300

Off for a shower and (comparatively) early bed, shortly. I am tired and will write about today's excursion into town tomorrow probably.

This evening we ordered in a very tasty indian from Bayleaf and then watched 300 on DVD. I might add before going further that Furtle picked the two-DVD version up for £9 in Morrison's, which seems to be less than half of what it's priced at in most places. Someone's making a killing on these things, even allowing for Morrison's probably selling it as a loss leader.

Anyway, the film, which neither of us had seen at the movies.

Very enjoyable cheese. Don't go into your history GCSE's expecting to quote it if you wish to pass. Not camp in the slightest¹, though it could easily have swung that way; any such tendency was swamped in gallons of testosterone. Very manly in a firm handshake and clasp of the shoulder sort of way. Furtle had eyes like saucers in appreciation of all those six packs on show. There was the odd boob for us blokes.

¹Well, not generally. Xerxes, however, had a slight air of a butch Kenneth Williams about him.

300

Off for a shower and (comparatively) early bed, shortly. I am tired and will write about today's excursion into town tomorrow probably.

This evening we ordered in a very tasty indian from Bayleaf and then watched 300 on DVD. I might add before going further that Furtle picked the two-DVD version up for £9 in Morrison's, which seems to be less than half of what it's priced at in most places. Someone's making a killing on these things, even allowing for Morrison's probably selling it as a loss leader.

Anyway, the film, which neither of us had seen at the movies.

Very enjoyable cheese. Don't go into your history GCSE's expecting to quote it if you wish to pass. Not camp in the slightest¹, though it could easily have swung that way; any such tendency was swamped in gallons of testosterone. Very manly in a firm handshake and clasp of the shoulder sort of way. Furtle had eyes like saucers in appreciation of all those six packs on show. There was the odd boob for us blokes.

¹Well, not generally. Xerxes, however, had a slight air of a butch Kenneth Williams about him.

The game is afoot

Yesterday we decided, largely on account of Furtle's fidgety insistence to pay a visit to the Sherlock Holmes Museum in Baker Street. I wasn't sure whether or not it would appeal to me (I felt the same about the zoo trip back in July and that was great), but I went along anyway.

Neither of us knew what to expect. I think we both had in mind a small place with a few dusty exhibits and little else and a gift shop. Gift shops are important at museums.

It took us a while to find the place; the sign from Baker Street tube station unhelpfully pointed in the wrong direction; I noticed the street numbers getting further from 221b as we tried to cross the Marylebone Road and reasoned that any self respecting museum would be as close to that address as possible. Anyway, not only did we find it, but it wasn't too full, either. We got in, around and back out before the next swathe of Japanese tourists arrived, which was lucky.

It turns out that the museum is fitted out like Holmes' ...er... home on three floors, with waxwork dioramas on another floor. There was a creepy old bloke pretending to be Holmes himself. We ignored him as best we could.

( Some photos behind the cut )

It was rather pleasing, all told, though I am not sure that it was full value for a £6 admission charge. Still, it was worth it if nothing else for the look on Furtle's face as we wandered around and she looked more and more like the kid who had found the candy jar.

We had fun in the gift shop afterwards, spending a rather lengthy period of time mulling over the items for sale. In the end we chose a keyring, fridge magnet and small enamel wall plaque. I was rather taken by a bowler hat¹, which to my surprise suited me quite well, though the price tag of £45 persuaded me that I didn't really need it. They had some late Victorian short toppers, too. Not unlike a Mr Darcy style hat. Sadly that was both expensive and failed to suit me even slightly. Shame in some ways, since I've fancied one for ages. That bowler, though...

One day, perhaps.

Afterwards we had a look in the nearby Beatles Shop. That was incredible; all the tat in the world in such a small place. I had to see it though, even to be disappointed.

After all this, we took a long walk down to Oxford Street, got fed up very quickly with the crowds and slipped up on to Wigmore Street and along via Mortomer and Goodge Streets to the College Arms for a restorative tincture. Sadly, despite menus everywhere, they weren't serving food, so we came home after a pint, pausing only to fail to buy milk and other provisions in an insanely busy Sainsbury's and for a trip into the Virgin Megastore, where I acquired the complete Sharpe and Michael Palin's Himalaya on DVD, whilst Furtle availed herself of all six seasons of Sex in the City for the one-time only price of £50.

Then home for 300 and Indian takeaway.


¹A derby hat for my North American readers

The game is afoot

Yesterday we decided, largely on account of Furtle's fidgety insistence to pay a visit to the Sherlock Holmes Museum in Baker Street. I wasn't sure whether or not it would appeal to me (I felt the same about the zoo trip back in July and that was great), but I went along anyway.

Neither of us knew what to expect. I think we both had in mind a small place with a few dusty exhibits and little else and a gift shop. Gift shops are important at museums.

It took us a while to find the place; the sign from Baker Street tube station unhelpfully pointed in the wrong direction; I noticed the street numbers getting further from 221b as we tried to cross the Marylebone Road and reasoned that any self respecting museum would be as close to that address as possible. Anyway, not only did we find it, but it wasn't too full, either. We got in, around and back out before the next swathe of Japanese tourists arrived, which was lucky.

It turns out that the museum is fitted out like Holmes' ...er... home on three floors, with waxwork dioramas on another floor. There was a creepy old bloke pretending to be Holmes himself. We ignored him as best we could.

( Some photos behind the cut )

It was rather pleasing, all told, though I am not sure that it was full value for a £6 admission charge. Still, it was worth it if nothing else for the look on Furtle's face as we wandered around and she looked more and more like the kid who had found the candy jar.

We had fun in the gift shop afterwards, spending a rather lengthy period of time mulling over the items for sale. In the end we chose a keyring, fridge magnet and small enamel wall plaque. I was rather taken by a bowler hat¹, which to my surprise suited me quite well, though the price tag of £45 persuaded me that I didn't really need it. They had some late Victorian short toppers, too. Not unlike a Mr Darcy style hat. Sadly that was both expensive and failed to suit me even slightly. Shame in some ways, since I've fancied one for ages. That bowler, though...

One day, perhaps.

Afterwards we had a look in the nearby Beatles Shop. That was incredible; all the tat in the world in such a small place. I had to see it though, even to be disappointed.

After all this, we took a long walk down to Oxford Street, got fed up very quickly with the crowds and slipped up on to Wigmore Street and along via Mortomer and Goodge Streets to the College Arms for a restorative tincture. Sadly, despite menus everywhere, they weren't serving food, so we came home after a pint, pausing only to fail to buy milk and other provisions in an insanely busy Sainsbury's and for a trip into the Virgin Megastore, where I acquired the complete Sharpe and Michael Palin's Himalaya on DVD, whilst Furtle availed herself of all six seasons of Sex in the City for the one-time only price of £50.

Then home for 300 and Indian takeaway.


¹A derby hat for my North American readers