Heron Island, Great Barrier Reef, Australia
Thursday, 19 April 2018
Broadway Market revisited
Once you're past that, Broadway Market on a Saturday afternoon is even more of an ultra-cosmopolitan food court than the last time I visited.
If you don't want to buy some kisses to follow your pickles, sauerkraut or kimchi (relax, they mean meringues), you can eat your way around the world from Argentina to Vietnam by way of Ghana, Iran, and Gujarat, not forgetting the inevitable cupcake, to go with your Spanish ham.
Perhaps some fudge off the block, a brownie or an eclair for later? And don't forget your furry friends.
There are still some of the worthier sorts of craft stall one might expect from Hackney, as is the sight of ladies' scanties side by side with (do knickers rub shoulders, or could one say they abut?) dungarees; while others aim a bit further upmarket.
But as times change, so, inevitably, there's a smart estate agent's next door to the traditional pie-and-mash shop, offering the opportunity for that other middle-class pastime, tutting over the prices (£1 million plus, or thereabouts, for the kind of house that was being torn down in my childhood, or £500k for a two-bedroom modern flat).
And here's another sign of the changing times - hardly the house journal of the alternative society:
Posted by Autolycus at 16:46 2 comments:
Sunday, 8 April 2018
Nice day for a bike ride
The route passed Trafalgar Square - and the latest occupant of the Fourth Plinth.
This solemn creature is a reminder of the decidedly nasty: a replica of a lamassu, a particular sort of chimera guarding the gates of Nineveh, which was blown up by the iconoclasts of IS.
And it's all (including the cuneiform inscription) made out of date tins, dates being once Iraq's principal export industry, also now severely damaged by conflict over the decades.
What a contrast from the swagger of the memorial at the end of the ride: Prince Albert gleaming through the magnolias:
Posted by Autolycus at 16:51 3 comments:
Labels: arts/media, london
Wednesday, 28 March 2018
Well, there's a thing
The Museum of London has a new section on the monster fatberg of Whitechapel, a vast conglomeration of (mostly) fat, setting to concrete as it accumulated around various sorts of undissolvable waste, grit and calcium in the sewers underneath an area with a high proportion of takeaway food joints. As you enter, a display cabinet shows you the sewer workers' protective suit - and the shovels they had to resort to at times to dig it out.
As is traditional in high-profile exhibits, the headline item is reserved for its own special spotlit case within a darkened inner sanctum: no more prepossessing than a piece of rubble on a demolition site, but what lump of gunk could be anything else?
It serves as a warning of the damage simple carelessness can do, and a reminder of the things so many unseen workers do to keep the city going. There is some good news : it can all be used, refined for fuel for buses, with the residue burnt in power stations.
And, of course, the museum shop serves handy mementoes: badges, T-shirts, shopping bags, cuddly toy rats, and should you feel like a themed snack, a bag of toothsome "Fatberg sludge".
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