Tom and I managed to grab an hour at the British Museum before we had to leave for the airport.
Someone commemorated Armistice Day there, too. Audrey watched the young Royals lay a wreath on television.
Norman Foster added a gorgeous dome to the museum's lobby since my last visit when my camera bag weighed ten pounds and my pictures were hit or miss. Of course you didn't have to worry about security back then, either.
A drizzly Saturday was the price we paid for Friday's sunny weather. The Victoria and Albert Museum kept us warm and dry. It houses a vast collection of eye candy.
We started at the top in the vast porcelain collection, among the crowds of figurines.
The museum's floors creak as you walk through galleries that have been around for as long as many of the items on display.
I'm a BIG fan of Aubrey Beardsley (also known as Awfully Weirdly!) who was an editor at this Victorian publication.
We had to purchase a ticket for "You Say You Want a Revolution: Records and Rebels 1966-1970," pop culture catnip for baby boomers especially with its Woodstock room. Cool, man, cool. Too bad about the crowds and no photographs policy but I did manage to capture Twiggy, whom I adore almost as much as Aubrey. Carnaby Street in its heyday is definitely a place I would visit in my time machine.
Best Bowie album cover ever (from my own collection)! The Thin White Duke blew a mean sax. If you don't believe me, just listen to his 1973 covers of "Sorrow" and "I Can't Explain."
Afterward, we popped into Harrods, a short walk away from the V&A in Knightsbridge. The fading emporium, distinguished now only for its architecture, illustrates the downside of globalism. You can buy the same luxury products anywhere if you have the money. Tom and Audrey were tickled to discover that one brand is selling like hotcakes. They bought Zoltan a Canada Goose jacket long before it became a thing.
We stopped at Covent Garden, also mobbed, before walking back to the hotel to meet Chris for dinner. He spent the day at his favorite bookshops.
We crossed the Thames on a pedestrian bridge and walked along the Victoria Embankment to Trafalgar Square as the sun set.
The British take Armistice Day very seriously. We observed a moment of silence while standing in line at the Eye and noticed red paper poppies everywhere. It's more than a little ironic that Brexit and growing nationalism in Europe and America may threaten the peaceful dividend the Western world has been enjoying for more than half a century.
Nearly 70,000 people were expected at Wembley Stadium for a World Cup playoff match between England and Scotland. Well-lubricated Scots rallied behind their team at Trafalgar Square.
Tom, an Olympic athlete, was definitely in his element.
I'm glad we encountered the fans before their eventual 3-0 loss.
Our route back to the hotel took us through the West End. We probably would have understood "The Entertainer" more easily than "Lazarus" later that evening.
That's Michael C. Hall (a.k.a Dexter) lying on the stage behind the three of us at the King's Cross Theater. Inexplicably, this production's serial killer was gay, although he did stop the show with a finger snappin' version of "Valentine's Day."
Still, I wouldn't have missed the show for the world. Chris managed to get in some excellent photobombing after a busy day of fundraising!
The Tate Modern topped my list of things to see in London. The former power plant more than lived up to my expectations. So few things do.
The mammoth space near the entrance instantly imbues a sense of wonder.
The curators have organized the diverse collection by themes that don't require a lot of reading to absorb.
Artists who work on a grand scale, like Joseph Beuys, are shown to great advantage.
Some of the works I liked bests were by unfamiliar names.
Conceptual art doesn't usually do it for me but the color red unites these photos. Care to guess the nationality of the artist?
The Church of St. John the Divine exhibited Jane Alexander's mysterious critters several years ago. They looked slightly less malevolent at the Tate divorced from the religious context.
The permanent exhibitions are free, a policy that truly encourages art appreciation.
Remember this name: Ibrahim El-Salahi, a former politician! Too bad I didn't see the Tate's earlier retrospective of his work. African artists don't get enough exposure in America.
This gallery juxtaposed different styles of abstract painting.
Seeing Andy Warhol's electric chair silkscreens for the first time was treat. Natural light flooded the room like current.
The Tate Modern also gave me newfound appreciation for Louise Bourgeois. She lived to be nearly 100. Her reputation probably would be bigger if she were male.
The Bourgeois gallery also afforded an opportunity to insert myself.
