Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

This afternoon or -on looking at the time- more properly yesterday afternoon, ellefurtle, fencingsculptor and I went to the Doctor Who Exhibition at Earl's Court.

The first impression you get when you arrive is that they are not making much of an effort. On the outside there is very little to suggest that there is an exhibition at all other than a partially concealed poster and a small sandwich board in front of the taped off and obviously closed main entrance outside Earl's Court Station.

It's all happening on the West Brompton side as it turns out, but even there, there is little to show that anything's happening. Still, it was clear once inside that enough people knew about it since it was busy, though not overly so. Still, it took a good couple of hours to go round and I managed to get some fun photos and even a couple of short movie files:


Cybercontroller in chair
( Remainder behind the cut for them as ain't interested )
By sheer fluke, and nothing to do with the exhibition, the Metropolitan Police's very own police box outside Earl's Court station. Note the CCTV camera on top instead of a lamp and the different window design. The idiot posing is fencingsculptor.



Finally, this chap was getting rather bolshy with anyone who pushed his button:

After all this we disappeared to the nearest hostelry for three pints of cold lager before coming home for a nap, pizza and X-Files. Pretty much in that order.

A good afternoon out for a tenner a head.

Today we disappeared down to Brighton. It was originally supposed to be for the day, but ended up being for the afternoon. This time of year and when you are not about to invest large amounts of wedge in entertainment, an afternoon to see the sea and potter is about right.

Having walked down the street from the station, ellefurtle and I walked along the prom a whiles before going down on to the scree slope that passes for a beach along much of the south coast. Walking on loose pebbles is frankly knackering so we amused ourselves like five year olds and sat down preparatory to hurling stones at other stones. This entertained us for much longer than should really be admitted by two adults. We wandered over to the pier (the one still standing) and took a stroll around the comatose amusement area - it's a bit early in the year for much to be happening, but as at least one kiosk was open, we obtained four sticks of Brighton Rock: the real stuff with Brighton written through it, before wandering into The Lanes in search of a pub lunch, which we finally had at a splendid little hostelry called "The Cricketers".

One fish and chips, one chicken goujons and cheesy chips, plus two pints of San Miguel later, we were ready to explore The Lanes, which are a little bit like a gestalt version of Covent Garden as imagined by the Islington Set and placed in an English provincial town. They are also built on a Moebius Strip, so that you can pass the same place several times despite not obviously turning back on yourself. We discovered this by walking in what appeared to be a direction away from The Cricketers and past The Brighton Armory - a militaria antique shop. That was nice, but we somehow ended up back at our starting point and went past both places twice without obviously turning around. Luckily, by keeping the sea off to our left, we were able to break this loop by walking through what, if the amount of jewelry shops is any evidence, is actually downtown Antwerp (or Antwerpen or Anvers depending upon your linguistic preferences).

Truly I am a Prince of Amber.

Finally we made it back to the station by way of Model Zone where I purchased a Corgi 1960s comics version Batmobile, thus:

for the princely sum of £6.99 in their sale.

Back to London Bridge by 17.00 and back home by just after 18.00. A bit of a lie down to recharge the batteries and now off to find some further sustenance and maybe an episode of the X-Files.

I love lazy holidays.

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