Wellcome...

So today Furtle and I sloped off into town to take a look at the Wellcome Trust's medical exhibition which she had found out about a while back and which she hoped would feature "trays of eyeballs". My attempts to find such on the web were in vain and I suspected that disappointment lay ahead.

The Wellcome Trust is located pretty much diagonally opposite Euston Station. The exhibition is rather paradoxical in that it is disappointing in what it contains (no trays of eyeballs), but is just about the right size to experience before exhibition fatigue sets in. There is even a dedicated Blackwell's on site, though it seemed that the books for sale were aimed more at the people who work for the institute than the likes of thee and me. And there were no skeletons or eyeballs for sale. As Furtle said, "they've missed a trick there; it would be like a license to print money."


We wandered of down Gower Street, stopping only to look around one of the biggest branches of Waterstones it has been my fortune to encounter. Books were bought (see LJ passim) and we continued our wander into town. A quick visit to Gosh before heading off to Forbidden Planet yielded little (in either place) so we sloped off to the Round Table for our first smoke-free visit to a smoke-free pub in England. They still don't keep their beer well; it's nothing to do with tobacco-addled taste buds. So, a pint each and a glass of lemonade and then off for a pizza and home. On the way back it became quite plain that both Elle and I were rather more tired than we had expected, so we collapsed on the bed to listen to Caravan before waking up again ridiculously late.

Neither of us are even remotely tired now, of course, and it's nearly 12.30am on a school night.

Marvelous.

Wellcome...

So today Furtle and I sloped off into town to take a look at the Wellcome Trust's medical exhibition which she had found out about a while back and which she hoped would feature "trays of eyeballs". My attempts to find such on the web were in vain and I suspected that disappointment lay ahead.

The Wellcome Trust is located pretty much diagonally opposite Euston Station. The exhibition is rather paradoxical in that it is disappointing in what it contains (no trays of eyeballs), but is just about the right size to experience before exhibition fatigue sets in. There is even a dedicated Blackwell's on site, though it seemed that the books for sale were aimed more at the people who work for the institute than the likes of thee and me. And there were no skeletons or eyeballs for sale. As Furtle said, "they've missed a trick there; it would be like a license to print money."


We wandered of down Gower Street, stopping only to look around one of the biggest branches of Waterstones it has been my fortune to encounter. Books were bought (see LJ passim) and we continued our wander into town. A quick visit to Gosh before heading off to Forbidden Planet yielded little (in either place) so we sloped off to the Round Table for our first smoke-free visit to a smoke-free pub in England. They still don't keep their beer well; it's nothing to do with tobacco-addled taste buds. So, a pint each and a glass of lemonade and then off for a pizza and home. On the way back it became quite plain that both Elle and I were rather more tired than we had expected, so we collapsed on the bed to listen to Caravan before waking up again ridiculously late.

Neither of us are even remotely tired now, of course, and it's nearly 12.30am on a school night.

Marvelous.

Thank you, Nanny State.

All you naughty English smokers out there, remember how you would regularly light up your B&H whilst sitting in church listening to the vicar? Well, no more. The UK Health Act 2006 has made smoking in church illegal. More to the point, the church has, by law, to display no-smoking signs or pay a fine.

This is because if there is one place on the planet people forget to stub out their ciggies, it is in church. Of course, it is possible to have a sense of humour about it.

Edited to add: Just so you don't think it's sour grapes on my part or anything, it's just over 8 weeks without a smoke now.

Thank you, Nanny State.

All you naughty English smokers out there, remember how you would regularly light up your B&H whilst sitting in church listening to the vicar? Well, no more. The UK Health Act 2006 has made smoking in church illegal. More to the point, the church has, by law, to display no-smoking signs or pay a fine.

This is because if there is one place on the planet people forget to stub out their ciggies, it is in church. Of course, it is possible to have a sense of humour about it.

Edited to add: Just so you don't think it's sour grapes on my part or anything, it's just over 8 weeks without a smoke now.

Space filler

I appear to be short of things to write about today, so I shall take something from my sachet of reserve topics and use that. Unfortunately, there is very little in my sachet of reserve topics and I am feeling vaguely worried that I shall find myself with nothing to say and with this safety net gone. Still, I could be unexpectedly dropped by an extinction level event at any moment, so it would be a waste not to use it on the off chance. That said, if I am unexpectedly dropped by an extinction level event after I’ve posted, all bets are off.

Now I come to think of it, that opening paragraph might have imbued this with more gravitas than it deserves, which is silly, because if this is given too much weight, what will people think when I write about something of true import, such as er, extinction level events…?

Anyway.

On the Northern Line, certainly up towards the end of the line on the High Barnet Branch, there has been installed, in the past two or three months, new indicator boards and a new (audible) announcement system. The new boards are legible and the new announcements actually audible. The voice is that of a nicely middle class woman with clear, Received Pronunciation. The best bit is just how reassuring she sounds and how cheerful: “The next train terminates at Morden, via Bank” (cheerful). “The next station?” (oddly quizzical, when it is really a statement) “Woodside Park” (reassuring).

It’s all very strange in an awfully polite sort of way.

Space filler

I appear to be short of things to write about today, so I shall take something from my sachet of reserve topics and use that. Unfortunately, there is very little in my sachet of reserve topics and I am feeling vaguely worried that I shall find myself with nothing to say and with this safety net gone. Still, I could be unexpectedly dropped by an extinction level event at any moment, so it would be a waste not to use it on the off chance. That said, if I am unexpectedly dropped by an extinction level event after I’ve posted, all bets are off.

Now I come to think of it, that opening paragraph might have imbued this with more gravitas than it deserves, which is silly, because if this is given too much weight, what will people think when I write about something of true import, such as er, extinction level events…?

Anyway.

On the Northern Line, certainly up towards the end of the line on the High Barnet Branch, there has been installed, in the past two or three months, new indicator boards and a new (audible) announcement system. The new boards are legible and the new announcements actually audible. The voice is that of a nicely middle class woman with clear, Received Pronunciation. The best bit is just how reassuring she sounds and how cheerful: “The next train terminates at Morden, via Bank” (cheerful). “The next station?” (oddly quizzical, when it is really a statement) “Woodside Park” (reassuring).

It’s all very strange in an awfully polite sort of way.