Month: August 2008

 

I discovered the Wallace Collection yesterday, a hidden gem of a museum. It’s in a former palatial private residence set across from a stunning private park, quite near Oxford Circus in London and just down the street from the famous Selfridge’s department store.

 

The museum houses one of the world’s greatest collections of 18th century French and Flemish fine and decorative arts. This is what most museums ought to be like. Each of its room is completely decorated for a specific period, and as if someone still lived there. Fantastically ornate tables and chairs, chests, fireplace surrounds, parquet flooring, sculpture, ceramics, chandeliers, and sumptuous window treatments combine with framed paintings to produce the effect. And, best of all, you can walk among all these things and get your nose right up to them (no touching, of course). It’s kind of like going to Versailles without the velour ropes that keep you from going into the rooms. Really terrific!

 

So, for example, there’s a room furnished in the style of the Louis XIV era and another ala Marie-Antoinette. The inlaid writing tables are incredible and made with an amazing array of materials, from gold to tortoise shell. Naturally, you may not sit on the gilded chairs, but I have rarely been to a museum that offered so many usable chairs and benches where you could sit down and enjoy the view. And the paintings themselves are superb – Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt, Boucher, Chardin, Fragonard, Watteau, among others – and are, as I said, very accessible. You can get close enough to really appreciate the brushwork.

 

There’s also a collection of armor and weapons and a wonderful restaurant in a glass-roofed courtyard. And, best of all, though the Wallace Collection is a national museum and easy to get to, it was not at all crowded. It is easy, with all of the ornate décor, all that visual stimulation, to get a quick case “museum fatigue”, so this is a place that merits several small visits instead of one long one. Check out their web site.

 

 

 

Tomorrow marks the start of the Reading Festival. This is a genuine, Woodstock-style music festival that runs for three days during this national holiday weekend. This year is the 20th anniversary of the festival and they expect 80,000 to attend, coming from all over the UK and Europe. I thought about volunteering as a "festival steward", then thought again and didn’t. Tickets were all sold out long ago.

 

Most attendees camp out in their own tents in vast meadows along both sides of the Thames River and there are substantial vendor areas, lots of toilets, serious medical facilities, and five stages.  Some 200 bands are scheduled to perform. I have to admit I looked through the "50 Biggest Band" names and recognized only Metallica and Rage Against the Machine – what a geezer I’m getting to be!

 

Performers you will recognize who have performed here over the years include Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Radiohead, 50 Cent, and Coldplay, so we are talking about a serious musical draw.

 

Like everything these days, I noticed that this event offers the equivalent of VIP Sky Boxes. These are temporary, hard-walled, locking, furnished, and air-conditioned shacks, very desirably located, for those who wouldn’t even consider sleeping in a tent but who do have a platinum credit card.

 

Reading has a population of 143,000 so adding 80,000 more souls is quite something. Apparently the festival-goers are allowed to leave the festival site and run into town for supplies and then re-enter. The merchants love it and stock up but others have told me that "it’s insane". All the roads around town have special signage up and special parking is in effect with shuttle buses. Last year the local pubs served up 2 million pints during the festival!

 

You know how a tidal wave sucks all the water back from the beach before it comes crashing in? I think I detected the calm before the storm today, fewer people around the town and mall than usual.

 

I, for one, am looking forward to seeing squadrons of dread-locked, Wellington boot-wearing, tattooed lads and lasses swarming through town. It will definitely remind me of my old Woodstock days. A steady stream of backpack and sleeping pad-laden kids was coming by my office by this evening.

 

Here’s the festival’s web site. See how many bands you recognize.

 

Oh yes, the forecast is for a bit of rain during the weekend. Mud anyone? More later…

 

 

One of the most remarkable things about living in Reading is how small my world is. In the U.S. I live in a totally suburban setting, where driving is required to do just about everything. In Reading, I live in a small city and, on a daily basis, need a car for almost nothing.

 

For example, it’s a rather pleasant 7-minute walk from my flat to the office in the morning. On the way I stop in at the news agent (convenience store) to pick up my breakfast yogurt. At lunchtime, when I need to run errands, I may go from my office to the Central Library (2-minute walk) then up to my bank (3-minute walk) and the Post Office (next door) then circle back down into the pedestrian mall to Boots (the drug store, 2-minute walk) then over to pick up a take-away salad at Picnic (best salads in town, 2-minute walk), and then head back to the office (3-minute walk).

 

Everything is in a such a small area and is relatively uncrowded. Queuing (getting in line) for service anywhere usually means 1-2 people ahead of you, tops. Yet the mall features modern retail outlets: major department stores, Starbucks, Krispy Kreme, Disney Store, Gap, multi-screen cinema, and so forth – not little village shops.

 

On a nice day, it’s extremely pleasant to go out and about. Even when it rains, I’m barely outside long enough to get wet. I’ve gotten very comfortable with my "small neighborhood" here and, I fear, quite spoiled by it all.

 

 

I‘ve been having some ear aches and impaired hearing, so I went to the National Health Service doctor near my house. I have company-provided private health insurance but it only covers ER and hospital treatment and "your NHS professional" has to refer you in order to use it.

 

Before I could see the Doc,  however, I had to register for the NHS by producing my passport and proof of residence, then wait two days. I was able to get an appointment quickly, though, on the third day. When I registered, I was given some "Practice Information", badly printed on a laser printer, with typos, that indicated that all doctor appointments are 10 minutes maximum.

 

I arrived for my appointment and was directed to the Waiting Room. The medical office was somewhat different than in the US, a bit cluttered, a bit shabby. Of course, my GP at home is in McLean, which explains a lot. I found the universal Waiting Room magazines and decor, except for the large scrolling LED sign that exhorted us to get our blood pressure checked and presented other health tips. When it was my turn, no nurse or staff called my name. No, the LED sign beeped loudly and summoned me by displaying "Mr. Hausman to Dr. Simspon’s office, 2nd floor". No staff person paid me the least attention, so I just got up and went upstairs.

 

The doctor’s office had a desk, computer, chairs, and examining table in rear but looked more like a home office than a professional medical office, which some might find reassuring. There was no separate examining room. The Doc wore a shirt and tie, no white lab coat, no stethoscope or other symbols of the MD. Mindful of the time limit, we got right down to it. He heard my complaint, looked in my ears and saw a wax build-up obstruction. He asked no questions about medical history, did not look in my nose or mouth, and didn’t ask about dental health (a big factor in many ear aches). What little we did say went right into the computer.

 

The Doc suggested I go to the drug store for ear drops that would soften wax (and presumably cause it to fall out) and that it might take a month to be effective! This despite my saying that it was painful enough that I couldn’t sleep on that side. No offer to remove it by syringing with water or mechanical means. Mentioned sending me to an ENT specialist at the hospital if situation unimproved (after a month?).

 

Zip, bing, done – elapsed time 8 minutes, no cute nurses, no paperwork describing treatment, no bill, no payment, no nothing else from anyone there. Goodbye, I walked out the door. Well, at least the Hippocratic Oath was observed: "First, do no harm".

 

 

 

Here’s an interesting story that’s indicative of the legal process here in England. It seems a heroin addict snuck into a local church and made off with the handbag of a 73-year old woman, while she was praying. He was eventually identified and nabbed by the police.

 

What’s interesting is that the thief had recently been released from a stint in prison. In addition, he was out on bail pending trial for shoplifting. And, oh yes, he had 47 previous offences! Forty-seven! These facts, in several combinations, raise so many questions, starting with: how does someone with a record like that get bail?

 

Let us presume that this offender had no record of serious attacks, no physical assaults, that his 47 transgressions were indeed more of the same: purse-snatchings and shoplifting. Seems less urgent but still, I wonder what the cost was to the local taxpayer for 47 arrests, 47 trials, and 47 case dispositions? Clearly there was little deterrent effect being created. And what of the 47 victims – their losses and traumas?

 

The thief was sent back to prison in this case, but I wonder for how long. He now has 48 offenses to his "credit"; I wonder how long it will be before he gets to 50.

 

 

Switching to the complete other end of the cultural spectrum, I traded the crowds at the British Museum for the happier crowds at the Great British Beer Festival, one of the largest beer festivals in the world. This four-day event, sponsored by CAMRA, is held at Earls Court, one of London’s major convention centers, and is truly beer-drinker heaven.

 

CAMRA, as you may have read here earlier, is the Campaign for Real Ale, major promoter and guardian of all things having to do with traditional British pubs and beer. Americans can imagine it as the “NRA for traditional ale”. And, just to be clear, traditional ale is not Budweiser or Coors. This is the lightly-carbonated, regionally-brewed stuff from a cask that is hand-pumped up from the basement in most British pubs and served cool but not icy cold. My foresight in joining CAMRA last spring served me well today, as my membership card produced discounts and freebies and access to the pleasant members’ lounge overseeing the exhibition space.

 

       

 

Click images to enlarge.

 

I can only state the obvious: this huge gathering is all about traditional ale and food, with major and minor breweries well-represented. The program said there were 450+ different ales available, some brewed just for this event. The crowd of many thousands was festive and happy, but I saw no one who was really drunk and in distress. There was live music and also non-beverage vendors of things with a beer theme (belt buckles, mugs, bar accessories, and hilarious tee shirts, to name but a few). Hundreds of CAMRA volunteers staffed the event.

 

I picked up a pint glass at the door and dove in. Yes, real glass – no plastic cups here (clearly no paranoid American liability attorneys had been consulted) – yet no broken glass littered the floor. I limited myself to six half-pints and so was able to sample six different traditional ales. Most of them ranged in ABV (alcohol by volume, roughly ½ of “proof”) from 4.5 to 6% but I couldn’t resist trying out one 9% brew; which was tasted terrible – too sweet and syrupy.

 

   

 

The names given to beers are often very entertaining: one called “Nelson’s Revenge” was promoted with paper bicorn hats that were being worn by many attendees (see picture). Zany hats were rather the norm, for some reason. Other fun names included: Dive Bomber, Cakewalk, Tanglefoot, Icy Maiden, Celtic Queen, Oscar Wilde Mild, and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Bitter.

 

Unlike typical conventions where there are many booths but little seating, many wooden picnic tables were provided and so there were places to sit and relax with your ale, food, and friends. Nonetheless, after three hours of fun and with tired legs, I picked up a complimentary carrying bag for my glass and headed home.

  

 

Yesterday our “Chance of Rain” forecast really meant “All Rain”. It was a good day, then, to go the British Museum for the “Hadrian, Empire and Conflict” special exhibition. Of course, many others had the same idea and it is high tourist season, so the museum was packed.

 

Some of you may recall that I went to the special exhibition of Chinese terra cotta soldiers at the British Museum almost a year ago. That really was a special exhibition, getting to see 14 of the famous clay soldiers up close. Yesterday’s exhibit, about the Roman emperor who ruled from 117-138 AD, was interesting but lacked a certain something. These special exhibits are all about revenue: £12 entry fee, plus £3.5 for the audio tour, plus corporate sponsorship income. Perhaps museums start to rely on that income and therefore there’s constant pressure to have more and more of these exhibits, and suddenly they’re, well, less special. I’m just not sure the Hadrian exhibition, while interesting, was that special.

 

 

He was besotted with his young, male Greek lover, Antinous, and overcome with grief when the boy fell into the Nile and died during a trip to Egypt. Hadrian mourned him for eight years, the rest of his life. The timing of his death coincided with an Egyptian religious event and Antinous was soon deified, with statues of him as a god and temples to him sprinkled around the empire, which Hardian encouraged. His worship was said to rival Christianity in some areas.

 

As is usual at the British Museum, the exhibit was handsome and well-curated. It included statuary, amphorae, maps, and a spectacular model of Hadrian’s villa. It was pleasant and educational and 90 minutes well-spent.

 

 

 

The Sunday Roast is a traditional English main meal served on Sundays (usually in the early afternoon, at lunchtime), consisting of roasted meat, roasted potatoes, vegetables, and gravy. It’s popular throughout the UK, though I’ve read that it’s in decline. My observation is that it’s mostly served at pubs, perhaps to induce folks to come in for a drink on a Sunday.

 

I’ve been going to the Hope Tap pub here in Reading for their Sunday Roast now and then. The pub is part of a national chain called Wetherspoons and it gets a lot of grief for being too corporate and bland. It does lack a certain charm and the food can smack a bit too much of the steam table, but it’s also very consistent, they offer a number of good traditional ales, and the service is excellent. Their Sunday Roast (beef, pork, or chicken) only costs 6.59 GPB and that includes your drink, so it’s a good deal.

For that amount, you get a large plate with half a roasted chicken (two breasts on the bone, so no pressed "mystery meat"), four large roasted potatoes, about 3-cups of veges (green peas, carrots, broccoli), gravy, dressing, and Yorkshire Pudding. The latter is not pudding at all; it’s a type of baked good, a sort of hollowed-out, cupcake-shaped dinner roll.

 

The accompanying photo shows a beef roast with mashed potatoes but it gives you the idea. There are three Yorkshire Puddings on the plate at the right end.

 

By any measure, it’s a boatload of food and generally pretty tasty. The Hope Tap is big, open, and comfortable and it’s very pleasant to eat my Sunday Roast, drink my pint, and spend a hour or more reading the Sunday paper there.