There are sometimes days which stand out; special days; very satisfying days. Saturday was one such day; a day to remember and call to mind on dismal grey days in the future.
We lunched at the Victoria and Albert Museum, sitting in the circular, high ceilinged, colour tiled, column strewn, stained glass windowed restaurant, resident pianist at the baby grand, manically evening out the melodies of popular songs and quasi classical pieces.
We lunched at the Victoria and Albert Museum, sitting in the circular, high ceilinged, colour tiled, column strewn, stained glass windowed restaurant, resident pianist at the baby grand, manically evening out the melodies of popular songs and quasi classical pieces.
I'd seen them only once since they'd left for the dizzying delights of Aylesbury and within seconds we were talking freely, animated, laughing. We found some space at a table and the present occupants shuffled round to let us in. A lunch of assorted baguettes and a cute little 250ml carafe of white wine later and we were wandering through South East Asia, China and Japan peering into glass display cabinets at centuries of artefacts. After a while we decided to get some air and walked through a gallery of stone sculptures and out into the cold grey dampness. We were in search of a set of gates that came from the Great Exhibition at The Crystal Palace which Neil, having become fascinated through reading an interestingly alternative guide book to London, given him as a Christmas present by his parents, had said were in Kensington Gardens (or was it Hyde Park?). Having found them, impressively barring the roadway to the practising women on roller blades, we wandered on to the Italian Fountains and stared at the ducks, trying to predict where they would surface and decided we needed a libation and a sit down in a typical London pub, which we found and took delight in as we sat surrounded by caramel coloured walls of deeply embossed wallpaper. But the quest was not over and Neil asked Ivonne and I if we knew about the fake houses that were just a few streets away and so, ever the intrepid urban explorers, we set off in search of the prize,; looking for 'the house that wasn't there.'
To be continued...
As the delightfully dulcet tones of Roy Ebden would utter at the end of his radio show: “If you have been, thanks for listening.”
Don't forget that at the time I was not sure that the gates were the correct gates, and my Great Exhibition obsession has been running for about 6 months. In fact if we return to the V&A I can show you the exhibit that started me off on it!
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