I had to have my photo taken for work today – the best picture of all the half-a-gazillion that we took was this one, which was me essentially dicking around [technical term] after too many too close / wrong side / skew-eyed attempts. The viewing software on my machine at work had a few filters and, as you do, I clicked through them and loved this Burlesque one. But alas I’m not allowed to use this picture at work, as well you know “serious” required.
I popped in to the vineyard on Upper Street for dinner before my dance class this evening as I was ridiculously early and there was no way I was going to try and struggle home and back out again given the tube strikes. A massive picture of Dali is painted on one wall, staring down. I have no idea why, it doesn’t tie into anything else – but regardless it makes me smile on the rare occasions I come in.
In the end I was too tired to make my dance class and headed home.
I’m sat with Laurence enjoying a well earned drink (or three) after our dance exams and all of a sudden I notice, after being in the restaurant for hours, the label of a wine bottle on the display ~ there’s a sketch of a woman with her hand in her pants. In. Her. Pants. We’re both like “say whaaat??!?!”
After breakfast we head to the Rockefeller Centre and mooch around a bit before going in to go to the top, only to be told that the next time we can go up will be in an hour. In a lightbulb moment we thought, rather than killing time hanging around, it might be nicer to actually go up at night, so we booked our trip to the Top of the Rock (as it’s called) for 10.45pm after seeing the Blue Man Group.
I went out for lunch today with a work colleague to Leon in the heart of Spitalfields Market. I’ve walked through it many times, but never stopped to browse. Market = Tat, right? Apparently wrong, quite wrong indeed.
There are loads of really lovely stalls selling pictures, hats and one selling t-shirts printed with artwork ~ an homage to different artists.
I’ve always admired Esher’s work, I wouldn’t say that he was in my top 10 artists, the mind involved in creating this work must incredible. This T-Shirt just intrigued me, the intricacies, wow! I couldn’t walk away from it, believe me I kept trying, but I just kept coming back to it. Bought. And it comes with an A4 print of the design too! Sweet.
Some of my colleagues have had a Patty and Bun breakfast this morning and I missed out. All my brain can now think of is that delicious patty of meat with cheese melting evocably, oozing … sorry I got distracted.
As the morning passed my desire has turned to obsession. By 12.45 I’m in the starting blocks ready to beat the crowds Patty and Bun, Patty and Bun, Patty And Bun!! And I’m out the door…
… but I’ve walked passed the end of the road and the next and the next after that. The weather is good(ish), I’m feeling in a walky mood (a new thing I’ve discovered since having my fitbit) – I fancy a walk down by the Thames, it doesn’t look far on my phone map, so off I stride. I’ll get P&B on the way back.
Just as I’m about to hit the Thames I see a rather crappy sign “The Poppies” and an arrow. In my head The Tower of London is somewhere close to the Thames Barrier, certainly not within walking distance of work, but a quick check on super-phone-maps says 8mins away … Left Turn!!
The Poppies at The Tower of London are stunning, poignant and shattering at the same time. From afar a sea of blood, a bit closer a distinguishable poppy representing a British military life lost during World War I.
888,246 poppies, 888,246 lives lost. Incomprehensible.
On the way back to work I stumbled across Lloyds of London and a tiny little church (St Andrew’s Undershaft) nestled and somewhat swamped by and between modernist buildings.
I do love London. I never got that Patty & Bun, but who cares?!