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It's that time of year when the light shines low through the lacy plane trees, the roads smell of damp leaves, St John's Wort mixed with tequila makes a cocktail that goes straight to my head and I walk the three miles back from the pub in the liquidy darkness, feeling the heat from just-parked cars against my leg through my tights.
Sep. 23rd, 2012
The Houses are Open once more. A work colleague had kindly furnished me with two volunteer priority entry badges, but we didn't get to use them - we tried to circumnavigate the 3 hour queue at the Bank of England but a doorman in a pink top hat told us to sling our hooks. Fortunately, we had managed to book Heron Tower, which was a fabulous experience, from the lovely and mesmerising aquarium in the foyer to the marvellous views over London.
However, the toilets were better at the Chartered Accountants Hall, just off Moorgate. We were taken around by a rather irreverent woman who made it known that she was not an accountant. There was a list of the accountant presidents for the first 100 years of the guild's existence, including Mr Cooper, Mr Waterhouse and Mr Deloitte. Hard to think of those behemoth companies being started by actual people; I suppose I'd sort of assumed they were all formed in the '70s or something. Anyway, as well as a rather surprising replica of the Rialto Bridge in the library, and a mini-version of the painted hall in Greenwich, Accountants HQ also has a subsidised coffee concession, of which we took advantage.
We boris-biked it down the pleasantly empty Victoria Embankment to Unilever House which was unremarkable apart from the crazy horn sculpture attached to the ceiling which turns every few minutes until it's done a full sixty day rotation.
We also found a very open house, a structure to mark the actual spot of the original old gate at Aldgate and where old G Chaucer used to work as a customs official.
Saturday was the City of London, Sunday was the City of Westminster. To 55 Baker Street, a 50s office block which has been refurbed in an angular modernist style, even down to the crouching creature-like chairs and the toilet door handles. I loved the rows of louvered doors and the wibbly wobbly atrium ceiling.
We walked in the pouring rain up to Mayfair, stopping off at Workshop cafe where Nico was on the gaggia, serving up lattes and gossip about Candida from Pulp. Onto Brook Street where we visited the house of both Handel and Hendrix. Handel left the lease of his house to his man-servant in his will, Hendrix liked cups of tea and Coronation Street. Fortunately, the museum chose not to employ a tube busker to play Purple Haze too loudly, but instead a rather nice harpsichord/cello/viola/vox quartet played in Georg's front room.
(Photos by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
davidnottingham).
However, the toilets were better at the Chartered Accountants Hall, just off Moorgate. We were taken around by a rather irreverent woman who made it known that she was not an accountant. There was a list of the accountant presidents for the first 100 years of the guild's existence, including Mr Cooper, Mr Waterhouse and Mr Deloitte. Hard to think of those behemoth companies being started by actual people; I suppose I'd sort of assumed they were all formed in the '70s or something. Anyway, as well as a rather surprising replica of the Rialto Bridge in the library, and a mini-version of the painted hall in Greenwich, Accountants HQ also has a subsidised coffee concession, of which we took advantage.
We boris-biked it down the pleasantly empty Victoria Embankment to Unilever House which was unremarkable apart from the crazy horn sculpture attached to the ceiling which turns every few minutes until it's done a full sixty day rotation.
We also found a very open house, a structure to mark the actual spot of the original old gate at Aldgate and where old G Chaucer used to work as a customs official.
Saturday was the City of London, Sunday was the City of Westminster. To 55 Baker Street, a 50s office block which has been refurbed in an angular modernist style, even down to the crouching creature-like chairs and the toilet door handles. I loved the rows of louvered doors and the wibbly wobbly atrium ceiling.
We walked in the pouring rain up to Mayfair, stopping off at Workshop cafe where Nico was on the gaggia, serving up lattes and gossip about Candida from Pulp. Onto Brook Street where we visited the house of both Handel and Hendrix. Handel left the lease of his house to his man-servant in his will, Hendrix liked cups of tea and Coronation Street. Fortunately, the museum chose not to employ a tube busker to play Purple Haze too loudly, but instead a rather nice harpsichord/cello/viola/vox quartet played in Georg's front room.
(Photos by
davidnottingham).