Back again!

I'm connected again, and this time not from an internet cafe. I found an open wi-fi network here, so I can blog in the privacy of our hotel room.

It's catch up time for pictures. We visited the London Zoo in Regent's Park last Thursday.

Meet Ralph the Wonder Llama, and his friend, er... Ralph. All llamas are called Ralph as far as I'm concerned.


The serval: long legs, big ears, and a coat to die for (avoid prolonged exposure to humans).


Big moths in the butterfly house. Here we have a giant silk moth (the guide held up a branch with a worm) and a Madagascan Comet moth. Did I mention these things are big? Either of them would make a very stylish hat for Oaks Day.


With a picture like this, what else can I do but quote a part of a poem by Rory Ewins:

Beware the vulture, girls and boys!
He’ll rend your corpse with grisly poise,
’Til no-one near can bear the noise.
He’ll drink your juices, tear your flesh,
Eat every part that isn’t fresh;
He’ll strip yer bones and won’t consult yer—
Quite the fiend, our friend the vulture.

Terrence the talented tap dancing tapir:


"I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Red River Hog.


I'll close with a pair of owls that are just begging for captions:

In Paris, disconnected

This morning our tube ride to Waterloo station on the Bakerloo tube skipped a station: Piccadilly Circus. The tube announcements had told us that trains would not be stopping there due to a security alert. As we eased through a deserted Piccadilly station, I joked about not having heard the news that the rest of the world was hanging on--that there was a major terrorism scare going on above us even as we yawned out of London. Just last night we talked with a British friend about how calmly and phlegmatically the Brits cope with terrorism.

It seems my jest was pretty close to the truth. We didn't catch up with the news until we reached Paris and turned on a TV.

I have a number of photos from the London Zoo, but I won't be posting them for a while. In fact, don't expect much on this blog for the next week and a half. The hotel provides wifi internet connection via a third part supplier that charges about 8 Euro/hour. I'm typing this from an internet cafe.

Random pics from the museum

This may look like a model galleon, but it's really a clock to announce important dinners at court. When it was in working condition, it moved along the table with mast tops twirling; a miniature organ played music in the hull; the front cannon would fire, lighting a fuse to fire the other guns; and the seven Electors processed in front of the Holy Roman Emperor on his throne beneath the main mast. As an added bonus, it even functioned as a clock. There's a clock dial under the main mast and the sailors in the crow's nests strike the quarter hour.

Only one thing to say about this: Rock Beats Scissors


And this one goes in because it's a beautiful piece of sculpture.

British Museum Guide to Night Life

Grooming is very important. Dress to impress.

Distinctive appearances are usually an asset, but if you look like Prince Charles consider otoplasty... really.

When you're dancing, make sure you look like you're having fun, even if you feel embarrassed and uncoordinated.

No half measures. Find the places where people really let their hair down.

British Museum Guide to Cat Care

Always provide your pet with its own special basket or mat.


There are special cat foods that reduce or eliminate coughing of hairballs.


Cats are playful. Make sure you provide toys for them to play with or they'll get up to mischief.


Cats can be very assertive and don't always get on well with other pets.


If you also keep goldfish, remember to put a secure glass cover over the top of the tank.


Remember to worship your cat. Your cat is your god.

A little archness

Coming home from the Tate Britain gallery today, we stopped at Marble Arch. It's a piece of architecture that the Brits moved to the corner of Hyde Park because it no longer fitted where it was originally intended. We've all got pieces of furniture like that -- ones that don't look right but are too good to throw out. (Some people even have relatives like that.)

Politicians speak openly of The War on Terror, but there's another unspoken war going on in London: The War on Pigeons.
And it's not just on monuments and tourists attractions. The anti-avian acicular array pictured here is employed on window sills, ledges, rails, awnings, etc., everywhere one looks. In places like Trafalgar Square there are now signs warning people against giving aid, shelter or sustenance to pigeons and it'll soon be illegal to even associate with columbidaean sympathizers. It all seems a bit extreme, but you have to admit that it could get ugly if the pigeons coordinated their forces to stage a coo.

The Tower of Art

We had a quiet day today, browsing the National Gallery while London did what it does best: rain.

My pattern recognition was firing up fairly quickly in the pre-1600s halls. Madonna and child, pin the pointed stick on the saint, we three kings (complete with entourage), Madonna and child... Oh, and did I mention Madonna and child? Of course, this focus on the nativity was always for religious meditative purposes; if couldn't possibly have been motivated by a desire to paint naked breasts and little boys' penes.

We looked further. Another pattern emerged: Venus, Cupid, assorted bacchanalia, more Venus, more Cupid, and now here's Paris with a golden apple, choosing whether to offer it to Hera, Athena or Aphrodite (i.e. that Venus woman again). Of course, our three lovely contestants for Apple of the Century are dressed by... oops, no. They're completely undressed. What a surprise! Anyone would think that the myths selected as subject matter were an excuse to paint naked lady parts.

We walked until our feet grew tired. We covered but a fraction of the gallery.

To the Tower

Tower of London or circus supplies? You decide:





It was a day for climbing up and down narrow spiral staircases and failing to be shocked at the tales of treason, infidelity, incarceration, beheadings, and other political and religious shenanigans. The hours spent wandering the National Portrait Gallery yesterday didn't prepare us for the gruelling steppercize program at the Tower.

Special note to any tourist attraction managers: give me the option to go into your trinket stores; do not, do not, do not, force me to climb down a flight of stairs to walk past the racks of plastic baubles in the basement and then climb another flight of stairs just to get to your attraction's exit, especially when I've already paid too many pounds to get in.

How Quaint!

Today we observed the quaint vestigial affectations of the guard-Brits. These complex behaviours are intriguing because they're extremely costly and yet, at first glance, completely lacking in utility.

A more thorough examination of their strange dance-like activities and arcane garb reveals a potential evolutionary advantage conferred by their elaborate plumage: apatetic concealment.

Since the outgoing guard-Brits are equipped with only the most rudimentary pointed sticks, it seems the only useful role of these unnaturally decorated drones is to distract and confuse potential hive invaders. The hive itself (built and maintained by worker-Brits to protect their queen) is meticulously detailed but robust.

Use your imagination

No photos today.

When returning from breakfast, we couldn't get into our room. The swipe card didn't work, even after the receptionist reprogrammed the card (to the wrong room number) and then reprogrammed the card (to the right room number) and came to check the door, then called the weilder of the toolbox to help. But that's not why we have no photos today.

We waited on Bayswater station. The platform sign refused to tell us about the trains we wanted. It refused for about fifteen minutes. We waited. Eventually the sign got over its fixation with trains for other lines and told us what we wanted to know. But that's not why we have no photos today.

About a station before Westminster (where we planned to get off and walk to where the horse guards would be) Lyn wondered where I had the camera, since she couldn't see the camera bag on me. Of course, I had the camera sitting safely in our room, conveniently placed to be picked up and taken out. That's why we have no photos today.

We changed our plan for the day: 1. buy tickets for Spamalot and The Mousetrap; 2. wander along Oxford street and look at the shops; 3. catch a bus to Portobello road and look at the market and shops.

Tube delays hit us again when we tried to get to the theatre to see Spamalot this evening. We got there wet and about one minute before the start. The show was fantastic.

It's Museum Day

The lolcats meme has permanently lodged in my brain. Entering a silverwork gallery of the Victoria and Albert Museum, I was faced with an exquisite cat. What came to mind?

"I HAS A SHEELD"

Then I had to get a picture of these hoverboarding cats.

In the foyer of the museum the chandelier should have been called "OCD Balloon Twister"
On closer inspection we see that it's made of glass... delicately blown and assembled glass. The wonder of the work lies not in its beauty but in the extravagance of its creation.

Got any spare artworks?


The Natural History Museum had an impressive array of reconstructed dino-skeletons, but the taxidermy sections were looking depressingly faded. The stuffed samples are tatty and can't be replaced. Looking on a meta-level, most of the displays were themselves relics of history. The Science Museum was definitely alive and kicking.

The body-clock synchronization seems to have worked. We slept until about 6:45, then hit the town. (Actually we hit the continental breakfast first, but you don't need every detail.)

Nobody, nobody, nobody does a space elephant like Salvador.
Of course, Dali is more than just elephants, giraffes, snails, ants, melting clocks and (inferiority complex inducing) exaggerated naughty bits. He's a high priest of chaos, confusion, multi-layered mixed, minced and masticated symbolism (I suspect his symbols had developed their own symbols), and unrestrained ego. It helps that he was also brilliant. It was easy to lose a couple of hours in the exhibitionist's exhibition.

We were unprepared for the interior of Westminster Abbey. From outside it's a huge crinkly construction to the glory of the Judeo-Christian god.
Inside, it's a mathom house for the glory of dead (rich/powerful) people. It's amusing to watch people try to navigate the abbey without stepping on any memorial stones. I guess it must be ever so portant how you walk.

It was a beautiful day to take a "flight" on the London Eye.
Late in the afternoon our feet were needing a tourist attraction like the Eye.

Then to finish the day: a meal in a pub in Leister Square followed by an evening performance of Wicked (which was much removed from the story in the book of the same name, but fantastic entertainment anyway).

Ce n'est pas un avion

This is not what you see while you're stuck in jets and airports for 28 hours. This is the view from the grass in Kensington Gardens. Sunshine, fresh air, quietness, and the freedom to stretch your legs: these are the antidotes to long flight lethargy.


If you think happier thoughts, can you make the flying stop again?

The flight from Melbourne to London was exceedingly tedious. No missed connections, no hold-ups, no terrorist scares, no baggage loss... The most excitement we had was when Lyn's handbag was pulled aside and sent through the scanner a second time - probably because the security guard wanted to take a picture of it to add to their "x-rays of fancy bags" photo-blog. Even with the bag re-scan we didn't get so much as a dirty look or a sideways glance from the guards. Seems we have to make our own excitement.

We almost did this afternoon. In the Serpentine Gallery we almost walked into the ladies toilets instead of the main gallery. The conveniences have glass doors, walls adorned with art works, and abstract symbols. These icons, viewed through art-attuned eyes, appear to be an ironic feminist critique of society's lingering paternalism: a stick figure in a skirt juxtaposed with a disabled stick figure, while the other small gallery was decorated with a male form and a non-descript figure changing a child. Maybe I was reading too much into the symbols, or maybe the line separating modern art from toiletary facilities is not as clear as one might expect.


More excitement. What is this? It was in a dense tangle of trees just near the statue of Peter Pan. Are there supposed to be possums in Kensington Gardens? That's what it looked lke to me, but I couldn't get close enough to tell.

Long Service Leave

We've planned it for years.

Well, planned is probably too organised a word to describe what we did. We mused; we intended; we made mental lists of the places we wanted to see. Then we left any semblance of planning to the last possible minute. Procrastination fosters spontaneity. (Does anyone else detect a whiff of rationalization?)

Now it's finally happening. We've left Melbourne. Our employers are not expecting us back for a couple of months. The kids can manage the house, mind the cats and keep themselves fed. We'll be exploring the British Isles, northern France and Iceland.

This seems like a good place to post photos and write a few notes on our holiday.