More, More, More...

Continuing my Thursday story, after I managed to escape from Charles, I headed west through Hyde Park. I had read about the park's man-made lake, The Serpentine, but was not prepared for its size or beauty. Stretching for close to two kilometres in length, filled with geese, swan, and other water fowl, its banks are lined with dozens of striped deck chairs. The sun was shining, and there were several hired rowboats out on the water. If I didn't know better I'd think I was somewhere, anywhere, other than London. The Serpentine's other great convenience is a glass-walled cafeteria at its north-east corner. I couldn't get wi-fi net access, but it was a great spot to eat an ice cream and contemplate life and the view.

From the café I headed west, along the Serpentine's southern bank. The park land of Kensington Gardens is right next to Hyde Park, and I'm not sure where the boundary falls... Quite possibly Exhibition Road which cuts through the parks, spanning the Serpentine by way of a beautiful arched stone bridge. Near the bridge is the permanent memorial to Diana, Princess of Wales. It takes the form of a shallow-depth waterfall that cuts through a grassy slope. Apparently there have been problems with the memorial since it opened. Not sure how a waterfall can break down, but it has. And then there's the matter of visitors who have decided to wade in its waters. On the day I visited there were two park rangers permanently posted around the waterfall to keep an eye on things.

J.M. Barrie, playwright, author of Peter Pan, and subject of Finding Neverland, met the young children who inspired The Lost Boys while working in Kensington Gardens. Somewhere near to that site, there stands a memorial to Peter Pan. Donated by Barrie himself, it presents the character playing his flute, and forever young. Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens are collectively huge, with sections maintained in an unkempt, rustic style. But the Pan statue, like Diana's memorial, are magnets for the tourists.

The biggest tourist drawcard in the area is surely Kensington Palace. Home to Diana at the time of her death, I could somehow tell that a great number of visitors around the palace were making a pilgrimage of sorts. Admission to the palace is £11. For that, visitors can view selected pieces from the wardrobes of the Queen, the Queen Mother, and the Princess of Wales. I am sure there is a market for this type of attraction, but I fall squarely out of the target demographic. And I hardly think the tour guides will point out the nearby telephone booth which Diana allegedly used to stalk Oliver Hoare. The tour's only attraction for me is the opportunity to view Princess Margaret's state rooms. She always struck me as a fun-loving royal, to appropriate a euphemism, and I know I'd get a salacious kick out of viewing her apartment. But I'm trying to be budget-conscious, at least until I get a job, so I will have to make it back here some other time.

Friday and Saturday were spent desperately trying to rest up and mitigate the head cold that had been brewing for a few days. Monday just past was the last Bank Holiday for this year, so there were a zillion things on in London over the weekend. I consulted with Kerby as to which I should attend, and we both agreed that the huge day party at Clapham Common was the go. In Australia, and with the exception of something like The Big Day Out, the day dance parties usually only attract one, maybe two, big name DJs. Here in London, there is a festival on nearly every weekend (which maybe a summer thing admittedly) and the flyers are crammed with top DJ listings. The Clapham Common party featured Paul Oakenfold, Tall Paul, Carl Cox, Armand Van Helden, and Fatboy Slim. Quite amazing. But stil I couldn't get any of my friends to go, because technically it was a straight party, and my straight friends were either not interested or out of town.

Now this is probably a good time to mention how I'd sum up the general difference between the gay and straight parties, in terms of organisation and marketing. The straight parties will use a flyer or poster featuring an abstract image overlaid with the names of the aforementioned DJs, in very large print, and dominating the ad. The gay parties use a photograph of one or two very well-built guys, near naked, that dominates the ad. The name of the party or club night is stylised like a product, pushed as much as the photo, forcing the DJ listings to be printed in as small an area as possible... Hopefully so small that it doesn't conceal anything of vital importance in the photograph. Sex sells, it seems. There are many exceptions to these general observations of course, but these patterns seem to be common. I find it funny how the promoters seem to know that they don't have to spend top money on a well-known DJ to draw the crowd.

While on the subject of sex-selling advertisements, the Transport for London people, who manage public transport here, have banned an advertisement for Jerry Hall's new reality tv show from all underground stations. It featured the lithe, long-legged Texan restraining-by-leash a gaggle of mostly naked men who are on all fours in front of her. The irony, of course, is in the double standard. According to a letter to the editor of Metro, TfL showed no compunction in allowing recent advertisements featuring Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears, both appearing near-naked and similarly submissive. Not that the Jerry Hall show people probably care - I'm sure it's been great publicity.

That reminds me of something else I learned this week. A few days ago I visited the Tate Modern, Britain's foremost gallery of modern art. In the permanent collection there is a room devoted to Degenerative Art. All the works in that room were owned by German galleries or private collectors prior to the rise of Nazism. Some time after coming to power, Hitler declared modern art to be degenerative, setting in motion a campaign to collect and destroy almost all modern art. An exhibition was held in Berlin, featuring the most prominent works of the confiscated art, hung alongisde critque and quotations from the Fuhrer with the sarcastic observation that these abominations were paid for with the taxes of working German people. This exhibition was held concurrently with another in Berlin, which showcased examples of proper German Art. The plan backfired, with the Degenerative Art exhibition being the more popular of the two. In fact, with 2 million visitors, it became the
most attended art exhibition of the 20th century!

The Tate Modern visit was on Thursday just past, so I'm getting ahead of myself as I haven't finished telling the Bank Holiday weekend story. A few rainy days asise, we have had some fantastic weather in London the last few weeks, Sunday 28th being a fine example. I wanted to get out into the sunshine hopefully with a view of the city. There were two options, Hampstead Heath or Primrose Hill. I chose the latter, mainly because it's slightly closer at only 5 km from north-west from Covent Garden. On the way out there I am pretty sure I spotted Cillian Murphy on the tube. He's the fair-skinned, wide-eyed, thick-lipped, rose-cheeked actor from 28 Days Later, Batman Begins, and the new Wes Craven thriller Red Eye. I can't be sure it was him, as the train was pulling out of the platform, but I'm pretty sure. I had that weird feeling of certainty that one gets when spotting a celebrity.

I met up with Dr Tim at Camden Town, the nearest tube stop, and walked the short distance to the edge of Regent's Park. An unexpected surprise on this little adventure was seeing Regent's Canal for the first time. Constructed a few hundred years ago, the canal was built to ship coal. Lakes and streams were linked with man-made waterways and some very long tunnels, and locks were installed to cover the height difference.