An older trace

Off to Tate Britain on Friday to see the installations in what used to be the Duveen Sculpture Gallery.

Bad start in that something was wrong at Clapham Junction and I had to get a Victoria flavoured train, rather than the usual Waterloo flavoured one, but made it in the end, albeit rather later than I had intended or hoped. Picked up a Bullingdon at Grant Road East, without any difficulty on this occasion, and opted for the Wandsworth Road route into town which gave me the opportunity to be reminded about the flashy new paving in the immediate vicinity of the junction (see 20th August 2013). Rather well it looked too, although as with the Bullingdons, I continue to wonder about the cost justification.

Dropped the Bullingdon at Vauxhall Cross, picking up another at Albert Embankment, and on over Lambeth Bridge, to be rather irritated by a smartly turned out middle aged gent. cycling south across the bridge on the upstream pavement, despite there being perfectly good bicycle lanes on both sides of the road. He looked as if he might well have emerged from the nearby HQ of the security service and if you can't trust them to stick to the rules who can you trust?

Dropped this second Bullingdon at Millbank House to make my way into the exhibition put on by Phyllida Barlow, a descendant of Charles Darwin no less and slightly older than I am. It turns out that she was a pre-cursor of Dame Trace (see, for example, May 12th 2010 in the other place) in that she started making sculptures out of rubbish first. Rather better at it, I might say, than her more famous successor, making the sort of stuff out of junk timber that I might make myself, but I am not sure it ought to be given house room in a sculpture gallery, being nothing more than a junk timber version of doodling on paper, which I do do (see, for example, 6th April). But I chatted to a lady from Jamaica, who did not particularly like the stuff, but who had a far more imaginative response to it than I did, associating in a fascinating way to all the junk that gets thrown up on the beaches back home, in particular treasure chests.

Took a quick peek at Holman Hunt's strayed sheep, which still seems very bright compared to our reproduction behind the PC and which must have been made before the picture was cleaned, before catching the third Bullingdon to the Oval. Once again I managed to get off at the wrong stand, that is to say Kennington Cross, leaving me rather further to walk to the Oval than I had intended. But I did catch a very fine wisteria, west facing and in full flower across the front of a house in Lambeth Road. Not sure why this particular wisteria was so much earlier than those elsewhere; that in our own garden, for example, only just coming into bud. There was also a live OddBins at Kennington, one of what must be just a few survivors: I still miss the one I used to have on the way home from Epsom station, Waitrose not nearly so convenient and with neither Tesco nor Co-op being up to much.

On to the Tooting Wetherspoon's, where selecting the most expensive white wine in the house worked for me, with the resultant Sauv. Blanc being entirely acceptable. Started to speculate about which planets were in which house at the time of my birth (Libra), speculations which my interlocutor, another Libran, thought was a fairly crude way of poking fun at her, so she left. But it is true that the skies have been clear this spring and there are planets to be seen, even if I am not very good at sorting out which is which. Too busy trying to sort out the horns of the moon (see 8th April. Which makes me wonder how Pepys would have got on with a searchable diary, rather than a ciphered one).

Home via Earlsfield where I had time to admire the deep ruts worn in the road surface by passing buses and where I was able to score several of twos at the aeroplane game while waiting for the train home. One of the aeroplanes had four engines and seemed rather large, leading to further speculations about whether the interval between aeroplanes was in any way related to the number of engines. It seemed quite likely. I also decided that what I needed to up my game was a couple of poles on stands which I could use to mark the position at which aeroplanes came into view and went out of view. One could do it by mentally marking the right bits of tree, but with there being quite a lot of trees, that was too much for the wine washed brain. Poles would be easy enough to carry about - but what about the stands?

Back at Epsom I noticed that the field which had contained the horselet (search for horselet or see, for example, 2nd January 2013) also contained a small pond, or perhaps a large puddle. So all the fussing about water for the horselet may have been misplaced. We may even have made quite unwarranted remarks about the horse keeping arrangements of the travelling community. On the other hand, the small pond may have been the result of the abnormal amount of rain over the winter just past.

St. Paul

Yesterday we though to pay a visit to St. Paul's, not having been there for a while. Rather dearer than a provincial cathedral at £14 each for OAPs but worth it.

First item of disappointment was the leaflet you got with your ticket, the leaflet which is mainly diagrams of the cathedral. But the front is a smiling picture of the Queen and the back is a couple of lurid advertisements for other attractions. St. Paul's sinking to the level of a.n. other attraction. As a heritage loving atheist, I want a bit more decorum in my churches. Perhaps further evidence - after the squatter performance last year - of the lack of judgement of the management of the place.

I had forgotten what a big place it is, with the central space seeming much larger than that in a more old-fashioned cathedral, although this might be as much to do with the absence of rood screen as with size of nave. Choir not shut off from the customers, although there might be a price in the form of more drafts for the choir boys - and girls - there was a lady assistant at Communion, so I dare say there are choir ladies too.

First item of interest was the very large font, which, rather irreverently, made me think of ducks in the bath.

Second item of interest was the collection of rather louche statues of naval heroes. A rather hard life, with two or three that I noticed having joined up at 13 or 14 and served until they found glory as captains (or post-captains for those that remember their Hornblower) at 45 or 46, quite possibly without all that much time ashore in their 30 years or so of naval life. One of the monuments, in addition to a lightly clad hero, included what looked like a frieze of Lemuel Gulliver being tied up by the natives. Another with one which reminded me of Noah's Ark.

Up to the high altar to admire the elaborate canopy. If one sat in the right place one had an elaborately gilded vista, rather impressive if rather Romish in flavour, despite the absence of statues of the Virgin. Not sure if the canopy counted as a ciborium.

As a round off to the Pre-Raphaelites, admired the large version of 'The Light of the World', which here did not seem to be such a silly picture as it did in the exhibition at the Tate; there is still some point in what Hunt is saying. A pity that it was so badly lit, which meant that one only got a decent view from one spot to the right.

Walking west back from behind the altar, I was impressed by the unfolding vistas of the crossing, effects which one did not get when stationary. And further impressed by the trompe-l'œil painting on the inside of the dome: Wren (or one of his chaps) was confident enough to mix the real with the fake in this in-your-face way. Not sure if a modern architect would get away with it.

Down to the basement where the tablets for various arty types had been confined. And while Wellington had pride up place upstairs, Nelson had the grander monument downstairs. Perhaps because he got there first, he was able to snaffle the best spot.

Rather cold and wet we bused it back to Waterloo, where we paid a visit to the headquarters of Konditor & Cook which, despite being a fancy baker, appeared to be doing as much business in lunch time sandwiches as in cakes. And fancy enough that we had to settle for one loaf of rosemary & potato and another of rye. The first turned out to be rather good, even if I would never have known about the potato had it not said on the label. Of a texture and appearance which I cannot get near in my own efforts. The second remains to be opened but I suspect it will be rather dark and heavy, best consumed in thin slices with cheese.

Pulling into Epsom we kept an eye out for the horselet (see 7th January) but could see him (or her). Checked this morning to find that he had been rescued (see illustration). I wondered when a rescue counted as a theft.

Youth

There is a tunnel under the railway line to Waterloo which connects East Street to our branch of Screwfix, not many months refurbished, after many complaints & reminders from residents of the surrounding area. Also near the field of the horselet noticed on January 2nd 2013. Refurbishment included provision of lighting, set into the walls, lighting which, I must say, I felt from the outset was a bit vulnerable.

The tunnel attracted its fair share of graffiti and the council pushed back with regular repainting. They must have been quick off the mark as I rarely came across any which had not been painted out.

But this week the youth of the surrounding area have upped their game and smashed most of the lights; perhaps they have the not very good excuse that they were brain dead at the time. Given that some sort of toughened glass was involved they must have gone to the bother of bringing out a sledgehammer or some such to do the job - and I had not thought that such people were so organised. Hopefully the council will decide to fill the holes and let the residents make do with street lights, which do not seem to attract the same sort of attention.

Horselet

Pleased to report that the small horse noticed on 2 January is still alive and well. Fast food container still there, moved along but water apparently untouched.

But clearly a properly trained horse as it responded to my clucking by trundling across the field to see me, whereas it had ignored the clucking of the two young ladies whose clucking, from the same position by the fence, had preceded mine.

But not so pleased to report that I have now seen two hydraulic platforms - the sort of thing that one might use to repair fifth floor windows from the outside - left unpropped and hanging over public access areas near the new buildings on top of Epsom Station. One of them had been so left overnight.

My understanding of hydraulic safety in garages is that one should never work underneath something which has been lifted up by hydraulics unless the something concerned has first been locked into place, by props, locking bolts or otherwise. By extension, one should not walk away from a hydraulic platform left hanging hydraulically over innocent members of the travelling public; it should be put properly to bed first. What on earth would happen if some deranged hoodie took a bolt cutter to a hydraulic hose? Apart from getting hydraulic fluid squirting into his or her face that is. Are the Health & Safety people asleep on the job? Or are they fully committed to policing the regulations concerning the employment of faggies and fatties? Should I report them to headquarters?