All posts by anne's london

Photos at St. Paul’s 19/100

April 9, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

DSCN7116 — Mother and Child by Henry Moore, from the conception side

Photography at St Paul’s is strictly forbiddden. Not because the fabric of the Cathedral would be harmed in any way, it has survived bombs afterall, but because, unfortunately, people did not respect the privelege and behaved baldy. So, several years ago, the Dean forbade the practise. And that was well-before the hideous invention of the selfie-stick. Can you imagine? But last night, St Paul’s encouraged photographers, of all kinds, to snap away. A ticketed event, open to the public, transformed the Cathedral into the world’s most beautiful still life. And despite the fact that I am not a particularly talented photographer and my camera is just a tiny, red Nikon coolpix, of course I was there! Finally, a chance to take a picture of the Henry Moore from THE angle.

I was a little worried I would be looked at oddly for lack of professional equipment, but as it turned out plenty of people had little cameras like mine. Even more just phones. I had no grand plan. I wandered round. I watched those with tripods and huge lens. I took many nosy peeks into peoples’ viewfinders. Some were trying to catch the perfect long view, but even more were focusing in on details, on the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the pillars. There is simply so much beauty at St. Paul’s it is no wonder that 300 people found 300 different things to capture on film or phone.

The evening, SurpriseStPauls, was not only fun and a fundraiser (St Paul’s receive no government money) but, for the more serious attendees, a competition. Everyone was encouraged to post their photos on the Cathedral’s social media sites. They will be complied on the Cathedral’s Flickr account and the Director of the National Portrait Gallery, Sandy Naime, will chose the best image, to be displayed in the soon to be re-opened Chapter House. Needless to say, I am not sending my photos. But will treasure them, nonetheless.

BALI — Sneaky pic of my Tuesday shoes on the Cathedral floor…sssh don’t tell

And how did I hear about this event? Facebook, of course. St Paul’s is a prolific poster. Of events and funny facts and interesting links between the Cathedral and the world….
I suppose it is time for me to tell you that I love St Paul’s more than any other place in London. I am an official Tour Guide there, on the Tuesday Team. If you ever want a tour, come along (on a Tuesday of course) and ask for the girl with the shoes…

Keep a look out for this event to be run again in the future. And get yourself a ticket, grab that iPhone, and snap away!

Facebook.com/St. Paul’s Cathedral

Twitter: @StPaulsLondon

Check out the competition yourself: https://www.flickr.com/photos/stpaulslondon/sets/72157651166937362/

@mylondonpassion

#mylondonpassion

Good Friday and Yoga, 18/100

April 8, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

IMG_20150403_133112 — Southwark Cathedral

For the last several years I have spent the afternoon of Good Friday at Southwark Cathedral, on the south side of the Thames in front of Borough Market, enjoying the long, long service, on my own (at least not with people I know, the service is well attended). Regardless of whether you have a faith, and I have no intention of discussing what is becoming an increasingly divisive issue in what is supposed to be a bit of fun blog, there is something special about sitting still in an old, old, old, remarkably beautiful building, and allowing your body to slowly relax and absorb the atmosphere. A time to listen, if you choose, or not, to beautiful music, and familiar stories, and messages, of all sorts. Not surprisingly, the vicar on Friday, spoke at length about love. But not that pointlessly positive, pithy statement kind of love that permeates Facebook feeds and makes me feel hostile toward humanity in general. Rather, the vulnerable, aching, heartbroken love of CS Lewis. The kind of love without which we wouldn’t be capable of empathy and compassion and understanding. The kind of love that asks us to sit still and be quiet and consider life. From here, it wasn’t much of a stretch (a little yoga pun there) for the Vicar to discuss the idea that the simple act of breathing can be seen as a spiritual experience. Of taking in and giving out. Of being within oneself and then of the world. At this moment I moved from a feeling of quiet contemplation to one of self-important smugness, as I had cleverly booked myself a yoga session atop the ArcelorMittal Orbit, in Olympic Park, for the very next morning. Who knew that my interest in altitude yoga was part of the Easter message.

IMG_20150404_093823 — One of the young ones…

As I have written before, I’m not sure I even like yoga. And I certainly won’t embarrass myself by remarking on the type or variation of “the practise”, as those in the know call it. Because it all seems theme and variation to me. In general, the instructor is cheerful and impossibly bendy. Many of the other participants are terribly young and gorgeous and clearly side-line as contortionists, and I find it all difficult. This Easter Saturday early morning, however, I was eager to test this breathing spiritually thing out. Of course, the fact that I get “inhale” and “exhale” right about as many times as “left leg” and “right leg” (on a good day, maybe 50%) perhaps hampers the experiment. But I did try. Not sure I felt any more spiritual, but I did notice that when I was able to breath when the lovely teacher told me, my body seemed less enraged at what I was asking it to do. Small steps in the right direction.

IMG_20150404_093601 — I watched with envy…

And what of yoga atop the Orbit? Well, just being in Olympic Park makes me happy, and I adore Anish Kapoor, the sculpture’s creator, but having been there before, once you finish marveling at all the structure itself, there isn’t a whole lot to it. There are views, but the straight ahead view during the yoga is little more than a building site. A city going up. Or coming down, depending on your viewpoint. Canary Wharf is in the distance and the City itself, with all those iconic buildings, is but a shimmering glimmer on a foggy horizon, off to one side. It certainly doesn’t have the same catch in your throat feeling of looking down onto Tower Bridge, as the previous yoga had. But it is still great fun to say it has been done. And some of the best moments of this kind of yoga are the post-practice show off photo ops. This one did not disappoint.

IMG_20150404_093510 — Serene Marta, the instructor

The yoga session itself was very good. Lead by patient, if optimistic, Marta, she didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t doing anything close to what she and the youngsters were doing, but only praised and encouraged the class, with the occasional hands-on correction. The hour went quickly, which doesn’t happen often for me in yoga. At the end, we had a lovely, long, still, few minutes with folded legs and hands in pray….and that was indeed a promise-laden moment of happy calm. Happy Easter. @mylondonpassion #mylondonpassion For more information about Southwark Cathedral, including history and service times, please visit:http://cathedral.southwark.anglican.org Information about the Orbit itself may be found at: http://arcelormittalorbit.com Specific information and reservations for the yoga are at: http://arcelormittalorbit.com/yoga-sky-2/#.VSVAhYfRxi9 For more information on, Marta, the instructor, and other venues at which she teaches, please visit: Marta at Yogafields, yogafieldslondon@gmail.com of facebook.com/Yogafields.

FemmeFierce, International Women’s Day, Leake Street and more gorgeous graffiti. 17/100

March 10, 2015 anne's london 1 Comment

Sunday was International Women’s Day. And so the dreaded F word was bandied about more than usual. I know how unpopular the word is these days, not least among young women. My own teenager daughter rolls her eyes and sneers at anything describing itself as “feminist”, including (if not especially) her own mother. But I am a feminist. Of the old school variety. My “issue,” to use another unpleasant term, is nothing more than the desire for a fair shake. Let me have a go. I may succeed. I may fail. But give me the chance. And you know what, I get that chance. All the time. The only person who tells me “no” is myself, usually from lack of will or outright laziness. But feminism today (my version anyway) isn’t about trying to get more for myself. I am an embarrassment of riches. It is about getting a fair deal for all the others. The girls affected by FGM and child marriage and rape as a weapon and honor killings and lack of education and beatings and….oh where does it stop? I don’t know. What I do know is that organizations like PlanUK work to end child marriage. And celebrations like International Women’s Day and grass roots activism like FemmeFierce remind us of our responsibilities. In the most amazingly fun, very co ol, thoughtful, inclusive, gorgeous and just plain fantastic way possible.

Sunday, FemmeFierce, a movement started by the inspirational Ayaan Binksy (or so she is known), a woman who definitely has a go at life, took over Leake Street, the official name of the graffiti filled road under Waterloo Station. 150 street writers from around the world came. Mostly women, but several men too. And I was delighted to see them there. Hey, you can’t change the world with only half the population. Interestingly, their work tended to be the more political, with themes of anti-violence and bravery of Malala. The women produced everything…from the hauntingly beautiful, but terrifying anti-FGM message to flamboyant tag names and sexy portraits. And humour. Lots and lots of humor. My youngest child particularly loved the one of school girls with spray cans. The headline read “School is over Girls….Reload!” and a handwritten sign was taped to the wall “Please don’t tell my Mum I’m not at school.” Perhaps it was the overload of spray paint fumes, but the atmosphere was absolutely electric. Street writing, by its very nature, tends to be a solitary activity. But this was a festival of creativity, a celebration of humanity. Complete with a hip hop and can rattling soundtrack.

The morning began at 8. All the walls were painted over in the light blue of PlanUK, for which FemmeFierce was raising awareness and encouraging donations. Children were more than welcome. My Katherine grabbed a roller and started her public art career. As the artists chose their spaces and waited for the blue to dry, they were more than willing to chat. A police officer wandered down to admire the work. He told me he often comes along to check out the new pieces. Later kids, or “the new generation”, were encouraged to try their hand at some spraying. Mine eagerly joined in, to varying results. Artists worked throughout the day, chatted with each other and patiently answered questions about their work and where they came form and all the general nosiness of an interested public. Stereotypes were checked at the staircase. Not a pair of dungarees in sight. Instead I saw heels and skirts and lacy underwear. Multiple earrings and nose piercings and fabulous wild hair. Some girls seemed barely out of their teens, others much older. One man spent much of the day holding his tow headed toddler in one arm while using a paintbrush with the other. All were very agreeable to having their photographs taken, and at times there seemed to be more photographers than artists. Many of younger women had no links to social media at all, shrugging off all suggestions that this was the norm. Refreshingly reassuring that not everything is thinly disguised self-promotion. Comforting to learn that sometimes self-expression is just that.

And through it all Ayaan, the organizer, glided, being affectionately called to or hugged every few minutes. Beautiful and charming, she gives that impression of effortlessness that the truly driven and determined often do. I am quite sure that hours and hours and hours of tedious, frustrating, hard work went into making this event come together so smoothly. Yet she almost had me believing she did nothing more than make a wish and snap her fingers twice. That she simply stated her intention out loud and the universe responded “as you wish.” I love people like this.

And of course I love London. A city that has a tunnel where street artists can come from all over the world and create things to honour women, to remind of us those in trouble, in pain, in fear, to invite us to look at the world in a new way, to make us laugh or just say “wow, that is terrific.” Well done FemmeFierce.

I returned to the Vaults on Monday, hoping to enjoy the space in quiet. It was quiet, but I wasn’t alone. Several photographers were still there, capturing these images that won’t last. I don’t know how long it will take until it is all painted over again. That is the nature of graffiti afterall. And maybe that sets me up for the perfect analogy. Days like International Women’s Day and projects like FemmeFierce are important. Because they are fleeting. Reminding us that life is precious and needs to be protected. Throughout the world.

For more information about PlanUK and its life-changing work, please visit: http://www.plan-uk.org

For more photos from the day visit: https://www.facebook.com/FemmeFierceEvents

@mylondonpassion

Yoga on Tower Bridge….oh, yes I can. 16/100

February 19, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

I am a great believer in doing things just because I can. No more justification necessary. If the offer is made, I am usually there, even if it isn’t something I am good at or particularly enjoy. “So I can say I’ve done it” is one of my many mantras. I also believe that just showing up is 90% of the living life to the fullest philosophy I espouse. And so, yesterday early morning, I was holding (what I hope were elegant) yoga poses on the glass walkway of Tower Bridge.

I am nothing close to a yoga devotee, in fact I usually find it too challenging both mentally and physically to enjoy. And I don’t like heights. But the experience….how could I possible NOT do it. And have IMG_20150218_082039 the privilege of boring everyone for years to come by blurting out “I did yoga up there” each and every time we were in eyeshot of the bridge.

I admit I was questioning my decision-making skills as I headed into the City, even more as the lift seemed to rise and rise and rise, but then it was too late to back out. I took my place on the walkway and…..

and I loved it. Every minute of it. It wasn’t scary or painful or cold or boring. I watched the river, from many downward dog positions, tumbling and sloshing and glistening in the bright morning sun. Boats sailed beneath. Cars and buses rushed along the bridge. But the people, not very many at that early hour, were strolling. Some stopping to watch the river themselves. Or just to think, gazing out at London. The Shard sparkled. The cranes blinked and swayed. And the bridge itself; Horace Jones at his most magnificent. All that gorgeous steel framework.

IMG_20150218_082259 — Ha ha, not me. Billie, our instructor.

The yoga was lead by the very pretty and impressively flexible Billie. She was enthusiastic without any of that new-age earnestness that makes me want to collapse in a lump, roll my eyes aggressively and consider taking up smoking just out of spite. To the contrary, she found that balance (ha ha, a little yoga pun there) between encouraging and relaxed. Billie teaches all over London, and told me there is talk of offering this class in/on other London landmarks. Oh, yes please!

My other classmates were much younger but of mixed ability. Admittedly most of us were there for the photo-ops, and there was some lovely, friendly chat at the end as we all whipped out our phones and captured the views. I was even interviewed for French radio about the morning.

And then we left. Some to work, some to other London adventures, some, like me, back home. Feeling refreshed and calm and with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Because I can. So I do.

Twitter: @mylondonpassion

If you can make ’em, you can race ’em…..Pancake Races in Guildhall Yard 15/100

February 18, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

Mardi Gras. A day of excitement and anticipation. For those who observe Lent as a religious experience, the beginning of a time of reflection and denial. In cities where debauchery is the order of the day, Fat Tuesday promises the mother of all binges. In London, (and throughout the UK), where Lent begins in a tamer fashion, the day is still known by its religious title, Shrove Tuesday, or more affectionately, Pancake Day. Why….because pancakes are the most fun way to use up all that flour and butter and sugar that become forbidden during Lent….and if you can make ‘em, you can race ‘em.

For me, today means the annual Livery Company Pancake Races. “Livery Companies?,” I hear you ask.

Well to continue the history lesson, briefly, Livery Companies are guilds, some dating back to medieval times, that managed to endure, as most of those on the continent did not, by converting themselves from trade organizations to philanthropic and social ones. And, since the early 20th century, new ones have been IMG_20150217_120601 created: Environmental Cleaners and Management Consultants, to name two that were represented today. Along with Clockmakers, Farriers, Poulters, the Butchers and many others. I could easily write a 100 page blog on all the zany things these livery companies get up to…but it’s Pancake Day.

Each year, on Pancake Day, a selection of the members of these companies gather in Guildhall Yard and race. Wearing their ceremonial robes, chef hats, aprons, and in one round, fancy dress, they run carrying a pan in which there is a pancake. The rules are strict. Each pancake must be flipped twice by the racers. Once on the way out, once on the way back after the traffic cone has been circled. The racers race. The crowd shouts. Cameras click. The competition is good-natured, but fierce. The fancy dress is the usual mix of “could do better,” and “how clever.”
By-standers include livery company members, proud family supporters, bemused tourists and bored office workers who wander by for a gawk. And everyone is throughly entertained. As well they should be. Because tomorrow is sack-cloth and ashes. Or not.

My Valentine….the Air Line 14/100

February 15, 2015 anne's london 1 Comment

Pointless, going nowhere, frustratingly inconvenient, yet, at its height beautiful and thrilling…..no, not Valentine’s Day, but the Emirates Air Line. For the record, I rather like Valentine’s Day, and I love the Emirates Air Line. A bit strange, perhaps, but then so is a fake holiday that forces men to buy overpriced roses just when gorgeous spring bulbs are coming into bloom…but I digress. The Air Line.

One side of it is at an awkward distance from the O2 and the other end is, well absolutely no where. Unless a DLR station counts; the Excel Centre is a serious hike a DSCN0007 way. And yet, I think it a marvelous treat to go completely out of my way and sail across the Thames in a cable car. And back again. Over the 02, with it’s spiky shell. The boats and tugs and cranes on the hardworking section of the river. The new Olympic construction. I love it all. And when the sun shines in just the right way it all looks bathed in gold. My beautiful, beautiful London. And the best part is I often have it to myself.

Several months ago I was eavesdropping, as usual, on the Tube. A lovely group of young Irish tourists were planning their day, which was going to include a ride on the Air Line. “But what if the queue is very long? We might be late,” one of the girls worried. The group discussed alternative plans for a bit, until I couldn’t contain myself any longer (like 3 DSCN0004 seconds). “Oh don’t worry,” I told them with a laugh, “There won’t be any queue. At all.” They were delighted. I hope they had a wonderful time.

The Air Line always features in those “Things you will never heard Londoners say” lists, usually with the line “The Air Line is down, how will I get to work??” Because it does seem to always be empty. So maybe it really exists only for me. A year long Valentine’s Day gift from my passionate City. Thank you, London. You do spoil me. I shall go flying again soon.

On Tunnels, Vaults, Art, Theatre…what isn’t there to be passionate about? 13/100

February 13, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

Many, many years ago when Secret Cinema was secret and affordable I had the local mini cab company drop me at the location, indicated by a series of oblique emails, of the evening’s festivities. My lovely driver was horrified. “No, no Lady,” he implored, “you can not get out. It is too dangerous.” He was quite insistent. Of course I was even more insistent. And I had my brawny husband with me for protection. So out of the cab I raced….and into the other wordly Old VicTunnels.

Years later and many, many more events attended, these dark, wet tunnels under Waterloo Station have been renamed “The Vaults,” and are anything but a no-go zone. The hip spot for art and alternative theatre , pop up restaurants and parties, and yes, circus. The long entry way is still very popular with young men who are handy with the spray paint, often to exquisite results, but the atmosphere is more intentionally seedy than actually nefarious.

The film on the night above was The Battle of Algiers, a French film in black and white chronicling the start of the Algerian uprising. Made in 1966….however….I don’t think I need to state the obvious. The tunnels on the night were transformed into a kasbah. A dark, spooky, scary kasbah. with shouting French soliders and veiled women carrying bombs. And despite the fact that it all seemed a bit too real at time, I loved it. And loved the tunnels. And vowed to go to back. As often as I could.

But it is not a place for happy, in the traditional sense at least. Bedlam, an art exhibit on the treatment of the mentally ill through the ages, was made all the more tragic by the coldness of the walls and the darkness in the corners. Fiona Shaw’s mov Screen Shot 2015-02-13 at 3.37.47 PM ing, physical rendition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner left us no doubt as to the narrator’s despair. Another night I followed a modern dance troupe through the cavernous spaces as they used their bodies to re-enact Brian Keenan’s book An Evil Cradling on his time as hostage in Iran. The fact that the walls were actually dripping with water from the pouring rain outside made what we were watching, entitled Without Warning, even more catch in your throat frightening.

Lately, I like to pop down the stairs from the station just to see the recent stree DSCN4656 t art, which is always on a grand scale.

This past summer I saw a short circus performance. Which wasn’t at all scary. Until the circus ended and a band started up. Suddenly everyone of a certain age disappeared. “Lucy,” I shouted to my friend, “we have to go. Someone is going to think I am the singer’s mother.”

DSCN4659 But hey, I was there before it was cool and rebranded. I suppose I can let the kids have the tunnels for a while. But I will be back. For something fabulous, I am sure.

On Take me to the River, and a bit on Churchill too 12/100

February 12, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

“So – this – is – a – River!’ said the Mole, pulling himself together with an effort.
“THE River,’ corrected the Rat.”
“And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!”
“By it and with it and on it and in it,’”said the Rat. “It’s my world, and I don’t want any other. What it hasn’t got is not worth having, and what it doesn’t know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we’ve had together!” Wind in the Willows (Kenneth Grahame)

I am training for a running race, again. ’tis that time of year. But months of slack behaviour and advancing age has taken its toll. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. So I took to the river. To run. Because there is no more beautiful place to run than along the Thames. I managed 9 miles. I was slow. It was painful. But the Thames spurred me on. As it always does. The body didn’t feel so good; the soul was soaring. “Take me to the river…,” oh David Byrne, you know of what you sing.

The Thames may be filthy, and I would never want to be tossed in, but to be on it or along it is always a treat. Sometimes is it precariously high; I IMG-20140117-00474 watch those lions carefully during extra rainy days, believing completely in the expression “if the lions drink, London sinks.” But it is beautiful when it is roaring and swirling with passion.

When it is at very low tide enterprising builders create amazing sand structures. My favourite was a couch and television, complete with can of beer. All made of the gritty stuff.

Recently I helped cajole more than 30 wom 885539_1033431306683590_4520206598768496532_o en to don attractive hi-vis jackets and stroll 13 miles along the Thames Path from Kew to Clapham, for charity. I have also spent an evening drinking wine with a friend on the patio of Riverside Studios, as the sun set majestically over Hammersmith Bridge.

Several years ago, while training for the MoonWalk, (an a DSCN0807 ll night 26 mile walk through London), my friend and I came upon the Gloriana, the lead vessel in the Queen’s Thames Diamond Jubilee Pageant. I watched the Jubilee flotilla, a few weeks later, with great emotion, in the pouring rain, from the Tower of London.

And two weeks ago I may have topped it all. I rode in a boat just behind The Havengore in the flotilla to mark the 50th anniversary of the funeral of Sir Winston Churchill.

Let me write that again.

I, American Anne, along with equally enthusiastic friends Sarah and Alex, was in a boat traveling on the Thames, behind The Havengore, the original barge that carried Churchill’s coffin to Westminster in 1965. In this glorious re-enactment, the Havengore sailed from the HMS President, near the Tower of London to Westminster. Where a wreath was placed in the water in front of the Houses of Parliament.

Tower Bridge opened. And WE sailed under. I was covered in goosebumps, except for the places I was pinching to make sure I wasn’t dreamin 10955667_10153553551269027_2713025048497404751_o g. We waved wildly at everyone on the riverbanks and the bridges. We felt like royalty. I had truly, truly shared in a moment of history. The Thames gave me to something exceptionally special. Again.

On Cereal and Hipsters….11/100

January 10, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

Ar cerealkiller e you finding yourself flush with cash and in need of something sweet? Then the Cereal Killer Cafe it must be. My children thought they were getting a peek into heaven…

On the corner of Brick Lane and Bacon Street (why does that make me laugh every time) has recently opened the uber trendy Cereal Killer Cafe. A tiny shop that sells hundreds of different cereals from round the world, with toppings, and flavored, and normal, milk. At expense. But wow it is fun. Every hipster in London is there. Lots of purple hair. Queue out the door. But moves quickly. The staff is terribly efficient. Orders placed at the bar, cheque tallied on roving ipad, no faffing about; I do admire that.

Hits from the late 80s and TV show theme song cerealkiller2 s act as soundtrack. Skateboards hang on the walls. A cheerio within a cheerio has been framed and mounted on the stairwell. My eavesdropping concluded that this is an ideal first date location. Popular, cheap (expensive cereal is still relatively cheap), easy conversation props, non-alcoholic and best of all, fast.

And all that cereal. My children had two rounds. Teen daughter chose Honey Smacks. That was a treat so utterly forbidden in my own childhood I would have crawled across open flame to lick them off a dirty floor..to see my own child chose them (unprompted) above all other choices made my little girl heart proud. Youngest child chose Cheerios from Israel, delighted in the fact she had distance in her bowl. The boys had “cocktails,” shocking mixtu cerealkiller4 res of sugar and more sugar. Delicious.

Many, many (monetary) pounds lighter, and slightly dizzy from the additives, we staggered back down Brick Lane to the Tube. Not for everyday, but definitely a fabulous London treat. Enjoy!!

@cerealkillerUK

On The Natural History Museum, a wonder of wonders 10/100

January 7, 2015 anne's london Leave a comment

Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of sources sometimes. Spent the last few days typing away on a variety of worthy topics but all with dull result. So took the kids to see the Paddington movie. What a delightful, charming film, full of gorgeous locations (I want to live in that house…the mural in the stairwell alone….) in London. And the best part was that the last many moments of the story take place in the Natural History Museum, not as an unrecognizable film set with a few outside shots of the building, but the real thing, in all its fabulousness. And as one who has spent hours and hours and hours and hours there, I am well equipped to recognize the beauty that is Alfred Waterhouse’s masterpiece. What a dream it would be to run through that building late at night…wearing those incredible shoes Nicole Kidman gets to wear (of course I noticed them, I adore improbable shoes). That wide staircase, those elaborately carved columns, and the reliefs that surprise at every turn. The monkeys, the fish, the birds, the plants, the mythical beasts; and this is all before you get to any of the fossils and dinosaurs and taxidermied creatures and minerals and jewels and bits of planets and oversized creepy crawlies you normally can’t (thankfully) see…and oooh, it is an embarrassment of riches.

The reason I know it so well is that for the first two years of living in London I took my boys every Tuesday. Every single Tuesday.

CNV00032 — Tuesdays with Joseph and Stephen

We would visit the dinosaurs, no long line for us, and the creepy crawly exhibit; who doesn’t like moving a fly from the poop to the picnic over and over and over again. We would take long looks at the enormous fossils, especially the one found by teenager Mary Anning.

Sometimes we would look at the mammals; whales on the telephone is a draw. We always looked at the big tree; the cases in the minerals were a bit high, and the escalator in the earth science was too long and steep for comfort. But a satisfying day for everyone. Every time.

When grandparents came to visit we would hire the “Explorer Backpack,” a scavenger hunt of sorts with the added bonus of a borrowed helmet and binoculars. The fact that the questions remained the same meant that the children looked like geniuses, always a nice treat for the relatives.

IMG_20141029_141228 — the half-term queue

But then school started and we couldn’t visit every week. But we kept visiting. Once we went on a Saturday and we were horrified, horrified, to see that the queue snaked all down the front and round the building….who were all these people at our museum? Even if the queue outside wasn’t long, the one inside for the dinosaurs was endless! I tried to take my older son, Joseph, on a rainy day during the recent Autumn half-term. Yikes! The queue to get in double backed on itself. All those exhausted looking parents! We felt smug remembering all those line-free Tuesdays!

We’ve skated on their gorgeous rink set up during the Christmas season many times. Even saw a proposal of marriage one particularly beautiful evening there, and yes, she said yes.

We try never to miss the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibit, even if we never, ever agree with the winners. And the gift shop is a must for Christmas presents.

Professor Richard Owen, the controversial character who campaigned tirelessly to have the museum built, wanted to create a place where scientists, the uninformed and the middle class hobbyist could all benefit. A place to cater to the professional, the enthusiast and the curious simultaneously. Architect Alfred Waterhouse, using designs from a variety of sources and influenced by the demands of politicians and financiers, was able to fashion a cathedral to science uniquely his own, a pleasing compromise of Italian Renaissance, Gothic Revival and German Romanesque. In other words, a blend of styles that work both physically and aesthetically.

And yet, and yet…none of that is what I love most about the Natural History Museum. It is the feeling I get when I step into all that history. Not of centuries but of millenniums and more. I think what it must have been like for those earlier fossil finders and paleontologists when they discovered things that literally changed the way people thought about the world. The excitement of researching and studying things that must have seemed magical or otherworldly or just plain amazing. Because they still are. It is a gorgeous building filled with wonder Screen Shot 2015-01-07 at 2.16.43 PM s. Just as it should be…and now imagine me with those shoes on those stairs….perfection!