A productive Saturday

Janelle and I had made plans to tour around Westminster, that good old (old) historical part of London that I had yet to see. I figured that she'd make the ideal tour guide, as her employment by the B.U. study abroad program has provided her with many oppotunitues to lead people around the city and point out things to them. (fact: the Queen technically owns all of Canada, and its citizens are merely renting it from her) That and her palpable enthusiasm for just about everything. The impetus had been Kate's insistance that I visit the Saatchi Gallery, but unfortunately its under construction at the moment, so no contemporary art this day (well at least thats what I thought).

We tubed to Oxford Circus, which, on a Saturday, was naturally flooded with people. Shopping mostly. (fact: at least 2 of Janelle's favorite stores are located there) A short walk and a bunch of elbows got us down to Picadilly Circus, where we made a brief stop at the Trocadero.

Yes, certainly a taste of the future was in order before a blast from the past. Its a huge multi-story mall, complete with old-western photo booth, bungee-aided trampolining, scrolling LED belt buckles, a hookah bar, real teenagers, a bowling alley, plenty of noeon, see-through escalators, and a bitchin' arcade, where we got in a few rounds of Mario Kart (fact: I totally would have whooped Janelle in Mario Kart had we been able to figure out how to race against one another).

From there we went past the ICA and into St. James Park, basically the Queen's park 'cuz its the one right next to Buckingham Palace. It includes a large variety of waterfowl, which had some fantastic bird calls. Our favorite was the coot.
As we were right down the street, we popped by Her Royal Highness' digs, Buckingham Palace.

"its a nice statue baby, but how come you don't call me back no more?"

Big gilded fences! People that stand still and wear fuzzy hats! Whats not to love?

She wasn't home.

Just a few minutes down the road I had my first glimpse of my namesake, Big Ben. After we did the official mesurements to confirm that I'm still taller, I carefully put Benny back in his place.

Honestly the tower did look smaller that I expected once up close. Something about the intricate details and tall skinny windows make you think you're looking at like a 15/16ths scale model or something. Beautiful either way.

Just across the river we got a close inspection of the London Eye.

Aye!

Hopefully I'll have a chance to ride that huge bicycle wheel sometime while I'm here.

We popped by the Tate Modern to visit Sophie and use her staff privilidges to cut the queue and ride the slides. The same artist, Carsten Holler, also did this nice piece with five motion-activated sliding double sided mirror doors.

Dizzying? Yes. Allowed to take pictures in the Tate? No.

Met up with Will a bit later to catch the Quarter Finals of Secret Wars up in Shoreditch.

Sickboy vs. AlfaMale

5683 vs. Inkie

The place was packed to see the four guys go at it with only black markers and paint on a white wall. Alfa and Inkie emerged victorious, though Will and I agreed that Sickboy's was really the best overall. Most craftsmanship, details, good use of different materials, and no so diss-focused like the rest of the dudes. Inkie destroyed, finished with like 35 minutes to spare, got a beer and watched his competition sweat it out, and then added some nice touches (and pointed disses - "art classes you can't afford") in the last 5 minutes, repping Birmingham through and through.
Will also hails from B'ham (which accounts for his particular cantor) and knows some older writers/designers from there and also Bristol. It was good to hang out with the underdogs in the London-favoring crowd, especially when Inkie owned, winning the judges votes and the boos of the crowd. He introduced me to Chu, a well mannered gent who just happens to be really be good at heckling, yelling, "taking a piss" on people, and who I got along with royally.
We spilled out of that place and rolled towards another bar, making a scene as only proper graffiti hooligans can. And when Fleetwood Mac came on we were owning that place. I think now I understand where "rudeboy" comes from.

The epilogue was Sunday morning brunch at Hackney City Farm, which is a few fields, some pens, ducks geese chickens pigs sheep goat, in an area about the quarter of the size of a city block. Basically a petting farm for little kids, who were there in full force with their hip young parents, doing pottery classes and looking cute, adding the feel-good atmosphere that can cure any hangover.
Farm-fresh eggs and the rest of an amazing 'Big Farm Breakfast' helps too. Then when you're done, wander back out to the fields to pet next weeks breakfast, the softest, gentlest yellow-haired calf you've ever seen.


oh yeah, your Mum rang.