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London 2009: Monday, Day Four.
Jan. 13th, 2009 02:33 amhttp://www.dennissevershouse.co.uk/main.htm
That was our trip for today. I can't quite fully explain it. Have a look at the site-- that'll help. It's not quite a museum, not quite a show. It's described as a walk-through still life, and that's probably the best description, if a bit bizarre. It's meant to be the house of a silk merchanting family. Each floor of the house is a different period, from the 1700s through the late 19th. The cellar has a bit of the floor excavated to show the remains of the leper's hospital that used to stand there, centuries ago. (St. Mary's Spital, or leper hospital, and some fields: thus the current name of that area of London: Spitalfields.) The ground floor has a dark parlour with crazily slanting floors, uneven furniture, letters tucked in everywhere, a wig tossed onto a chair back, bits of bread and wine on the table.... Every room is like that. It's meant to make you feel the family has just left, are in the other room, are upstairs. There are small notes everywhere demanding that you "Pay Attention!", and telling you you must be silent, not touch anything, just observe. Yes, it's very bizarre. There are eighteenth-century rooms: one the china-bedecked bedroom of the lady of the house, one the disordered, deserted man's room, mimicking the wild carouse of the Hogarth painting on the wall. Up in the attic, the family has fallen on hard times, and let the upmost rooms to lodgers, resulting in a cobwebbed, disintegrating, four-poster-filled garret for both Tiny Tim and Scrooge together.
Every room has candles, shedding a dim, evocative light. Equally as evocative, the small fires in the grates, with herbs casting strange smells. There are oysters on the table, crusts of bread: a poor man's scanty meal. A chamberpot, partly filled, with a bunch of lavender across it. A tall arrangement of marzipan and candied fruit in the hall under the glittering chandelier. Notes to have orders ready for the coronation. Clocks ticking and voices murmuring from other rooms. A black cat wandering the hall insouciantly. You don't see the house, you feel it, you smell it, you walk it. It's slightly creepy. Okay, in some places, it's very creepy. The guide meets you at the front door, explains the rules ("You must be silent: no talking inside, and touch nothing"), you leave your coat and bag by the door, you wander the house room by room, and 45 minutes later, the house spits you out bewildered and slightly dazed.
We bracketed this strange experience, Amy and I, with a good bit of wandering London. I'd never been "downtown," such as it is. We were near the Gherkin (or the "Erotic Gherkin," as it's been called, neither of which is the real name for this enormous, spiraled, bullet-shaped office tower), and I laughed that I'd finally found the part of town where they roll up the streets at night. It's the offices and the financial district: people pour out into the streets and disappear like rain down the gutters. Though there was still a sizable bustle as we wandered back to Liverpool Street Station, itself bright and crowded with train- and Tube-travellers. Not as crowded as when we travelled in-- we were crammed in like sardines. One especially handsome young man on that crowded inbound trip seemed to be flirting with us, and gave us a little cardstock flyer to come see his band play! We were quite pleased-- until Amy looked closer and saw the little notes all over it that Jesus Loves You! with little hearts, and that the band was playing in a church. That's the second time that's happened to me here. Amy just laughed. "Goth Jew and a Pagan. Boy, was HE outta luck."
We started the day-- yes, I'm going backwards-- aiming through the drear and rain for Soho again so I could not only reclaim my camera but also get my lovely silks from Kate. She was lovely, and I finally took her picture. ("See? My silks really DO come from London!") She also told me the shop had specially commissioned the rose-embroidered silks I love so much. They'd had one pattern with small rosebuds, one with the vine and similar roses, and just had the mill combine and enhance them. That will make a good story in my shop.
After we concluded our business-- and oh, the swatches of unbelievable fabrics I bought!-- we asked for suggestions for lunch. Kate directed us to a Wagamama's, where we had the largest bowls of ramen anyone could possibly imagine. I could have gone swimming in this thing, I swear. Our waiter was quite handsome. The other patrons, as well. I must admit, I've never seen such an overabundance of attractive men as I've seen in this city this trip.
We were, happily, only a few blocks from the new location of R. D. Franks, the fashion bookstore. Alas, I have most of the books they had for sale there, though there's one I might go back for if my money holds out. Today's purchases pretty much killed me quite dead. After that, in the intermittent rain, we hit Borders, who had nothing I needed, and H&M, who had stockings I desperately required. Then, off to the Oxford Circus Tube stop, where we were so crammed in, I spent my time reading someone else's newspaper simply because I couldn't help it. At least I saw the free LondonPaper has a photo of David Tennant at the stage door after Saturday's terminal performance.
I took some photos of some fabulous ad campaigns in the Tube station, but then we made haste for The Patisserie, for warm food and-- alas!-- a very cold bathroom. I rounded out my evening with some very unpleasant customer's sniping, and some far more pleasant online chatting.
Sadly, Amy is rather ill, now, so though it's 3.30am, I'm off to Tesco across the street to see if they have cold medicine.
Two last points: The Guardian agrees that "David Tennant is the greatest Hamlet of his generation." http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/theatreblog/2009/jan/09/david-tennant-hamlet
And today's photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/collections/72157612453241149/
That was our trip for today. I can't quite fully explain it. Have a look at the site-- that'll help. It's not quite a museum, not quite a show. It's described as a walk-through still life, and that's probably the best description, if a bit bizarre. It's meant to be the house of a silk merchanting family. Each floor of the house is a different period, from the 1700s through the late 19th. The cellar has a bit of the floor excavated to show the remains of the leper's hospital that used to stand there, centuries ago. (St. Mary's Spital, or leper hospital, and some fields: thus the current name of that area of London: Spitalfields.) The ground floor has a dark parlour with crazily slanting floors, uneven furniture, letters tucked in everywhere, a wig tossed onto a chair back, bits of bread and wine on the table.... Every room is like that. It's meant to make you feel the family has just left, are in the other room, are upstairs. There are small notes everywhere demanding that you "Pay Attention!", and telling you you must be silent, not touch anything, just observe. Yes, it's very bizarre. There are eighteenth-century rooms: one the china-bedecked bedroom of the lady of the house, one the disordered, deserted man's room, mimicking the wild carouse of the Hogarth painting on the wall. Up in the attic, the family has fallen on hard times, and let the upmost rooms to lodgers, resulting in a cobwebbed, disintegrating, four-poster-filled garret for both Tiny Tim and Scrooge together.
Every room has candles, shedding a dim, evocative light. Equally as evocative, the small fires in the grates, with herbs casting strange smells. There are oysters on the table, crusts of bread: a poor man's scanty meal. A chamberpot, partly filled, with a bunch of lavender across it. A tall arrangement of marzipan and candied fruit in the hall under the glittering chandelier. Notes to have orders ready for the coronation. Clocks ticking and voices murmuring from other rooms. A black cat wandering the hall insouciantly. You don't see the house, you feel it, you smell it, you walk it. It's slightly creepy. Okay, in some places, it's very creepy. The guide meets you at the front door, explains the rules ("You must be silent: no talking inside, and touch nothing"), you leave your coat and bag by the door, you wander the house room by room, and 45 minutes later, the house spits you out bewildered and slightly dazed.
We bracketed this strange experience, Amy and I, with a good bit of wandering London. I'd never been "downtown," such as it is. We were near the Gherkin (or the "Erotic Gherkin," as it's been called, neither of which is the real name for this enormous, spiraled, bullet-shaped office tower), and I laughed that I'd finally found the part of town where they roll up the streets at night. It's the offices and the financial district: people pour out into the streets and disappear like rain down the gutters. Though there was still a sizable bustle as we wandered back to Liverpool Street Station, itself bright and crowded with train- and Tube-travellers. Not as crowded as when we travelled in-- we were crammed in like sardines. One especially handsome young man on that crowded inbound trip seemed to be flirting with us, and gave us a little cardstock flyer to come see his band play! We were quite pleased-- until Amy looked closer and saw the little notes all over it that Jesus Loves You! with little hearts, and that the band was playing in a church. That's the second time that's happened to me here. Amy just laughed. "Goth Jew and a Pagan. Boy, was HE outta luck."
We started the day-- yes, I'm going backwards-- aiming through the drear and rain for Soho again so I could not only reclaim my camera but also get my lovely silks from Kate. She was lovely, and I finally took her picture. ("See? My silks really DO come from London!") She also told me the shop had specially commissioned the rose-embroidered silks I love so much. They'd had one pattern with small rosebuds, one with the vine and similar roses, and just had the mill combine and enhance them. That will make a good story in my shop.
After we concluded our business-- and oh, the swatches of unbelievable fabrics I bought!-- we asked for suggestions for lunch. Kate directed us to a Wagamama's, where we had the largest bowls of ramen anyone could possibly imagine. I could have gone swimming in this thing, I swear. Our waiter was quite handsome. The other patrons, as well. I must admit, I've never seen such an overabundance of attractive men as I've seen in this city this trip.
We were, happily, only a few blocks from the new location of R. D. Franks, the fashion bookstore. Alas, I have most of the books they had for sale there, though there's one I might go back for if my money holds out. Today's purchases pretty much killed me quite dead. After that, in the intermittent rain, we hit Borders, who had nothing I needed, and H&M, who had stockings I desperately required. Then, off to the Oxford Circus Tube stop, where we were so crammed in, I spent my time reading someone else's newspaper simply because I couldn't help it. At least I saw the free LondonPaper has a photo of David Tennant at the stage door after Saturday's terminal performance.
I took some photos of some fabulous ad campaigns in the Tube station, but then we made haste for The Patisserie, for warm food and-- alas!-- a very cold bathroom. I rounded out my evening with some very unpleasant customer's sniping, and some far more pleasant online chatting.
Sadly, Amy is rather ill, now, so though it's 3.30am, I'm off to Tesco across the street to see if they have cold medicine.
Two last points: The Guardian agrees that "David Tennant is the greatest Hamlet of his generation." http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/theatreblog/2009/jan/09/david-tennant-hamlet
And today's photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/collections/72157612453241149/