The Secret Room of Treasures

Venue: The British Library (http://www.bl.uk/)

Oyster: Kings Cross St. Pancras

Did you know there’s an amazing and FREE collection of historical/ musical/ literary wonders in the Sir John Ritblat Gallery of the British Library? I went the other day and my bookish jaw dropped at what they have in there – original Shakespeare editions, Austen’s writing desk, Oscar Wilde snippets.

If these legends don’t strike a chord with you, there’s also a shrine to the Beatles, with original lyrics, poetry, pictures and records – much more of a tribute to the greatest ever band than the drivel the X Factor gang offered up a couple of weeks ago. There are also original manuscripts from Mozart and Beethoven, historical documents of major significance and even a segment of the Magna Carta. The cherry on top of these carefully preserved, air-sealed delights are pages from Leonardo Di Vinci’s notebooks. See the full list here: 
http://www.bl.uk/treasures/treasuresinfull.html.

Don’t be put off by the room where this collection is housed: it’s surprisingly small, with low ceilings and a rather claustrophobic feel. But the genius and creativity contained there are worthy of a much grander chamber, with gold gilt display boxes, plush red carpets and marble walls stretching to the sky. Even then visitors would be unprepared for the sheer wonder of the hallowed artefacts waiting in the cases…

Musing on Sunflower Seeds

Venue: Tate Modern (http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/)

Oyster: Blackfriars

Art galleries are inevitably going to be my main domain on here, as there are so many in London and most of them are as free as air, local newspapers and plastic cutlery. But I really don’t mind – I love art. I’m no expert though - I went down the literary and performing arts road instead. I don’t know much about art history and I could only name about a dozen artists at the most. But I really like looking at art and appreciating it.

Last week took me to the Tate Modern – notorious odd spot where modern work like this is placed to puzzle us.

You hear a lot of “phh, I could have done that!” at these places. But the point is, we didn’t do it – they did, and now we’re just kicking ourselves because we didn’t think of it first. 

Take Ai Wei Wei’s The Unilever Series – Sunflower Seeds (http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/unileverseries2010/default.shtm) – one of the main reasons I revisited the Tate. Millions of handcrafted porcelain sunflower seeds fill the lower entrance hall. At first it doesn’t look like much. In fact, I thought I was missing something in the sea of grey. But when you look closer it’s fascinating – each one had to be carefully made, carefully placed. It sparks off fireworks of philosophical metaphors: the huge mass of life, the relative futility and inconsequence of the individual, the nearing improbable chance of the arrangement of the seeds.

I found a fantastic quote about chance and fate the other day – one of Ian McEwan’s gems. Henry Perowne, the endlessly philosophising surgeon and hero of Saturday “never believed in fate or providence, or the future being made by someone in the sky. Instead, at every instant, a trillion trillion possible futures; the pickiness of pure chance and physical laws seemed like freedom from the scheming of a gloomy god.” How wonderful. I very much agree Henry.

Sorry for sidetracking, but these kinds of things do just occur to me when I’m looking at artwork! Despite the enormous effect the exhibit had on me, I still didn’t appreciate the piece as it was supposed to be appreciated. Think how many more deep and powerful thoughts I would have had if I’d been allowed to walk, frolic and generally trample on the porcelain harvest?  This is how Ai originally designed the work – to be interactively processed and experienced. 

But the Tate had the final say - “Although porcelain is very robust, we have been advised that the interaction of visitors with the sculpture can cause dust which could be damaging to health following repeated inhalation over a long period of time. In consequence, Tate, in consultation with the artist, has decided not to allow members of the public to walk across the sculpture.”

A shame really. I would have liked to make my way across with the healthy crunch of seeds under my feet, kicking up clouds of ceramic dust. What metaphors would I have constructed then? Thoughts of dictators, kings and gods? Thoughts on war and leadership?

That’s what’s so wonderful about art – good art in any case. It asks question after question and provokes thought. And if you go to the Tate you’ll find a crowd of people on the sidelines of Ai Wei Wei’s great installation: taking photos, talking quietly, frowning, squinting. All deep in thought.


And if sunflower seeds aren't your bag, there are always the classic incumbents to peruse on the upper floors...

A Bit of Bomb-Disarming and a Scoop

Venue: The Scoop (http://www.morelondon.com/scoop.html)

Oyster: London Bridge

A couple of days after I decided on my campaign to embrace freeganism, I discovered that a highly relevant event had been taking place right under my nose and was – much to my outrage – just about to finish. Four long months of free comedy, dance, drama, film and general entertainment had passed through outdoor amphitheatre The Scoop as part of More London’s Free Festival. It looks like someone had been thinking along the same lines as me and was offering us long-suffering poverty-stricken Londoners a summer-long solution. Although it would have been wonderful to witness and vent on it all, I only managed to catch the tail end of the festival, my experience limited to just one night of it in the second-last week.

They certainly didn’t need a blogger to promote this alfresco cinema spectacular. Hundreds of people flooded into this beautiful structure and took their seats for the outdoor riverside premiere of Oscar-winning nerve-jangler The Hurt Locker. In fact, so busy and well-publicised was the event that even though we were over an hour early, we were forced to take-up an undignified station on the floor at the front – much like children at a magic show. The knowing early-birds reclined mockingly on the stone benches cut into the structure – but to be honest, I think that after the first 30mins we were all equally uncomfortable, despite position or provisions of cushions and scarves.

Stiff limbs and constant repositioning aside, the evening was a rare delight and thankfully the late September day resisted raining on us (contrary to most of my outdoor screening/ play-watching experiences, mainly at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre.) If you haven’t seen this film, it really is worth a look.  I was on the edge of my seat/ patch of ground for the whole two and however many hours. We follow the reckless lives of a US army bomb-disarming squad in the midst of the Iraqi conflict.  

All the way through I was sweating along with the characters, adrenaline pumping around my body in time to the tense and frantic plot twists. Here’s Sergeant Sanborn (AKA Anthony Mackie) from my advantageous - though neck-aching - position.

And the night turned out to be more of a Scoop than I could have hoped for. More London regularly organise free events at their Thames-side venue; check out their events page - http://www.morelondon.com/events.asp. I’ve already pencilled The Christmas Carol into my diary – though even more layers will be needed for that performance I fear! Who could resist a free night under the stars with views like this?

Pope Mobile

Venue: Lambeth Palace (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lambeth_Palace)
Oyster: Lambeth North


There’s nothing like a good old gawk at the Pope on a Friday afternoon… The last time England was graced with a Papal visit I was minus seven, so I didn’t want to miss this one. Who knows when it could happen again? Plus – crucially – it was free. The crowd began to gather about an hour before the great man’s appearance – an hour of suspenseful build-up which ended rather anti-climatically. We swarmed up to the protective barrier, tried to identify which exit of Lambeth Palace the sacred Popemobile would emerge from, stared out the line of solemn-faced policeman and eventually – out of boredom – started filming each other -

It soon became clear that my vague curiosity bordering on indifference jarred heavily against the polar enthusiasms of everyone around me. I found myself amidst supportive Catholics, abusive Catholics, opinionated protestors and desperate-for-a-story journalists. Of course I had been following the negative vibes that had been pumped through the media all week – it was hard to avoid them. I had even provoked several debates about the issue. But despite my clearly expert knowledge on the controversy surrounding the Holy Man, for some reason I really wasn’t expecting so many angry people to turn up. But the signs appeared –

the people shouted and everyone was generally quite incensed. One troublesome tramp-like young man was even frisked by half a dozen police officers just a few rows away. His muffled response - ‘I am being searched against my human rights’ – was largely ignored.

Meanwhile, a journalist received an unexpected scoop behind me as a protester told his shocking story – six siblings, all devout Catholics, all abused by priests.

I suddenly panicked at the likelihood that I would end up witnessing an assassination that day (or an attempted one – that Popemobile glass looks pretty assassination-proof.)  I even started squinting around at the various buildings for possible sniper activity…

My slowly forming plans for an early exit to avoid said assassination possibility were dashed as a stream of grey-haired, enrobed elderly men came out of the palace and bizarrely boarded coaches. There were many cries of ‘which one’s the pope?’ But I was less naïve  - I knew the Pope had a much more stylish way to travel than in a bog-standard coach. And a few minutes later-

If I’m honest, the real reason I journeyed over to Lambeth Palace that Friday was to see the glory of the Popemobile in the metal. And it was fabulous.

After that short blur of thirty-second pope love, he was gone. Anti-climatic certainly, no assassination attempts thankfully and I shall be looking into getting one of those awesome Popemobile beasts for myself.

Time Minus Money Equals Boredom

It's a sad moment when you realise that your parents have a much better social life than you. Unfortunately, this mortifying realisation struck me only a few days ago as I stood in a bar with my mum and dad, watching a band that they had taken me along to out of pity.

There are many things I could blame for my current social stagnation. The economy is an easy one to start with. Everyone else seems to be blaming everything on the economic downturn, credit crunch, double-dipped recession or whatever they're calling it nowadays, so I feel perfectly at liberty to do so too. Even cafes and sandwich bars blamed it for having to sell cheap food for a couple of years. A damaged economy means less jobs which directly creates an enormous lack of personal finances which then means I have zero money to spend on filling up the light-years of time I suddenly find myself with.

I was thinking about that equation - the 'time equals money' one - in the shower the other day and I decided that the person who made it up didn't really factor in all the possibilities. What if you have no money and lots of time that you can't turn into money because of an impaired economy? It could read 'time minus money equals boredom' or something along those lines. But the people with money AND time - lottery winners and such other lucky people - have got it made: time plus money equals endless possibilities. But inevitably, the first equation keeps butting back in and essentially every normal person needs the time to make the money and then have no time to make the most of it...

Anyway, I'm veering off the track here - the other reason that I'm stuck at home most evenings playing scrabble and working my way through the Friends box-set is the sheer expense of living in London. A reasonably small round of drinks can easily mount up to £50 here, they charge you to use public toilets - particularly at the major train stations when you're desperate to go after a 5 hour journey and the Wetherspoon's menu adds an average of £2.00 per item on to what they charge elsewhere in the country. I can't afford clubbing, I can't afford restaurants, I can hardly afford to keep up with the travel costs, even with every Londoner's essential accessory, the Oyster Card.

Although I’m very fond of my shiny blue gate-opener, I’m also slightly wary of it. The marketing was great when the Oyster first came out - everyone remembers that advert with the over-excited guy whizzing around London and using the word 'oyster' as much as possible. The high-tech beeping sound they make also caused a brief thrill on first use. But price-wise they eat up your money like acid on metal. If you travel enough in a day, it stops charging you: there's a cut-off point of £5 or something which sounds very reasonable for a full 24 hours of unlimited tube and bus rides. But the trick is that there are two cut-off points- one for peak time and one for off-peak time. The peak price is slightly more extortionate - around £7.50. This would all be very good and well but on some days I am convinced that the card starts afresh with the new time slot, so I end up never reaching my cut-off point and spending over a tenner.

So to sum up: economic crisis plus unbearable expense of London (and oyster cards) equals social stasis inferior to parents. That evening at the pub with the parentals also gave me an idea. I was seized with the anger and injustice of the fact that people like me – living in one of the liveliest cities in the world - just don't have the cash to enjoy the place. But then it occurred to me that this particular gig was free entry. My dad even told me that the band - the Big Girls Blues Band they were called (http://www.thebiggirlsbluesband.co.uk) - charged £10 at some other venues. The Kings Head - a lively half pub half theatre on Upper Street - actually have free gigs every week.

So then I thought that maybe if I explored a bit and went on some adventures I could find lots of free things to do in London and tell fellow ostracised recluses about them. My quest is to go forth into the metropolis, armed only with my fully credited Oyster Card and see how well I fare without spending a penny.

Wish me luck!