The British Museum is apparently the most visited tourist attraction in London; and lots of visitors come at Christmas time. That must be why the tour guides for the museum take that time off work: it is holiday season. Christine told me a story about a cafe in Poland where she went for lunch but the cafe was closed because all the waiters were having lunch. It makes sense when you think about it.
In The British Museum you can get a 'Free trade' coffee, or a 'Free trade' snack. It is great really because it sustains you as you look at all of the plunder of the world, not just the British colonies, but the whole world. They pinched everything from tiny jewels from the eyes to minature statues of Egypt, to whole buildings that they fancied in Mycaenae. Good on them. The won the wars, they stole the stuff fair and square. You can't revise history. I know Greece want their marble sculptures and columns back, but really if the Brits started giving stuff back to its rightful owner then what would be left in the British Museum? So it is really good that they try to balance things up in the modern world by offering 'Free trade' stuff for sale in the cafeteria. It makes sense, sort of, when you think about it.
I went the church. Big, fat, Anglican church; Westminster Abby no less. I wanted to see the inside, I wanted to pretend that I was Lady Diana becoming Princess Diana, and I wanted to hear some big church choral singing. But, being a total cheapskate, I did not want to pay. So I went to something called Evensong. It is a service that is mainly sung and while they make tourists pay £9 to get in, those who come to worship get in for free. So I went in to worship. We confessed and were absolved, prayed for the queen, Prince Philip and Prince Charles and all the other unnamed members of the royal family. We also prayed for the members of The Order of the Bath, but I don't even know who they are. The tomb to the unknown soldier on the other hand was quite moving and it made me pull up my socks. All was good until the very end when the organist came into his/her stride. They were really passionate and it sounded like a third rate horror movie. I managed to get away without anyone noticing that I was trying to repress a laugh as I imagined Bela Lugisi or one of those horror movie actor guys creeping around. It makes sense, I suppose, if you think about it.
In the evening, I met up with Georgina and we went to see August: Osage County, at the National Theatre. It had been reviewed as the play of the year. We both like it, but preferred the biting political commentary of Gesthemene, the play we had seen a couple of days earlier. I had seen All My Sons by Arthur Miller in Melbourne the year before and August: Osage Country seemed like a poor cousin. It made sense and you didn't even have to think about it.
In The British Museum you can get a 'Free trade' coffee, or a 'Free trade' snack. It is great really because it sustains you as you look at all of the plunder of the world, not just the British colonies, but the whole world. They pinched everything from tiny jewels from the eyes to minature statues of Egypt, to whole buildings that they fancied in Mycaenae. Good on them. The won the wars, they stole the stuff fair and square. You can't revise history. I know Greece want their marble sculptures and columns back, but really if the Brits started giving stuff back to its rightful owner then what would be left in the British Museum? So it is really good that they try to balance things up in the modern world by offering 'Free trade' stuff for sale in the cafeteria. It makes sense, sort of, when you think about it.
I went the church. Big, fat, Anglican church; Westminster Abby no less. I wanted to see the inside, I wanted to pretend that I was Lady Diana becoming Princess Diana, and I wanted to hear some big church choral singing. But, being a total cheapskate, I did not want to pay. So I went to something called Evensong. It is a service that is mainly sung and while they make tourists pay £9 to get in, those who come to worship get in for free. So I went in to worship. We confessed and were absolved, prayed for the queen, Prince Philip and Prince Charles and all the other unnamed members of the royal family. We also prayed for the members of The Order of the Bath, but I don't even know who they are. The tomb to the unknown soldier on the other hand was quite moving and it made me pull up my socks. All was good until the very end when the organist came into his/her stride. They were really passionate and it sounded like a third rate horror movie. I managed to get away without anyone noticing that I was trying to repress a laugh as I imagined Bela Lugisi or one of those horror movie actor guys creeping around. It makes sense, I suppose, if you think about it.
In the evening, I met up with Georgina and we went to see August: Osage County, at the National Theatre. It had been reviewed as the play of the year. We both like it, but preferred the biting political commentary of Gesthemene, the play we had seen a couple of days earlier. I had seen All My Sons by Arthur Miller in Melbourne the year before and August: Osage Country seemed like a poor cousin. It made sense and you didn't even have to think about it.
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