The House Husband

Oh, dear! The fancy new electric opening overhead skylight windows in the basement have developed a leak. Poor Emma had a constant drip, drip, drip in a well positioned bucket next to her, as the heavens let rip with a massive downpour just after lunch today. It was a downpour I gratefully just missed, returning from lunch as I did ten minutes earlier.

Of course, Nick immediately called facilities to report the leak and, to give them their due, they arrived almost before he replaced the receiver of his phone. Two chaps arrived and looked up then down into the bucket. They then left to reappear a few minutes later above the windows, treading carefully between the panes of very toughened glass.

In the still falling rain, they applied vast quantities of some sort of silicone goo around the glass where the drip was flowing. The dripping stopped. For about two hours. And then it returned. It did occur to me that perhaps they would have been better off sealing the leak when the rain had stopped.

Mind you, I didn’t mind the drip. It was strangely comforting to know I was inside and dry. I felt a bit sorry for the hordes of tourists who I’d seen sitting outside between the museums at lunchtime but I expect they ran inside as soon as it started. At least I hoped they did. Otherwise their postcards would read something like “A lovely morning in London spoiled only by the torrential rain which ruined our sandwiches and drowned the children. Wish you were here.”

Of course, when I popped out for my usual Friday visit to the V&A, the sun was bright and there were few clouds blotting the otherwise blue sky.

Today I went upstairs to a part of the V&A I’d not found before. Honestly, the place throws up new places for me to discover like dandelions in the lawn. It always amazes me. It makes me think that, if I was living and working in Paris and the Louvre was close by, I’d never run out of things to visit.

Today I saw the earliest known photographic image of London. At first glance, it appears to be a small silver square and, from most angles, it resembles a mirror. You have to move in quiet close and suddenly a remarkably clear image of a London street scene almost magically appears. It’s a daguerreotype plate, taken by someone called Monsieur de St Croix. It was taken from Trafalgar Square looking at Parliament Street. Here’s a copy from the V&A website.

London in 1839

In the main sculpture gallery, I noticed this rather portly chap who I’d never seen before. Strange but true.

Joshua Ward - the great and generous - by Augustino Carlini

Josh was born in 1684 and decided to become a doctor. Not particularly keen on studying, he didn’t bother with getting any qualifications. He also decided to become very rich by selling potions and lotions to poor, unsuspecting sick people. In short, he was a quack.

Quack he may have been but, as far as his doctoring went, he was pretty good. Among his patients were George II and prime minister Horace Walpole. Because of his reputation, people tended to believe he knew what he was doing. So he would sell them his miracle drugs.

At one point he had to leave England (he was quite heavily involved in the Jacobin Rebellion) and lived in France where, over the next 16 years, he invented his famous Ward’s Pills and Ward’s Drops. They consisted of poisonous ingredients which would induce sweating and vomiting, the theory being they would cause the body to expel whatever ailed it. Obviously, this is not a good idea. I mean, they’re called poison for a reason.

He returned to England and set up shop, claiming he could cure all manner of things like gout, scurvy, syphilis and cancer. He grew very wealthy and, as you can tell by his statue, rather portly.

But here’s the twist (for twist there is). Joshua Ward was a great philanthropist. He set up shop in the poorer parts, dispensing cures to those that couldn’t afford it. He gave money away to charities and even went so far as to throw money from his coach as he drove by the poor.

The proper doctors of the time didn’t like Joshua Ward (presumably they thought he was bringing the medical profession into disrepute…or they didn’t like him curing the poor) and tried to pass laws preventing the sale of his medicine. They were unsuccessful and Joshua died with a modest fortune.

My favourite bit of Joshua lore is that he stood for and was elected MP for Marlborough in 1717. It was then discovered that no-one actually voted for him. On close examination, the mayor’s signature appeared to have been forged on the Return. Joshua was chained in pillory and then flung in jail for a bit. I have no idea whether this last bit is true or not but I seriously hope so.

And then, for the second Friday in a row, I managed to get drenched walking home. Damn this drought!

I haven’t had to moan about the trains for a long time. So, fortunately, I had the sort of trip into town that warrants a jolly good moan. And while it wasn’t the fault of South West Trains, it didn’t stop lots of people having a go at them.

Every morning (almost) I watch the local transport report, in case they cancel the ferries, information that needs to be sent instantly to Mirinda. I’ve never seen anything about Farnham…except for this morning. Through half closed eyes I made out the word although my comatose brain had no idea what it was in reference to.

Being a Friday, I was up at 6am so I merely had to make sure I watched properly in half an hour when the next edition came around. Which I did. And found out that a water pipe had burst, flooding the railway crossing, blocking traffic and forcing the trains to stop.

I quickly went on the SWT website to verify and, yes, there were no trains from Farnham. SWT were putting on buses and the trains were starting from Aldershot at their normal time…for Aldershot.

I made the decision to catch a bus to Aldershot rather than walk all the way to Farnham just to get a railway replacement bus service to Aldershot. I left a bit earlier but could have left later because, as usual, the most direct and shortest time limited bus to Aldershot was late. This only happens when I have to be somewhere, never when I don’t.

Anyway, it eventually decided to turn up and delivered me at Aldershot in time to not catch my usual train. I had half an hour to wait on a platform full of disgruntled and confused commuters who only wanted to get to work. I joined them, fitting in nicely.

Because there was so many of them, I wandered up to the end of the platform. That was until the announcement came that it would be a four coach train made me (and quite a few others) squidge up towards the middle of the platform. Usually it’s a 12 coach train so you can imagine how that was going to turn out.

When the train arrived, the guard tried to tell us it terminated and we were not to get on it. He’d have had more luck flying to the moon on a jelly. We all laughed humourlessly at him, and boarded the train. Those of us at the vanguard were very lucky, slipping into seats; the people bringing up the rear gradually filled the space in the aisles and vestibules. There were grumbles about the size of the train.

To be fair to SWT (something I’m not usually accused of) there is a siding just beyond Farnham where they stick the long trains over night and, of course, they’d have still been sitting there. The trains coming from Waterloo are smaller ones because there’s not that many people travelling out of London in the mornings. And there wasn’t a whole lot SWT could do about a burst pipe.

Still, people were grumbling; people were squashed in and standing. Actually, it was the ones standing that were grumbling. Those of us lucky enough to have seats, instantly fell asleep and ignored our poor inconvenienced fellow passengers. For them, the trip to Waterloo was long and uncomfortable. For me, it was like any other Friday, albeit half an hour later.

I still managed to arrive at the Science Museum with three minutes before the security door closed. Mind you, I didn’t get my usual Starbucks so was a bit drowsy before lunch.

Refreshed by my coffee (FINALLY!) I wandered around the statues at the V&A. I always like this one but never seem to get a good photo of it. She sits atop a memorial and is for Emily Georgiana William, wife of George, Earl of Winchelsea and Nottingham. Emily died aged only 39 in 1848. I think the beauty and sorrow of this statue conveys how poor George must have felt.

Poor Emily

She was carved (though this seems hardly to describe the smooth perfection of the statue’s limbs) by Lawrence Macdonald. The reason it’s now at the V&A is because the church it originally sat in was destroyed (I don’t know why or how) which was not the church where she was buried. Don’t ask, I don’t know!

And while Lady Emily is life sized, this statue of St John the Evangelist is about a foot high. I just love the detail. He’s made of terracotta and was made in England in around 1505.

Tickle me under the beard and I'll laugh...maybe

Fortunately, the trains were fine going home otherwise Mirinda would have not come home!

I’m not adverse to change. Actually I’m quite keen on embracing it. Up to a point, anyway. But sometimes, it just sends chills through my body.

At work today, Nick asked if I wanted a change from the Art Project. I was suddenly transported back to Telewest and Cowabunga.

I’d been very happily working on the TV platform, testing games, ads, other bits and pieces, porn…I was very happy. I actually enjoyed going to work. It was partly the people but I actively enjoyed my work. Each day it was a joy to go to work. And then came the latest reorganisation.

Most reorgs had left us more or less untouched but this one was to do with a merger with our rivals in the cable business. I had a visit from the mysterious Cowabunga who claimed I should join his testing team as part of the general amalgamation of the two companies.

My world fell apart. I was suddenly flung into a world of contract testers, sitting around like robots, earplugs cutting them off from the rest of the world. It was like an awful nightmare.

I was sat beside Cowabunga, two floors up and miles away from the pleasures of the past. If it was right that we shouldn’t enjoy our employment, I was now in the right place. I hated it.

That’s one of the reasons why I took voluntary redundancy. I’d been spoiled and now job satisfaction had flown out the window like a frightened canary. It was like Revelations where the world falls apart and the angels of the lord will come down and exact revenge on the sinners.

The horrors of hades surrounded me.

Now that's a stupid place to keep your sword

This is part of a tryptich from Hamburg, painted around 1380 as an altarpiece. It was created in a time when most people were illiterate. In order for the church to let the layman know what laid ahead for the sinner, these sorts of images would be used to illustrate the stories of the bible.

OK, I might be exaggerating a little bit. The change in my employment circumstances wasn’t really the same as the end of the world through divine disapproval. Just.

Mind you, Cowabunga did me a bit of a favour in terms of my university studies. I could suddenly work full time on them, making essays and study a lot easier. And this led to me being able to do my Masters full time. I guess that illustrates how change can be a good thing.

My whole direction changed. I had (possibly) grown complacent, my brain in a sort of stasis. But then, maybe that’s what apocalypse really is. A change from one thing to another.

It makes me wonder about people who are born into doing exactly what their father or mother did their entire life. I would rather have change than be stuck working in the building trade for my entire life! But then, I look at something like the Symmachi panel and realise how much beauty can be achieved by someone at the top of their employment tree.

Now eat your beans...or else!

This dates from around 400AD and is one part of two leaves that represents two Roman families. It is very finely carved ivory, exquisite in its detail. It’s about the size of the cover of a hardback book and remarkably thin. It’s the sort of thing you look at in utter disbelief. The detail is astounding. Actually, the fact that it has survived for over 1600 years, moving from place to place, owner to owner, avoiding wars, is probably just as remarkable.

I could stare at objects like this for ages, admiring the smallest of detail, the finest of touch. But even a volunteer’s lunchtime has a time limit, and I returned to Nick and his chilling question about the Art Project.

I needn’t have worried (to be fair, I didn’t). He was merely asking to make sure I wasn’t bored. They are still very happy with the job I’m doing and actually want me to keep going with it. I think they are more worried about me changing!

Just before I go…this photo is the entrance to the V&A from the opposite direction to the one I took before. The balcony you can see above the information desk is where I was standing last time. I thought it would be nice to take one from below.

T'other way round

Well, that’s another hellish day of half term lunacy over and done with. Today was the worst yet. When I left work at 4pm, the queue outside the Natural History Museum still stretched along Exhibition Road and turned down Cromwell. I’m amazed that parents would willingly put themselves through it.

The worst part for me is always lunchtime. I’ve given up going to the museum café on a half term day. Normally I pop over to Starbucks even though it’s a good deal further than a standard ‘pop’ but today I noticed a Paul just opposite the entrance to South Kensington tube.

Paul is one of our favourite lunch places (‘our’ as in Mirinda and me…and it’s not called Paul’s) and I’d never noticed this one before. It has tables outside, spilling onto the pedestrianised road and a few tables upstairs. It looked very Parisian. How could I possibly go anywhere else?

They’ve been going since 1889 but I’m fairly certain that’s not in London.

I was actually served by a French woman. I know because she translated everything I said into French before preparing it, even my latte. She also had an outrageous French accent. I thought the translation was a bit odd but it seemed to work well.

It wasn’t cold by any means today but it was a bit chilly in the breeze so I ventured up the stairs to the inside tables. It didn’t take long for me to turn around and retrace my steps when presented with the vision of a packed seating area, littered with little children, strollers and exhausted parents. I went outside and sat next to an American couple who talked about how wonderful the V&A was…which is where I went straight afterwards.

Last time I was at work and visited the V&A I noticed, for the first time, the massive statues lining the outside of the top floor. Each one has a name carved below it. They are very big and very high up. I was amazed I’d never noticed them before. Today, however, they were even more noticeable due, mainly, to the two guys who had abseiled down from the roof in order to give two of them a bit of a spruce up.

They were a massive hit as scores of people crowded the footpath for a look at them. I’m surprised there weren’t cheers every time they wielded their chisels. Fortunately the footpath is very wide so I managed to get inside the V&A without to much of a problem. I blipped them so if you want to see them, head over here.

To my utter surprise (and for the first time since I’ve started visiting) the V&A was actually crowded! Perhaps some parents were put off by the queues at the other museums. I don’t know why but it was a bit disconcerting. Not that it was by any means uncomfortable. The only difference was that, usually I can be in a room on my own but not today.

The entrance hall at the V&A, lunch time, during half term

Last week I downloaded an app to my phone which takes and stitches a series of photographs in order to make a panorama. The sight of people from the overhead walkway made the Renaissance gallery look so lovely that I took one.

The gallery with the big dip in the middle

It looks rather odd, I know. The floor is actually level! I’m still getting used to the app and will experiment some more.

Back at work, poor Nick was having a hard time with an artist. Not directly but more causal. This guy had some rather large objects on display in the museum and Nick had to organise to get them back to him. The artist had said he wanted them returned to his house in London. Trouble was, Nick pointed out, his house in London wasn’t big enough (the pieces are very large).

Ok, the artist said, he’d like half to go to Norway and have the other half at home. This was all fine until Nick discovered that there would be a hefty VAT bill for anything leaving the UK. His concern stemmed from the fact that artists are notoriously poor and inclined not to pay things like VAT bills.

The tax man, being the insistent bastard he has always been, demands payment upfront, which means the Science Museum would have to pay it on shipment then, somehow, squeeze it out of the artist. Not ideal given the fact that the artist was the one who wanted it shipped to Norway. I would have been tempted to leave it all outside the artist’s house in London but Nick is much nicer than me.

I’m not sure how it was resolved as I left while Nick was off to talk to the museum lawyer. He’d already been in since 6am and wanted to leave at 4pm because he’s off for a five day break but his chances didn’t look good. He told me he was going to spend some of the break in the garden hammering something solid. I suggested he pretend it was the tax man he was hammering. He said he’d already decided it was going to be the artist.

And then, to top it all off, just before I was set to leave, the servers decided to crash. Which is why Nick went and spoke to the lawyer in person. Normally he gets phone numbers off Outlook (he’s a bit of a phone junkie and basically the opposite of me) but because it was down he couldn’t. He rang the switchboard to get it but the woman on the desk told him she couldn’t access the phone numbers because the server was down. She suggested sending the lawyer an email with his number so she could ring him. Nick didn’t bother explaining that this was actually impossible.

But by far the worst bit of the day was the sight that confronted me at South Kensington tube as I climbed down the steps into the main concourse. Without a word of exaggeration, there was at least 500 people in there, wrestling, jostling and screaming as they dragged all manner of little beings towards the ticket machines. And prams.

Oh, dear god, the prams! They are a menace in crowds. I have no idea how people do it. I expected to see nasty steel blades protruding from some of the wheels. What is the point in spending a lovely day in London if it involves the baby equivalent of a crash derby in order to get home?

If I had kids they’d be going to something local, I can tell you!

We had a funny episode at work today. Nick (at work) has just started life with a smartphone and has been struggling to come to grips with it. He’s not that keen on a touch screen, particularly for texting, so I suggested he try Swype. He loves it and had spent the week getting used to using it when it suddenly disappeared.

Sometimes it does this – I don’t know why. It’s not a major thing and is easily fixed. Of course that is always going to be dependent on the user knowing how to do it. Nick didn’t so I fixed it for him and showed him how in case it happens again.

While we were discussing the wonders of modern technology, Leona (Head of Something or Other in the Office Next Door) walked by on her way to the coffee and just said in passing that she’d never put petrol in a car and would be hard pressed to know where it went.

Further revelations were forthcoming after this outrageous admission. She has never changed a light bulb…EVER! I have no idea how old she is but she’s at least 30. That’s a long time to have not changed a lightbulb. She actually admitted she didn’t know HOW to change a lightbulb.

This makes her sound a bit dim but she’s not at all. She’s very good at her job and has a bubbly but intelligent personality. She is also well liked. She’s just not very good with ordinary, every day things like the replacement of light bulbs.

This was all before lunch and caused great hilarity in the basement. After lunch, Leona paid us another visit to tell us she had just done something really silly.

She was walking through the museum when her phone rang. It was her dad. They chatted for a bit as she walked along. Apparently they chat quite often. She was probably telling him that he had been remiss in not teaching her the basics of household survival.

As she walked and talked, she reached into her back pocket for something when a cold shiver ran through her body. We all know the feeling. You expect something to be there and it’s gone. A wallet, a £20 note, gold watch. It’s a horrible feeling.

Leona stopped in her tracks, patting herself down, starting to feel quite desperate. She told her father she’d call him back later, she’d lost something and had to go. He, naturally, asked her what she’d lost.

“My phone! It was in my back pocket but now it’s gone!”
“I think you’ll find, you’re talking to me on it.”

After we’d managed to calm down, having all exploded into uncontrollable laughter, this episode sparked the usual conversation about losing glasses when they’re on your head, something I do quite a lot.

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At lunchtime I popped into the V&A, deciding this week to visit the Chinese and Japanese galleries. While there, I discovered the work of Ah Xian, a Chinese artist born in 1960. His work (in the museum at any rate) features four porcelain busts. Given this one is called ‘Bust 34′ I have to guess there’s more than four!

Bust 34 by Ah Xian

I think they are all strangely beautiful but this one was my favourite.

Interestingly, Ah Xian moved from Beijing to Australia in 1989 after Tiananmen Square. He moved to Sydney in 1990 and I think he’s been there ever since. He spent eight years in Oz working as a house painter and five years trying to get political asylum. This display of his porcelain busts was supported by the Australian government via the Arts Council. I’m not sure if that means it was financially or emotionally supported.

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Now, I think it’s about time I admitted the truth. It’s come to my notice that it is a bit of a struggle going out on a Friday night these days. It may be an age thing but after getting up at 6am, slaving over a hot computer for six hours then going shopping for my wife, I felt pretty chilled and not ready for a night on the lash with Stevie B! Of course, that all changed when I saw him.

Last time we met up, Stevie couldn’t drink because he was driving and had work the next day (it was, after all, only his second week there), which was why we planned a Friday night. However, the non-drinking night had been so good that I’d decided not to drink as much as usual, pace myself a lot slower and just enjoy the company and chat. I have no idea whether Stevie decided the same thing but he matched my drinking pace and we both remained delightfully sober.

As usual, we chatted about everything and anything and all ports in between. And then the bombshell that wasn’t, given I have been waiting for it since they were married. Lara’s pregnant. He showed me the 12 scan of ‘Bubbie Beattie’ which I refused to go gooey over, telling him it looked quite weird with it’s teeth on the outside of it’s head. It’s too early to know the gender but Stevie wants a boy. Mainly because there is already an awful lot of girls born in his family and he wants to go some way to redress the balance.

Here he is begging Lara to bring his (forgotten) wallet down to the pub just after she’d dropped him off.

Please Babe!

I had a totally frustrating morning at the Science Museum. Nick asked me to amend a People record for a London printer who owned a very successful publishing house that specialised in lithographs (the Baynard Press). In fact, Baynard were considered the best in the early 20th century. They produced a lot of London Transport posters and are very highly prized now.

The problem is, there’s a lot of bits and pieces about them but nothing substantive or usable as far as proper research goes. Quite apart from this, the original record for the parent company includes Baynard rather than having them both as separate companies with a link explaining the connection. Cleaning that up was easy but finding out any information on either was like squeezing a camel out of a pineapple.

I went hither and thither, finding out a lot about various publishing houses around at the same time and about some guy called Griffits (I thought this was a typo but his name WAS Griffits and not Griffiths) who went from Vincent Brooks, Day & Son (a rival printing house) to Baynard, which, it seems, was a bit of a coup. I can only assume they paid him more money.

Actually, I found out a hell of a lot more information about Vincent Brooks, Day & Sons than about Baynard or the company that owned them (F Sanders Philips & Co). Even Companies House, usually such a reliable source of company information, had only unattainable archived material. Seriously, can Companies House be so desperate for memory that they have to take stuff off their system? Must be the only people who do.

Anyway, it was very frustrating…and all for a Guinness poster of a clock. I eventually gave up. As I said to Nick, I can waste an awful lot of time finding nothing or I can call a halt to it and find something that wants to be found. He agreed and I gave up at lunch time and popped over to the V&A.

I was wandering around the early Renaissance galleries and found this lovely piece of stained glass. It is said to depict Sarah and Tobias from the bible. Now if this isn’t a fairy tale I don’t what is! Apparently Sarah had already married seven men and they’d all died on the wedding night. When she married Tobias (WHY?) he thought it was all over for him but then, fortunately, the angel Raphael turned up and suggested to Tobias that he shouldn’t consummate the marriage for at least three nights thereby passing the fateful first night.

The stained glass shows them safely tucked up in bed with a dog at their feet. The dog symbolises chastity in religious paintings. The extinguished candle in the bottom left hand corner is symbolic of Tobias’ extinguished temptation. Apparently.

Sleeping happily

This is a story from the Old Testament but I think it sounds like an adults version of a Brothers Grimm tale. Was she enchanted by an evil witch with a love of the macabre? Or maybe Sarah visited a witch and asked for the power to attract men but, just as she left, the witch cackled as she announced to her pet crow that every man she married would die on their wedding night.

But Raphael was right and Sarah and Tobias lived happily every after. I think the witch was turned into a newt.

I also spotted (and quite liked) this wooden carving. It’s on an oak panel dating from around 1522 and is from France. The entire thing shows this poor chap and a guy in some sort of official garb who’s clearly not happy with him. It’s unknown what it’s about specifically but the guy in the picture has clearly been caught nicking stuff because as the official guy grabs him, a whole load of stuff falls out of his coat. Best guess by those that know these things was that it stood as a warning outside a building.

Ah, I didn't do nahfink! Honest guv. Thems golden plates is mine

I think he looks quite aggrieved.

Anyway, the afternoon was far better than the morning and I learned all about Cornelius Varley. He invented the graphite telescope which was a big hit in the early 1800s. Unfortunately all he wanted to do was paint but he just kept inventing these amazing optical devices. There was a LOT of stuff about him for me to dig out and disseminate.

At work today I researched a wide range of subjects. From Fry’s chocolate to cable television, from Billingsgate Fish Market to an artist presently living in New England. It’s always such a fun day, especially now I have the use of both hands again.

Someone I didn’t have to research but just found in passing was the marvellous author of the book, the title of which I have used to head this post. Mountaineering in Search of Health written in 1883.

It would be fair to say that Elizabeth Alice Frances Le Blond [nee Hawkins-Whitshed] was a bit of a game girl. By all accounts (well the one I read today anyway) she feared nowt but fear itself. And, while she loved nothing more than scaling the dizzying heights of every peak known to mankind, she did it in a skirt that barely reached her knees. Her mother was totally shocked. What a scandal. London society was in an uproar. Liz just brushed this aside, saying “I owe a supreme debt of gratitude to the mountains for knocking from me the shackles of conventionality.”

She was engaged to and then married an adventurer called Colonel Frederick Gustavus Burnaby when she was just 19. While it sounds like the marriage was bending to the precepts of society, I reckon it was a marriage made in heaven. They just went adventuring together. She travelled “…on the borders of consumption…” which eventually took it’s toll on her. Ignoring the toughness of spirit, she ended up in Switzerland, convalescing in a clinic.

Among her various achievements was the moment when she put her own boots on. She’d never done it before and, eventually, it led to her realising she could do without a maid. I’m thinking her maid was probably quite happy about that, not wanting to climb mountains behind her, carrying the tea things.

In 1885, doing the crazy commando thing, Fred tried to rescue General Charles Gordon at Khartoum but was killed in the attempt. This didn’t phase Liz in the least. The next year she married a professor of engineering called Dr John Frederic Main. I really have no idea why because there was a strange marriage settlement where lots of her lands went to him and after their marriage, he became an investment banker and moved to Denver, Colorado, dying in 1892.

No-one could say our Liz wasn’t blessed with perseverance. In 1900 she married for a third time. Francis Bernard Aubrey Le Blond the son of a merchant.

Apparently she never spent a lot of time with any of her husbands, seeing as she spent a lot of time up mountains in Switzerland or skiing down them or engaging in some winter sport, like ice skating. In fact, she became the first woman to pass the men’s skating test effectively abolishing the separate tests in St Moritz at the time. She was one of the first to make bicycle tours of the Alps and raced cars up hills in competitions.

The magazines of the time loved her. She was the sort of celebrity the mags really go for. Unconventional, fiercely independent, defiant, twice widowed, able to tie her own boots. As a result, she was one of the best-known woman mountain climbers of her time. You see, she wasn’t the only one. There were others. Liz even went climbing a mountain without a male, choosing, instead, to go with Lady Evelyn McDonnell.

She did an awful lot more stuff, including plenty of voluntary work during WWI but I reckon that’s enough for this post. I may come back to the wonderful Liz.

What an amazing woman

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At lunchtime I popped out to the V&A and found a St Sebastien I didn’t know was there! I didn’t think it possible.

St Sebastien without his arrows

He’s a fine looking fellow, if you ask me. Mind you he was a officer in the Roman army so you’d think he’d be fit.

I also spotted this stained glass window of the Devil tempting Jesus with what looks like a basket of emu eggs. It annoys me that all the baddies are brightly coloured while Jesus tends to wear nothing but various shades of beige. What does that say about creation? Surely if Jesus believed in God then he believed that God created all the colourful things in the world. How come he didn’t go in for the fluorescent colours so readily available to the Devil, for instance. I’ve never understood the desire not to glorify God by wearing bright colours. Why don’t nuns wear yellow? Why can’t a vicar wear a harlequin jacket?

'Hey, Mister, you like egg?' 'No thank you, my good man, they are too bright. Unless you have something a bit more beige.'

It’s all about as crazy as a one-legged tap dancer with hiccoughs.

Yesterday I had a somewhat full to the brim day. Actually, if you could fill something beyond the brim, that’s pretty much what yesterday was like. An above the brim day.

In short, I three coat varnished the window sill in the stairwell, I put up the new hurdle fence to replace the one that I removed Wednesday, I had a Talking Newspaper and I spent some quality time with some limescale.

In the end, I didn’t eat dinner until 10pm and when it was time to go to bed, blogging was the last thing on mind…actually that’s not entirely true. I remember starting to think that I just wanted to go to sleep but didn’t actually get as far as ‘wanted’.

Today, however, it was back to work for a lovely rest. If you call research a rest. Like I do.

Anyway, for some reason, I had a lot of geologists today. I managed six object records and they included six geologists for me to find out about.

First there was Adam Sedgwick, the so-called father of geological education. An amazing man who managed to combine a belief in an Intelligent Creator and the understanding of rocks and strata. He, basically, was responsible for the Devonian and Cambrian periods…well, not for the periods themselves but, rather for the proposition that they existed. He took a very young Charles Darwin out for a few days rock chopping once, back in the early 19th century only to damn him to hell after The Origin of Species was published. OK, that’s a bit strong but he was very displeased with how wayward Mr Darwin had become in his advancing years.

Following Sedgwick (and don’t worry, I’m only going to give three of them and not all six!) was Henry de la Beche, an all round nice guy who everyone loved. He clearly wasn’t your typical argumentative type of geologist and, in fact, was a bit of a rough housing soldier type until the wars ran out and he had to try something else. Fortunately, his mum lived at Lyme Regis so he went back home to live. Here he met Mary Anning, the fossil woman from Lyme Regis and they became great chums. His views were somewhat at odds with Sedgwick when it came to the Cambrian and Devonian periods but, rather than get into an argument, Henry drew funny little cartoons.

But my all time favourite has to be Lyon Playfair. An amazingly amazing guy. Did everything that happened to happen along. A great name and a truly great guy. He eventually settled into chemistry and larked about with how gas related to geology and that sort of high falutin’ stuff. But the best thing was that he was made Postmaster General in 1873 because, as the biography I read states, he invented the postcard in 1870.

Now, I was going to leave it at that because it’s just really cool that a chemist should take a bit of time out of his busy schedule and Bunsen burners just to invent a small piece of cardboard with a picture on one side but, since getting home, I have discovered that the postcard was invented in Austria in 1869 by Dr. Emanuel Herrmann or by Theodore Hook in 1840 as a form of a joke at the expense of the postal workers or by a bunch of Medieval nuns locked away in some dark monastery somewhere. (Don’t you just LOVE the Internet with its infinite versions of history?)

Now the information I use at the Science Museum is generally pretty good but I think, what the bio meant was that Playfair INTRODUCED the idea of postcards, possibly after seeing the Austrian ones a year before. but that just doesn’t sound as funny.

Which reminds me…at the Talking Newspaper yesterday I read a piece about the strange things people take to the council’s Recycling Centre. One of the items listed was a two ton truck full of stamps. I guess some people just don’t know when to stop collecting.

Anyway, enough about geology (and stamps…and postcards)! At lunchtime I popped over to the V&A and went for a wander around my favourite part, the Medieval Renaissance gallery.

The Medieval Renaissance gallery, the V&A

It’s so light with such wonderful figures in it. Even the really awful things, like the martyrdom of St Margaret, are exquisite and excite such emotion. And here is Margaret, looking absolutely serene in the perfect belief that she’ll live on for eternity just because she refused to say she wasn’t a Christian. Crazy and misguided maybe but still, it’s a beautiful piece of art.

St Margaret being martyred

I was also quite taken by a couple of angels. Rather than being made from stone or wood or clay these two chaps were first cast in terracotta and then covered in tin. This might sound quite odd but they have an amazing glow which makes you wander back for a second (and third) look to make sure they are still there and haven’t been tricking you all along.

A lovely tin angel, waits by my grave

I had a lovely wander and went back via the Indian statues. I love the ancient stories and gods. Like Ganesh who was a bit of a party boy but who accidentally had his head cut off. Luckily, the guy who had the sword apologised and said he’d give him the head of the first animal that went by. Sadly it was an elephant and now he has a big trunk and floppy ears but…and I don’t say this lightly…at least it wasn’t a fly.

But I didn’t want to talk about Ganesh (though he’s such a Bacchanalian, I can’t help but love him) because today I found out about Durga. She is pretty amazing. She is actually the female energy of the god Shiva and has eight arms. In each of these arms, she holds a weapon so she can cut down the evil forces that beset the world. I’m not sure how a bit of female energy can have arms but then I don’t understand how the Holy Ghost works either. I just gloss over those things.

Now I’m a bit of Wonder Woman fan but I reckon Durga could easily take her down. But don’t take my word for it. Here she is, killing Mahishasura just as he transforms out of his buffalo disguise. (This stuff is just brilliant.)

Druga the destroyer of evil and baddies in general

I reckon our new house just might need a little Durga of its own.

I had a couple of People records to complete first thing this morning. For one I was waiting for an email but the other I just completely missed last week. It’s beyond me how I did that. As I explained to Nick, I was so engrossed in researching the potash mines that the artist, Len Tabner was simply forgotten.

I had a lovely informative email in my inbox from a chap who used to be the vice chairman of the Ellenroad Spinning Mill Trust, giving me some terrific details. These two records took me about half an hour and then I was back to updating the Prime catalogue of records; slowly working my way through the 900+ pages of old pre-MIMSY records.

I can’t remember how long ago I last looked at this massive document but it took me a little while to actually understand it. And then I realised that my days of quick, easy researching had ended. The PRIME records are sparse; the MIMSY imported versions even worse. Still, it’s better than updating thousands of nipple shield records.

The highlight of the day was discovering the joys of submarines. The Science Museum holds a load of blueprints dating back to the 1800s of submarines. They are drawings for the ones designed by the Swedish submarine king Thorvald Nordenfelt.

Apparently, the first mention of something that could be a submarine dates back to 1580. Milliam Bourne, a pub landlord spoke about a boat that could work underwater. It all sounds like a bloke standing at the bar spouting forth to his mates about the possibility of underwater boating. I do that sort of thing all the time when I’m drunk. I don’t see they’d have been any different in the 16th century.

I also read about the submarine that the Greek navy purchased in order to use against the Turks. They weren’t happy about that (the Turks) so they bought the next model up from the one the Greeks bought. The thing is, the Greeks never used theirs and the Turkish submarine had a test run of the torpedoes which ended up with the submarine upending and sinking to bottom. Chalk that one up to capitalism. I rather like the idea that the two opposing navies bought their submarines from the same company. I should mention that this happened in 1886.

As I read copious reams of submarine related material, the sky decided to chuck prodigious amounts of rain onto the basement skylight. I’m happy to report that it works an awful lot better than the old one. Actually, the old one leaked and the new one doesn’t and that’s more than an improvement if you ask me.

Coincidentally, the time was also approaching lunch and Ailsa wished me well as I ventured forth. I was tempted to stay in the museum but, as I was climbing the stairs to street level, the sun came out and the rain stopped. I decided to visit the V&A.

My first stop was the Indian statues. I wanted to find out what the story was regarding Krishna and the magic wishing tree as I mentioned it in last Friday’s post.

Krishna and the magic wishing tree

The story is quite mad. Apparently Krishna and Satyabhama were on some sacred mission to return some stolen earrings when Satyabhama spotted this amazing tree (the parijata) that grew in heaven and belonged to Indra. Satyabhama asked Krishna to nick it, the idea being to replant it at their place in Dwarka. Naturally, Indra wasn’t happy and so he and Krishna started to mix it up a bit. Krishna won but Satyabhama told him to leave the tree, that she was only trying to upset Indra’s wife Sachi. I mean, what the hell is that about?

To be completely honest, I reckon it looks like Adam and Eve and the tree of knowledge.

I then spotted a wonderful display of Japanese netsuke. We love these tiny bone sculptures. They are so impossibly intricate and yet so small.

Kintoki & Yamauba

This one represents Kintoki and his foster mother Yamauba. Kintoki was a super child, raised in the mountains and many believed he was raised by a mountain ogress (they sort of hang around and eat human beings) which is who (or what) Yamauba is.

Agh, rats!

And this one is amusingly titled Thwarted Ratcatcher. Clearly he’s not very good.

I could have stood looking at them for ages but the other visitors to the museum were getting a bit impatient behind me so I continued on to the silver gallery where I walked passed Karen’s little office, saddened that she wasn’t there, before turning round and going back to work. And more submarines. And Barbara’s crisps.

I had a number of texts from Mirinda who has been suffering with an upset tummy all day. Wishing to escape the crunching noises, I went up the stairwell to ring her. This is where everyone goes to make personal calls, which is seriously weird because it’s just a giant echo chamber.

Anyway, I suggested to Mirinda that she should have a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water. She thought I was joking. She bought some goopy stuff instead, which contained…bicarbonate of soda. She may stay in the flat tonight if she doesn’t improve. Apart from how she feels, it might be wise given the weather.

An interesting note…I just read the post for 26 August last year and it rained then as well.

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How do people read and listen to music at the same time? It’s not a trick I’ve mastered but I see people on the train doing it all the time. Perhaps they’re listening to classical music. I’ll probably never find out. For my part, I end up being transported by the music and completely forget I’m reading. Usually after reading the same page about eight times. Then I turn the music off or close the book.

We finally finished Twin Peaks tonight. Mirinda wasn’t too happy with the ending. I quite liked it but then I love Jacobean tragedy.

Meanwhile, at the Science Museum…the PCF records are complete! I finished the amendments Nick left for me on the acrylics, and completed the three mixed media and single tempura record. That’s the complete list of 288 objects. It’s been a long haul but (apart from anything Nick finds wrong next week) it’s great to have completed it. Now it’s back to the PRIME list.

This is where I started. It’s a print out of the old database (900+ pages long) and is used as the basis for updating the artworks on MIMSY. As I said to Nick, this will be a lot easier having completed the PCF records since I now know an awful lot more about the system, the structure and art in general.

Speaking of art, I popped over to the V&A again at lunchtime, cruising through the European Art 1500-1800 galleries on level 1. At least that’s where I think I was. You go in one door then wander around, lost in time and space for so long, eventually emerging nowhere near where you started that it’s next to impossible to discern an overarching subject heading.

Not that I’m complaining! I love the way the V&A meanders. You’re never sure where you are or surprises await you around each column or through the next arch.

Detail of a woman doll which sat opposite a man doll - sort of Tudor Ken & Barbie

The galleries I wandered through today were all quite dark. Apart from protecting some of the objects, this quite nicely replicates the interiors of the times – I have no idea whether this is intentional or not. There’s even a full size Jacobean room which is full of dark, oppressive timber.

A baby mourns the dead (1680-1720)

There’s some very interesting clothing from the English Civil War including a suit of half armour which was used in tournaments. Unlike jousting, these later tournaments only required that the top half of the combatants were shielded. I quite liked the inclusion of a rest for the soldier’s lance which appears to be welded onto the breastplate.

King's Head - not the pub

The V&A collection is amazingly diverse. In order to get to the first floor I had to go through a couple of Asian galleries and the difference in historic human representation between the east and the west is extraordinary.

And the opposite is true as well. Something that surprised me was a religious icon purporting to be Krishna & some woman at the magic wishing tree receiving some sort of gift from the gods but to my western eyes, it looked exactly like Adam & Eve.

Coming home, the train was very slow (I don’t know why) and the woman standing behind my seat didn’t stop sighing all the way to Surbiton. She told the guard she’d given up her seat and then not been able to get another. The guard was a lot more polite than I would have been. The thing is, there’d be lots of seats at the front of the train but the Surbiton people apparently need to be down the back. I guess it’s where the exit is located. Still, if you choose to stand on a crowded train, you really can’t complain.

In comparison to yesterday, it was very warm today. By the time I walked in the door, the sweat was streaming down my face. As I mounted the stairs, Mirinda stood outside the bedroom putting on a fleece. Go figure.