Duck Woman

Today was pretty near as perfect a day as you could wish for. Even the weather proved reliable…if you ignore the wet bit, which didn’t really dampen our spirits any. Even the mad person who accompanied us in the first class carriage as far as Surbiton, didn’t put any negative spin upon the day.

Actually, before I start waxing lyrical about this perfect day, I should explain that I do not work alone at the Science Museum. I merely mentioned that Nick (and everyone else except Barbara) was on holiday last week and, therefore, would not be there. He was there this week and will be (holidays excepted) every other week after that.

Anyway, enough of that…today we took an early train up to London for a wonderful day of various things we love doing. First up, we journeyed over to Shoreditch to visit the Geffrye Museum. This involved catching a bus along with a couple of ladies who were out and about, flaunting their bus passes and bragging about their free day out in London.

There was a chap on the bus who turned out to be doing a survey of people travelling on route 243. He was slightly odd because he didn’t bother stating what he was doing. I thought he was a ticket inspector and held out my Oyster card obediently but he then started asking how I paid for it. Now, this isn’t as simple a question as you’d expect because I don’t, exactly, top it up, this happens automatically when it falls below £5 in credit.

Eventually, after babbling away for a bit and realising he didn’t actually have any idea what I was going on about, I told him it wasn’t a weekly. This seemed to make him happy. After a few more questions, he moved on to the two ladies in front of us, the ones out for the day for free, and they went through the same palaver.

Eventually we reached bus stop KA (I really have no idea what this means) and hopped off, waving the odd chap goodbye and wandering down the road, pursued by the two ladies, heading towards the Geffrye. This part of Kingsland Road was surprisingly quiet. It’s hard to imagine that a little over a week ago, there were riots a little way further down.

The Geffrye Museum is an amazing place. Mirinda has been before a couple of times and told me about it but nothing really prepares you for your first vision of this huge expanse of land in London just across the road from a load of 1970’s brutalist style council flats.

Originally, the building was a series of almshouses. They were built in 1714 by the Ironmonger’s Company with money left to them for this purpose, by Sir Robert Geffrye. They were used for nearly 200 years by up to 50 people at a time. In the early 20th century, the area had become quite horrible and unsavoury so the building was sold and the almshouses moved.

The buildings were destined for demolition but were saved at the last moment by a petition organised by the Arts & Crafts movement, who wanted the whole place preserved as a peaceful green area in an otherwise densely populated pit. It worked (the petition) and it was turned into a museum which opened its doors for the first time in 1914.

What makes this museum so special is that each room along the corridor is furnished and decorated in different periods, showing the development of the middle classes of society. I stress the lower case ‘middle classes’ as they are referring to people in the middle of the socio-economic world rather than the Middle Classes, with leading caps, that the Victorians created.

Each room is accompanied by wonderful cut away diagrams of a typical house of the relevant period, showing the development of houses into what we have today. The older ones were all very dark. The Victorians filled theirs up with as much stuff as they could. My favourite was the 1930-40 room.

I’ve tried to get a shot of two rooms in order to show how it’s laid out. These displays are in the modern extension rather than the original building, though, to be fair, the original isn’t curved so it’s impossible to get two rooms together. The room on the left is 1950-60 and the one on the right is today.

As well as the rooms there is an extensive garden (we’ll have to see that next time as we ran out of any today) which has an interesting garden room that overlooks it. It is a lovely curving room that has just enough room for seats all around and a selection of books to read while you pretend you live there.

The interesting part is the mural. And the interesting part of the mural is the mysterious duckwoman.

I have no idea what this means. The rest of the mural looked fine but, after Mirinda pointed this out to me, I had to get a shot of her. It’s not just the fact that it is a duck in a dress, wearing a bonnet but the strange parasol as well. She is holding it as if it’s some sort of long distance microphone device, pointing towards those making their evil plans. There was nothing (I could see) that explains her. I call her Duck Woman.

We also popped downstairs to the special exhibition which is due to finish soon. It is a Japanese house. Sort of. It shows how our general view of the minimalist house in Japan is a myth. That the Japanese have houses full of stuff, just like us. In fact, if you really want to buy a Japanese person a gift, make it something edible or drinkable because they truly will appreciate it. Honestly. That’s straight from the Japanese.

They have more storage than living space. The more things they acquire, the greater the need for storage and the decrease in living space as their storage boxes take over. I realise we in the west do the same but the Japanese seemed to have made an art of it.

My favourite part of the Japanese home is the entrance hall, where a cupboard stands, upon which are placed charms and statues which ward off evil spirits, keeping them out of the rest of the house. I bought a lucky cat in the gift shop to go on our junior Jali, alongside the red Buddha from New York. I don’t want Aunt Vera coming inside to get me.

Time had well and truly flown and we had to make swift tracks to make it to the next part of our day. Lunch. But not just any old lunch. Lunch at the Savoy. However, first, Mirinda insisted in answering this woman’s survey about the museum just on the threshold of freedom that is the main entrance.

That’s her, inside the big keyhole, gritting her teeth and answering questions in order to tailor the museum experience more to the liking of the casual visitor who answers surveys. I waited outside almost taking a self portrait by a tree. I took too long to decide to do it and was interrupted by Mirinda’s arrival and subsequent dash for the bus.

The Savoy was beckoning. Actually, the Savoy somehow knew my name. When I booked lunch the other day, the woman on the phone asked for my phone number, which I gave her and she then called me Gary Cook. This is odd for a number of reasons. Firstly I hadn’t given her my name, secondly, I’ve never been to the Savoy before and thirdly, the phone is in Mirinda’s name. It seems the Savoy knows things that other restaurants (and hotels) can only dream about.

The Savoy is interesting because the land it stands on was given to Peter of Savoy by Henry III in 1246. Peter built what became known as the Savoy Palace on the site. Of course this has long since gone but the name has endured. The hotel that stands there now, was completed in 1889 and was the first luxury hotel in Britain. It was built on the proceeds of the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas that Richard D’Oyly Carte produced at the Savoy Theatre next door.

We were booked into the Savoy Grill for 12:30 and what a lovely place! I felt a little under dressed though the dress code is smart casual and I was pretty much that. Still, I was a bit conspicuous for being about the only male without a tie. Still, the staff still served us and smiled and were generally happy.

Mirinda was very happy with the food, I was not as enthused. Not that it was in any way horrible. In fact the dessert (Eton mess) was fabulous but the main meal was let down by the lack of a fruit sauce and the starter was a bit weird. However, the wine was superb and the service excellent.

But, most important, I had crispy pigs head croquettes for starter, grouse breasts with bread sauce and wine jus on a bed of watercress and pate for the main, and the Eton mess. Mirinda had mint and courgette soup with walnuts for starter, the grouse for main and bomb Alaska on pineapple for dessert. It was, actually, really lovely. But I was unable to describe how crispy pigs head tastes.

We spent about an hour and a half at the Savoy, eating, drinking and chatting before it was time to move on to our next event. As we started to leave we were informed that it was pouring with rain outside. I went outside and, it was. All the porters were lined up outside, waiting for taxis, not wanting to venture out beyond the roof. This chap decided to try and scrape something off the side of the fountain. I don’t know what or why but thought it looked interesting given his outfit.

Eventually, we made it to a Boots store where we (along with a few others) bought a couple of umbrellas and then wandered across the Strand and headed up to Aldwych. We had booked in to see Butley at the Duchess Theatre but Mirinda had slotted in a bit of walking around time before we were due to sit in the theatre. So we wandered around Covent Garden in the rain, trying to avoid the thousands of tourists huddled in the little available shelter.

Butley is a play written by Simon Gray. It’s one of those parts that I really wish I could have played. I think I would have suited him perfectly. Still, I wasn’t in it today and, instead, we saw Dominic West who was pretty good. Though I did think he was acting a slob rather than being one. It’s a rather fine detail but pretty much the only criticism I can find for his performance. In fact, he was excellent.

Although the play was written in 1970, it hasn’t aged and is relevant today as it was then. It is also incredibly funny. It’s the first time either of us have seen it performed on stage. We have both read the script and I have seen Alan Bates in the movie version.

Also superb, I thought, was Penny Downie who played Edna. A difficult part and one that needs to get the audience onside which she did very well. I liked her performance very much. Particularly her final scene with Butley. When she tells him she no longer visits Ursula in her cottage in Ockham in ‘that way’ because Ursula got married, she oozes lost chances and regrets.

Martin Hutson as Joseph was also very good. As a foil for Butley, I thought he worked extremely well. It isn’t easy when the character you’re working with is so big and all encompassing but Martin managed it well, I thought. He makes a lot of the humour work as he plays the straight man to Butley’s clown perfectly.

We both enjoyed the play a lot, laughing almost continuously (except for the bits that weren’t funny) from start to finish. I am SO glad we went and saw it.

And then, finally, it was time to wander across Waterloo bridge, climb aboard a South West Trains train and head on home.

We decided to pay the small upgrade fee in order to sit happily comfortable in first class. We hadn’t allowed for the lunatic that entered the carriage just before we left Waterloo. This guy jiggled and sang and tapped out a beat and generally made annoying gestures to the wall in that way that people with personal stereos sometimes do because they don’t realise the rest of the world can see but not (really) hear them. Except he didn’t have a personal stereo. Whatever he was hearing was locked deep inside his head. I think it was an evil spirit. He needs a lucky cat.

I watched him slyly as I pretended to read. His face alternated between screwed up pain and fear and delirious happiness. He was clearly possessed and we were very, very pleased when he left the train at Surbiton. The rest of the trip home was, thankfully, uneventful.

But what a day! And, I think, my longest blog entry EVER! As Mirinda said, it’s basically an essay.