I´m Drunk. Are You?

SEVILLE: MMMM... been drinking by the river all afternoon so every second word has a typo. Drove down from Madrid yesterday via Extramadura which was brilliant. Got dumped in the wrong spot by a cabbie after we missed the last bus but some stranger directed us to our hostel and today we were able to visit the Cathedral and the bull fighting arena. Wonderful. Now we are off to see the city walls, cook, drink some more and hopefully see some flamenco.

Au Revoir, Pet Kitten

BEDFORD ROAD: Possibly my last post from Blighty. I've got another full day of last minute tourist and administrative things to do before its up to Stanstead for a red eye to Brussels. Today I visited the Tate Modern for the last time, yesterday it was a last peak at the Natural History Museum, a stroll through Hyde Park's autumn glory and a two hour queue for visas at the Chinese Embassy. Sunday was goodbyes and the last of the afternoons on the Heath, actually seems as though it might be the last afternoon for the year.

It feels slightly odd saying my goodbyes and it almost seems like it's no difference from swapping Red Hill for West End. I must've been to the Tate Modern about twelve times and it was strange to think I wouldn't be able to pop back for a modern art injection. Everytime I go in their, the collection seems to have completely reinvented itself, befuddling me as I search for a picture that's just been replaced.

The Unilever Show had just opened so that was plus. I saw Rachel Whitread's Embankment not long after I arrived, rode Carsten Holler's slides earlier this year and now I enjoyed the epic crack dividing the Turbine Hall in Diane Secedo's Shibboleth. Anyway I'm probably rambling. It's not like my thoughts are completely composed. But yeah, that's me, I off to new adventures and drudgeries.

Some Men Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them

ST LUKE'S: Might as well quickly point out that we spent the weekend in Stratford-Upon-Avon. In between watching the rugby (I only got to see one out of, what were by all accounts, four amazing games), we found time to admire Tudor houses, visit Shakespeare's birthplace, watch a Royal Shakespeare Company performance of The Twelth Night with John Lithgow and watch some swans on the River Avon.

After spending the night in Studley Castle (more a manor house than a castle, but with an imposing facade at the top of a long, winding drive way we're really just splitting hairs aren't we?)we drove down through the Cotswolds to Bath where we took tea and scones in the historic Pump House while we were serenaded by a lovely trio. Views into the bathouse were included in the price of scones. Though a glass of horrid tasting spa water was an extra 50p. Then after a strawl through the stunning town full of gorgeous Georgian buildings, it was back into the car and back to London where my three mile commute from the car hire place to Greg and Lisa's took almost as long as the drive across the country.

Rugby Rant

ST LUKE'S: So we lost the rugby and the English are crowing about it. I can't speak for all rugby fans but I don't believe I'm apt to go on about things when we win. I'd rather turn my attention to the next tournament. But that's by the by. What does grate me, is the accusations of arrogance that are thrown at the Aussies. Australian sports fans are, for the most part, confident. It's a confidence born out of past success in a huge variety of sports. When our teams go into battle we expect to win. Contrast this to the English fan where the prevailing attitude is pessimism. The average English fan seems to approach a contestant thinking well we'll probably lose but I'm a fan, I'm compelled to watch, and you never know. It's this collision between the respective fan's approaches, I think, that leads to the Aussies getting labelled arrogant. Anyway I'm probably ranting. I expected my team to win. They didn't. Instead they were monstered by a braver, more committed side. C'est la vie.

Sir John Soame

ST LUKE'S: 99% packed up and moved out of the house, I've been splitting my time this week between house sitting Anna and Joe's flat in Tufnell Park and my place. It's not bad up there. I get straight on the Tube, no crush, and down to work in about ten minutes.

Last night I was off to the John Soane's House Museum where, on the first Tuesday of every month, they have a candle lit evening. I thought the candle bit was just a posh way of staying they were opening late but it was a pleasent surprise to discover that it was a literal description. Soane was a prominent eighteenth century architect and socialite who dabbled, as far as I could gleam from the musuem, in collection artefacts of antiquites, Egyptology and Hogarth paintings.

He designed the building himself and, like most architects designing their own houses, he really let himself lose. There is a tremendous five storey spiral staircase in the middle of the room, a crypt on the bottow level to display a ridiculously large and expensive sarcophogus, numerous sky lights, cleverly designed parlours and a weird scuplture gallery out the back where every spare space is crammed with Classic sculptures. The flickering lights made it hard to really appreciate the art but they more than compensated by creating a realistic atmosphere.

So the only things left on my list are: The Cabinet War Rooms, the Cortauld Institute, another visit to the Tate Modern, ditto Tate Britain, the Natural History Museum, Kenwood House and the London Eye.