Sir John Soane's Museum

Sir John Soane (1753 - 1837) was the architect who designed, amongst many other buildings, the Bank of England. Strongly influenced by what he saw on an early study tour to Italy, he decided to specialise in the neoclassical style, bringing the majesty and elegance of Greece and Rome to his own country. He did not allow his humble beginnings as the youngest son of a bricklayer to impede him; thanks to his inclination to work hard and his natural talent he soon found success and was able to thrive. A few years after winning the Bank of England commission he purchased number 12, Lincoln's Inn Fields, eventually acquiring numbers 13 and 14 as well. It is in these houses that the museum now lies.

Soane was passionate about his favourite branch of architecture and sought to pass this enthusiasm on to students. He therefore transformed his house into a museum showcasing the best of classical design, not only by displaying ancient objects but by manipulating the rooms themselves. He hoped that young architects would come into the house and find inspiration, encouraging them to incorporate some of what they saw into their own plans. Every nook and corner is filled with another treasure: a piece of fresco here, a cast of a statue there. As the rooms themselves are mostly quite small this proliferation of objects could easily feel claustrophobic, however Soane’s canny use of light, often entering the interior through coloured glass, alleviates any sense of enclosure.

It is difficult to pick out highlights in a museum so full of interest, and where the building itself is such an attraction, but there are nonetheless a few things which truly stand out. One of these is the sarcophagus of King Seti the first, residing in the catacomb-like basement. Although the London air has unfortunately corroded away much of its former glory, this find, one of the most important relics ever found of ancient Egypt, is hugely impressive, being entirely covered in skilfully-etched hieroglyphics. The catacombs also contain a grave, supposedly that of the invented monk Padre Giovanni, but actually containing the remains of Mrs Soane’s beloved lap dog Fanny.

The picture room is truly a marvel. Faced with a large number of paintings and not enough space in which to hang them, Soane devised a novel solution: what appear initially to be static walls loaded with artwork are in fact hinged screens which can open out to reveal yet more pictures behind. The paintings themselves are more than worthy of note. Perhaps most striking are those by William Hogarth, of which there are two series: 'An Election' and 'A Rake’s Progress', highly satirical works whose messages are just as relevant today as they were in the 1700s. In addition to these are drawings of Italian buildings by Piranesi and watercolours of several of Soane's designs by Joseph Gandy. Had all of these latter actually been built, London today would be a very different place indeed. One view of the city is particularly far-fetched, having grand mountains as its backdrop, so perhaps these ideas were based more in Romanticism than in reality.

Soane's museum is not on the standard tourist itinerary, and so is often one of the last museums that people get round to visiting. Once they have done so however, it becomes a firm favourite. The house is not that large, and so it does not take long to wander around it, and it is definitely time well spent. The staff are friendly and knowledgeable; it is obvious that they are passionate about the place and enjoy showing it off. An extra bonus is that the museum is completely free, although it is so good that it feels rude to leave without giving a donation. After all, there are few places in London as interesting or as atmospheric.

The museum's website

Lincoln's Inn Fields is an attractive London square located just east of Kinsgway. Sir John Soane's Museum is on the northern edge. The southern edge is home to the Royal College of Surgeons and Lincoln's Inn itself lies on the east side. The closest tube station, just two minutes walk away, is Holborn (Central and Piccadilly lines).

Ode to the LDV Convoy

I make no pretensions to being a poet, but as today is National Poetry Day in the UK I thought I would give it a go:

Alas, poor LDV Convoy,
Murdered by credit crunch cruelty,
Will we ever see your like again?

Your struggling diesel engine,
Sputtering along the highway,
Letting out a roar with each gear change.

With walls thin as tissue paper,
In the event of a collision
We knew you would always come off worse.

Never a comfortable journey
For any sort of passenger,
‘specially not for those with quite long legs.

I once got you up to 90
Driving downhill on the M6,
You shook so hard I thought you might burst.

But I need not have worried as
You always got there in the end,
The wonderful, incomparable, irreplaceable, quite phenomenal LDV Convoy.

Ok, so it's probably not an ode, but I'm not particularly au fait with poetry classification. I challenge you to come up with your own poem!

Show the government your appreciation of LDV
National Poetry Day

A brief guide to snooker referees

The snooker season is now well and truly underway, with the Grand Prix taking place in Glasgow right now. I therefore thought it would be timely to provide a brief guide to the people wearing the white gloves.

Appearance	Well done! You've spotted...
Tall, Dutch and friendly. The kind of guy you'd employ to be your butler if you were stinking rich and owned a castle.	Jan Verhaas. He performs the initial toss using a half guilder coin.
Welsh, balding, glasses-wearing. Bears more than a passing resemblance to the fat controller.	Eirian Williams. Apparently enjoys a spot of karaoke outside of work.
Female. Killer heels.	Michaela Tabb. Used to be a professional eight ball pool player.
Old and smiley with a cheeky streak. Could easily be a grandad from a Werther's Original advert.	Alan Chamberlain. Before he was a referee he sold ladies underwear.
Looks like his suit might burst. Kind of like Mr Blobby, but without the spots.	Peter Williamson. Has officiated six 147s.
Small, hesitant, slightly Transylvanian.	Terry Camilleri. Comes from Malta, not Romania.
Round face, glasses. Fairly unremarkable but nonetheless naggingly familiar.	Colin Humphries A poker-playing Liverpudlian.

Picture from Maciej Jaros on Wikimedia Commons

Moctezuma at the British Museum

I had never been to an exhibition at the British Museum before last week, mostly due to the fact that there are a staggering number of interesting things that you can see there for free. Handing over at least £10 for a ticket has therefore never seemed necessary, and, if the current Moctezuma display is representative of these exhibitions, is not something that I will be doing again in a hurry.

It doesn't help that they have taken over the reading room in order to stage this exhibition. I love the reading room. With its multiple storeys of heaving bookshelves running around the outer wall, all in good old-fashioned heavy dark wood, and its desks protruding in a star-like fashion from the centre, it is my idea of heaven. Having all its glory hidden away behind screens irks me. Especially when the reason for it is so underwhelming.

The major failing of Moctezuma is that it doesn't have a coherent story to tell. There are indeed some nice objects to look at (although the masks that were my favourites are normally available to see in the Museum anyway), but many of the descriptions are repetitive and failed to provide any useful insight. The exhibition is supposedly divided up into sections on such things as religion and warfare, although if it weren't for the signs it would be difficult to tell this. Little is truly engaging, which is a huge disappointment as it wouldn't have taken much extra effort to make this a must-see event.

For example, there was a diagram comprising of three gears showing how the Aztec’s, or rather the Mexica’s, (the refusal to call people by their commonly known names was another annoyance) calendar worked. Why not make actual gears rather than just drawing them, so that people could move them and hence understand better how the whole system slotted together? Instead of just having small models of temple buildings why not make a mock-up of the interior of one of them that people could walk through? The Aztec way of drawing is highly stylised and figures are often difficult to pick out on the un-painted stonework, so why not give an explanation as to why their artists worked in this way?

I came away not really knowing what Moctezuma was like as a king, what society was like in the Aztec civilisation, or how the ordinary people went about their days, all things that I had hoped that the exhibition would shed light on. I could probably now sketch out a map of the centre of Tenochtitlan, or tell you the outline of the myths surrounding its creation, but I didn't feel in immersed in the culture. I appreciate that there are many things that we just don't know due to the Spanish invasion, but even if it wasn't completely accurate a bit of speculation could have added much needed colour, and the points we can be more certain on could have been fleshed out. The exhibition has received rave reviews, and so maybe I just didn't 'get' it, but I would still caution those thinking of spending a lot of money on a ticket.

Montezuma: Aztec Ruler

Inherit the Wind at the Old Vic

Showing at London's Old Vic until 20th December, Inherit the Wind is a 1955 play by Jerome Lawrence and Robert Edwin Lee based on the famous Scopes monkey trial of 1925. The play's revival is timely given both the bicentenary of Charles Darwin's birth and the rising tide of Christian fundamentalism in places such as the USA; indeed one wonders what kind of reception it would receive in that country at present. However, the main aim of the authors was not to specifically espouse evolution but rather to champion the rights of people to think for themselves, a pertinent issue in the fifties due to the scaremongering of McCarthyism.

In the first half of the play the scene is set: we are in a small town in Tennessee, populated by inherently good-natured but easily led Christians who are stirred up with a mixture of excitement and revulsion. They are thrilled that the famous politician Matthew Harrison Brady is coming to town and greet him with cheers and a picnic, but the reason for his visit - the fact that a local teacher, Bertram Cates, has given lessons on evolution, and is to be prosecuted by the state - has them fuming. They are even more riled to discover that Cates is to be defended by the famous agnostic lawyer Henry Drummond, thought by some to be the devil himself. The bulk of the action takes place in the courtroom, where these two legal titans battle it out; one using his conviction that every word in the Bible is literally true, the other by appealing to common sense and rational thought.

The play has a large cast of 41 (and one monkey) which is used to great effect to create the early 1900s small town atmosphere. One scene, in which an eager audience hums the tune to ‘Amazing Grace’ whilst the preacher bays his message of damnation and hellfire, is particularly chilling. Best though, is the acting of the two leads. David Troughton is utterly convincing as Brady, a man desperate to return to the political spotlight who is well-meaning but blinkered by his narrow religious viewpoints. In stark contrast is an almost unrecognisable Kevin Spacey, whose sharp comic timing and stage presence are ideal for the quick-witted Drummond. The play's ending is perhaps a little forced, with one event in particular seeming unnecessary, but everything up until that point more than makes up for it. In short, ‘Inherit the Wind’ is both entertaining and thought-provoking, and so is well worth going to see.

The Old Vic

Scopes Monkey Trial

The Monument

A good way to get a panoramic view of London is to climb the Monument. Erected from 1671 to 1677, it was designed (as were great swathes of the City) by Sir Christopher Wren and commemorates the Great Fire of London in 1666. The height of the Monument, at 61 m, is equal to the distance between its base and the site of the bakery in Pudding Lane where the conflagration started. A towering Doric pillar of white Portland limestone, the Monument is the tallest freestanding stone column in the world, and yet nowadays it is barely visible, its dominance having been usurped by the numerous high-rise buildings that have sprung up around it. It is hence something to be stumbled upon, rather than to be admired in awe from afar.

Despite this, the view from the top is surprisingly good, and well worth the meagre £3 entry charge. The towering skyscrapers of the City, such as the famous Gherkin, and the vast dome of St Paul's Cathedral dominate the view to the north, but to the south the view opens out over the river. Tower Bridge lies a little way to the east, and to the west it is possible to make out the London Eye, carrying round in its pods the tourists who have paid far more for their panorama.

One of the best things to see, however, lies within the Monument itself. To reach the viewing platform it is necessary to climb 311 steps, which ascend their way heavenwards in a tight spiral. Once at the top it is mesmerising to stare downwards into the pillar’s core, looking at the stairs as they go round and round and round...

If you visit, do spare a thought for those who work in this place. As I descended the steps with a friend we were stopped by a terrified woman going in the opposite direction. Her eyes glued to her feet the whole time, she hastily thrust a couple of certificates in our direction. We thanked her, and she explained that she had to go up to the top to make sure everyone got this memento of their visit. Unfortunately, this simple task was made rather daunting due to the fact that she was petrified of heights...

Picture from Wikimedia Commons user Artybrad

The Monument's website

Jupiter

Last night we popped outside and happened to notice a very bright object close to the moon. It increased in size when viewed through binoculars, so we concluded that it was probably a planet. A quick check on the Internet revealed that this was indeed correct, and that the planet in question was Jupiter. The sky was at this point fairly cloud-free and so we thought it would be worth our while to get the telescope out. It had been a long time since I'd looked at anything through the scope and so I was filled with child-like excitement when I got my first close-up peek. It got even better when we switched to an eyepiece offering higher magnification, and after a bit of work fine-tuning the focus we were able to make out two of the red bands wrapped around the planet's girth, and possibly one of its moons.

It is easy to forget that the rest of the universe exists when we are trapped here on Earth, absorbed in the minutiae of our mundane terrestrial lives, unable to even see many of the stars due to the dirty brown haze emanating from our cities. When we do take the time to look up it is difficult to absorb the reality of what we see: how can there be so many stars, how can they be so far away, how many millennia old can the light hitting our eyes right now really be? Actually seeing a planet for yourself, and it looking vaguely like the object you've seen in countless pictures brings home the fact that however incomprehensible the universe may be to our Earth-shackled minds, it is indisputably real. All you need to do is look. And when you do it is a wonderful experience.

Jupiter as photographed by NASA. They have a rather bigger telescope than I do.