, the crowd was noisy. We played very well and so did they (Rochdale). At half time the score was nil all but it had been fast and furious. A quick half time beer and back to the terraces.

Rochdale scored! We fought hard and in the dying moments of the game, snatched one back. And so it ended. 1-1. Well deserved. The crowd was happy.

We caught the bus home and are about to watch a movie and have a few drams.

It was a beautiful day today.  The skies were crystal clear blue and it didn’t get any hotter than 5 degrees.  All change for tomorrow though.

Mirinda still sick.  She sleeps for three hours then wakes up for an hour.  Sleeps for another three hours.  And so it goes.  Her newest symptom appears to be a headache.  And being tired.

Starbucks ran out of hazelnut syrup!  I had the last drops yesterday.  I had to make do with almond syrup today.  It’s just not the same.

I can safely say nothing of any import happened today.  I went shopping, had a coffee, went home, worked on my JavaScript for DITA, made lunch, took the dogs for a walk.  Ho hum.  Doesn’t give me a lot to blog about.  but then I read a very good article about the guy who tried to blow up the plane on Christmas Day.  And that had me thinking.

The only reason we have suicide bombers is because they think they are going somewhere after they die.  Being an atheist, I think this is stupid but it’s true, nonetheless.  Who, in their right mind, would blow themselves up if they knew they were just going to die?  And there was nothing else?  What is the point?

Now I don’t care what religion someone follows, but if they claim to be expecting to go somewhere after they die, I think they’re listening to just so much hockum.  What is wrong with THIS life?  Live it, love it, die without regrets.  I guarantee, without religion, less people would go round killing other people as readily as they do now.

But that’s the trouble with religion.  You can’t convince someone who’s been convinced by someone else that the impossible exists.  Otherwise, what do they have to look forward to?  Think about it:  a miserable life in some poor, desolate mud hut with little to eat and some guy comes and tells you about the wonderful things waiting for you after you die.  Who wouldn’t want to rush things along a bit.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!  I hate it!  Stupid, stupid humans.  I don’t see any gorilla’s worshipping the Great Pineapple.

Anyway…I’ve finished my JavaScript and uploaded it.  I am now very happy.  Not that I’ve finished my assignment but the worst is over.

If you want to read the article, it’s here.

Lovely blue skies over snow white land and quite chilly.  Paths slippery!

Today we were due to journey into London (Mirinda being off work over Christmas) to meet Karen and Nigel to see the new wing at the V&A.  Last night, Mirinda started coughing and hacking and generally sounding ill which could have had something to do with the lack of buttons on her coat and getting covered in sleet and snow.  All that added up to me going into London and leaving my sad and sorry wife snuggled up in bed as I ventured forth into the freeze.

I had watched a feature on the new gallery on The Culture Show a few weeks ago and was really keen to see it.  When I mentioned it to Karen, she suggested we all meet and see it.  A sort of final day out I guess.  It is fantastic.  For someone like me who is into just about everything but particularly religious iconography, mythical sculpture and St Sebastien, it was pretty much close to heaven.  As we strolled through the rooms, I mentioned to Nigel that it was exactly like any of our tours of Europe – me and churches!

Karen, it seems, does not like religious iconography, finds it unpleasant to look at.  I told her it was because she didn’t know how to read them; didn’t know the stories behind the images.  I described a few of them to her but she remains unconvinced.  I, however, loved every minute.  Well, except for the carpets.  I really cannot get particularly excited about carpets.

The were two Saint Sebastiens though!  One glorious little statue in silver and gilt by Hans Holbien the Elder.  Here’s a picture of it.

San Sebastien

The fine detail is wonderful.  It only stands about 300mm high.  It is exquisite.  It was my favourite piece in the whole gallery.

In saying that, there were a couple of honourable mentions for best in gallery.  The first goes to the oddly named Bartmann Jugs.  I thought the name was a joke and had something to do with The Simpsons but no, these things came first.  They were vessels which depicted bearded men, looking quite serious.  The head was generally at the top, beneath the neck of the jug, and the body of the jug was the man’s body.  They were generally of quite generous proportions!  Clearly very well fed with the contents of the jug.  They seriously looked quite odd.  I’ll post them on the site later along with the other V&A photos I took.  I have and they’re here.

The other honourable mention and equally odd, was a carved tufa fireplace decoration.  It showed hunting scenes and had lots of animals and people doing all sorts of hunting things.  Nothing unusual there at all.  Until you looked really closely.  One of the men had the bottom of his trousers ripped off and was showing his pants which, on close inspection, appeared to be a pair of frilly French knickers!  I kid you not.  It was made between 1510 & 1530 in Padua, Italy.

We spent quite a long time in the gallery so it’s possibly a good thing Mirinda stayed in bed!  About half way through Karen popped off to see another exhibit while Nigel and I finished.  It was then off for lunch.

When I used to visit Karen at work and we’d go for lunch, we had taken to visiting a nice little French place, not far from the V&A.  It served vast quantities of salmon and scrambled eggs and the staff were always pleasant.  We decided this would do for lunch.  Imagine our surprise when we discovered it had changed into an Italian place with a window full of cakes.

According to the manager, it was originally the Italian place then changed to French and has now returned to what it should be.  They now have pizza.  I was once more in heaven.

Karen told us a funny story as we ate.  They, naturally, have been extremely busy packing up, cleaning, selling and generally dispersing their worldly goods to all manner of places, in preparation for their return to Australia.  One box of stuff was destined for a charity shop and was safely situated in a cupboard, waiting for it’s trip downstairs.  On Sunday, Karen and Nigel came over, bringing with them their last bits and pieces, wine for Christmas day and Christmas presents.  I didn’t put the presents under the tree as Carmen was a little too interested in them.  Apparently, there are no present for me in the bag.  They were taken to the charity shop by accident and distributed to the ends of Wimbledon.  Because Karen always buys me odd things from odd places around the world, she couldn’t possibly re-buy them.  They are likely to be quite rude so I’m a tad concerned about some frail old volunteer opening the box and getting a fright

It was sort of a sad day, really.  Though we’ll see them on Christmas day, I realised today how much I’m going to miss Karen.  Still, she’ll only ever be an email away!