Helena Halme's Blog, page 37
October 4, 2013
Book Beginnings on Friday: House of Silence by Linda Gillard
I found Book Beginnings through a site called Jaffa Reads Too. It's is a kind of a linked Round Robin, sharing the first chapters of the book that you are currently reading. This clever idea is hosted by Rose City Reader.
This is how Book Beginnings on Friday works in the words of Rose:
Please join me every Friday to share the first sentence (or so) of the book you are reading, along with your initial thoughts about the sentence, impressions of the book, or anything else the opener inspires. Please remember to include the title of the book and the author's name.There is a a Mr Linky on Rose's site where you can add your Friday Book Beginnings post onto the thread. You can also share this post (or/and your own) on Twitter with the hashtag #BookBeginnings.
Book Beginnings on Friday really appeals to me because I'm a great believer in the first chapter of any book being a taste of what's to to come. It's a contract that the author makes with the reader. 'This is how the story is going to be; this is the style, setting and flavour of the novel'
I'm averaging a book a week at the moment, so it makes great sense to share the beginning of the novel I'm reading each Friday.
My first book is House of Silence by Linda Gillard. This is how the novel starts:
A Beginning
Chapter One
Gwen
I used to wonder if Alfie chose me because I was an orphan and an only child. Was that part of the attraction? I came unencumbered, with no family.
We were kindred spirits in a way. Detached, self-centred , yet both obsessed with our past. Our past. The difference was, I had no family and Alfie did. He had a family - a large one - but mostly he behaved as if he didn't, as if he wanted no part of them, however much they might want a piece of him.
I love this kind of retrospective beginning to a novel. The protagonist is writing about something which she has already experienced, but which still affects her deeply. From reading the blurb, I know this book is about Gwen's boyfriend's unusual family and their ramshackle Georgian home, which hides secrets that everyone, but most of all Alfie, want to forget. Even without knowing what the central story is, the reader will know from these first two paragraphs that this is a book about a troubled relationship, about a troubled past and about a troubled family. There's a darkness to the words, such as 'orphan', 'obsessed' 'past' and 'kindred spirits'. I cannot wait to read on!
House of Silence by Linda GillardAmazon Kindle edition £1.98Paperback copy £6.19
This is how Book Beginnings on Friday works in the words of Rose:
Please join me every Friday to share the first sentence (or so) of the book you are reading, along with your initial thoughts about the sentence, impressions of the book, or anything else the opener inspires. Please remember to include the title of the book and the author's name.There is a a Mr Linky on Rose's site where you can add your Friday Book Beginnings post onto the thread. You can also share this post (or/and your own) on Twitter with the hashtag #BookBeginnings.
Book Beginnings on Friday really appeals to me because I'm a great believer in the first chapter of any book being a taste of what's to to come. It's a contract that the author makes with the reader. 'This is how the story is going to be; this is the style, setting and flavour of the novel'
I'm averaging a book a week at the moment, so it makes great sense to share the beginning of the novel I'm reading each Friday.
My first book is House of Silence by Linda Gillard. This is how the novel starts:
A Beginning
Chapter One
Gwen
I used to wonder if Alfie chose me because I was an orphan and an only child. Was that part of the attraction? I came unencumbered, with no family.
We were kindred spirits in a way. Detached, self-centred , yet both obsessed with our past. Our past. The difference was, I had no family and Alfie did. He had a family - a large one - but mostly he behaved as if he didn't, as if he wanted no part of them, however much they might want a piece of him.
I love this kind of retrospective beginning to a novel. The protagonist is writing about something which she has already experienced, but which still affects her deeply. From reading the blurb, I know this book is about Gwen's boyfriend's unusual family and their ramshackle Georgian home, which hides secrets that everyone, but most of all Alfie, want to forget. Even without knowing what the central story is, the reader will know from these first two paragraphs that this is a book about a troubled relationship, about a troubled past and about a troubled family. There's a darkness to the words, such as 'orphan', 'obsessed' 'past' and 'kindred spirits'. I cannot wait to read on!
House of Silence by Linda GillardAmazon Kindle edition £1.98Paperback copy £6.19
October 3, 2013
On the buses
Due to a recent mishap with my little toe, I've had to reduce walking to a minimum during my London commute, whereas normally I try to maximise the potential of exercise on my way to work; stomping through woods, running up and down escalators.
Last week, when I could hardly walk at all, I had to take minicabs, but then realised that I could virtually get from door to door on the bus. True, in order to travel from North London down to Camden, I needed to first make my way further North, and change buses, but at least this method meant I didn't have to get onto a crowded tube, and stand all the way down into town. Plus two buses is a fraction of the cost of a minicab, with almost exactly the same journey time.
Although I am a self-confessed London bus lover, I'd forgotten what a fantastic view you get while sitting up on the top deck. (this week I managed the steps up). You get a whole new vista of London, especially now when the trees are turning and the autumn colours are at their best.
Yesterday, for instance, after a VAT seminar (I know, my other career is soooo interesting), I took a bus from Covent Garden all the way to North London, and when the bus drove past Kings Cross, I saw for the first time the new facade. (The King's Cross development has finally been finished). The sun was setting, painting the beautiful cornices of the St Pancras Hotel and the new windows of the station building with a golden glow. I felt truly lucky to live in such a beautiful city.
Mayor of London Boris Johnson opening the new King's Cross Station Square last week.
Video: The Telegraph Online
But, for an author, the best bit of travelling on the bus is the overheard conversations you are privy to.
On the tube, people are much quieter; they don't have mobile reception of course, but there also seems to be something about a bus journey which encourages conversation. There are the usual, 'I'm just on my way home' kind of telephone calls, or acquaintances meeting up by accident and getting into a deep conversation about somebody else's marriage. I've heard people do telephone interviews on the bus, or tell little porkies about why they're late for work. 'Traffic is terrible,' they say when the bus hurtles down a hill.
But the best conversations are from teenagers, who seem to think anyone over the age of twenty doesn't hear (or more likely understand) what they are saying. Boys tent to talk mainly about sports, but the girls! The girls discuss TV programmes as if they were populated by real people, they discuss their friends, their objects of desire, their enemies. All at the top of their voices. If I ever have another young character in my novel, I'm going to spend weeks on buses during school kicking out time. There could not be a better way to get a true teenage voice into your book!
Next week, sadly, I'll be back on the tube. All this lounging about and earwigging on the top of the double decker buses will not keep me fit, or keep my back in shape. Though I might just sneak a few bus rides in when the weather is too wet or cold for a hike through the woods!
September 28, 2013
Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple - Book Review
Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple is a real pleasure to read. I particularly love the voice of the young narrator, Bee, the 14-year-old daughter of Bernadette.
The story begins with the shocking fact that Bee’s mother, the funny, talented but somewhat volatile Bernadette, is missing. She was last seen just before Christmas, and Bee’s father Elgin, a celebrated Microsoft geek, is refusing to speak about his wife or the disappearance. So Bee decides to investigate and begins to chart the events leading up to Bernadette’s disappearance through emails, doctor’s and police reports written by people who came in contact with Bernadette and could have had a role to play in her disappearance.
What follows is a hilarious, tragic and poignant tale of Bernadette’s life. Artistically talented and driven, Bernadette has been going through a personal crisis for some time. Soon after moving to Seattle to support her husband’s new glittering career at Microsoft, she realises how different from everyone else she is and feels ostracised in the forever rainy, suburban Seattle. The well-meaning, but small-minded, parents of Bee’s school (or Gnats as Bernadette calls them) soon begin to develop a strong resentment against Bee’s mother, which turns into an obsessive hatred. The one person who could help Bernadette, Elgin, remains ignorant of Bernadette’s unhappiness and she becomes more withdrawn. Elgin doesn’t seem to notice that Bernadette hardly ever speaks to anyone, or leaves the house, apart from Bee’s school runs, during which she stays within the confines of her car, wearing dark sunglasses whatever the weather. Or that she spends all of her days inside an Airstream trailer parked in the garden of the family’s falling-down house.
When Bee wants the whole family to go on a three week cruise to Antarctica, Bernadette panics. How will she able to leave the house and spend three weeks in the company of complete strangers?
Where’d You Go, Bernadette is a brilliantly conceived tale of suburbia, and how the minor setbacks of everyday can turn into major disasters. Telling a story of a 50-year-old woman’s personal crisis through the voice of a 14-year-old would have been problematic had it not been for the injections of the emails and reports written by grown-ups. These ‘real’ documents give the story a multi-layered quality. Reading between the lines of emails written from one (female) parent from Bee’s school to another (the two Gnats) is particularly enjoyable. It’s not what’s said, but what’s not…(I’ve read a few of these in my time).
I gave this book five stars, which is is rare, but I cannot recommend this novel highly enough. Take it on a long journey, or on holiday with you, or read it when you’ve broken your little toe (an every day occurrence).
September 27, 2013
An Awesome Magical Mystery Tour
The Awesome Indies is having a Magical Mystery Tour from the 27th to the 30th September. The tour highlights some of the magical and mysterious books listed on the Awesome Indies.
Take the tour for a chance to pick up some special offers and win some awesome prizes at the blogs participating in the tour. At the end of the tour you get to enter the Giveaway for an Amazon gift card. (First prize is a $25 card, second prize is $15 and third prizes is a $10 card.)
All you have to do is start at the Awesome Indies, follow the links from blog to blog, read the story and pick up the clue to the mystery key to enter the draw when you get back to the Awesome Indies.
Every book you buy from the tour gets you an extra 5 entries into the draw. Like all books listed on the Awesome Indies, these books have all been checked for quality and approved as being the same standard as mainstream published books.
Start the tour now by clicking HEREThe tour begins at 00.00 hrs on the 27th September Pacific Daylight Time.
September 26, 2013
What are your characters wearing?
A few years ago, during a critique session on my MA in Creative Writing course, a fellow student pointed out that I often described what my characters were wearing in some considerable detail. This wasn't a criticism as such, she said, but just something she'd noticed. (We’d had a lot of lessons together as this point) Her own short stories were a completely different style to mine - much more abstract - and she said reading my work made her go back and check that her characters were in fact wearing clothes. That she wasn't inadvertently writing stories with naked people in them.
I was thinking back to this conversation while (trying to) write the sequel to The Englishman, but being constantly distracted by email offers from various online fashion stores. Because, as you may have noticed by now, I am a bit of a fashion addict. Not that I pretend to know anything about fashion, but I love looking at designer clothes.
But I digress. What I wanted to know is, is it important to describe what the characters in a book are wearing?
Obviously, I think so.
What she or he wears says so much about a person, doesn’t it? I don’t wish to put my characters into in neat little boxes according to their clothes (a caricature is a dirty word in writing circles), but I think it’s fun to describe the nuances of a character by their outfits.
In The Englishman , for instance, I needed Kaisa to immediately fall head over heels in love with Peter, so I gave him a sexy uniform to wear when they first meet. (OK, this part of the book was based on actual events, so I didn’t make it up, but you see what I mean?).
In Coffee and Vodka , I described the different characters of the two sisters, Anja and Eeva, in the way they carried their clothes. Anja is a much more flamboyant and confident girl, while Eeva is a bit of a dreamer and less sure of herself. When the two girls were dressed by their mother in identical stripy Marimekko t-shirts and white trousers, for their ferry journey across to Sweden, Anja’s outfit made her look like a young Brigitte Bardot, while Eeva felt her clothes were too big for her, and shapeless.
In The Red King of Helsinki , Iain, the English naval officer turned spy, struggles to wear clothes warm enough for the harsh Finnish winter, while my seventeen-year-old sleuth, Pia, is highly fashion conscious. Pia’s clothing oozes confidence while Peter’s lack of weather awareness shows a worrying level of incompetence.
Of course clothes and the fashions of the time serve well in reminding the reader of the period the book is set in. Because the story in Coffee and Vodka straddles two eras, it was important for me to dress Eeva appropriately when we meet her as a grown-up (professional, compassionate teacher of Swedish). Later I also use her clothes to show how her attitude to herself and to the people around her change. I won’t reveal any more of the plot, because I don’t want to spoil the ending, but if you’ve read the book, I’m sure you’ll see what I mean.
So, while I’m just nipping over to Net-a-Porterto check out today’s new arrivals, instead of writing, I’ll be secure in the knowledge that this is just research, and not at all a pleasure...
What do you think? Is it important to know what the characters in a book are wearing?
What kind of character would wear this Miu Miu spotted coat?
Image: www.netaporter.com
September 22, 2013
Radio silence and a poorly back
It's been a while since I posted something but it isn't that I've forgotten about you all.
No, it's my back once again.... Yes, I know it's getting a little boring now, but bear with me, normal blogging service will soon be resumed. (I am seeing a wonderful osteopath).
However, to make matters worse, yesterday I also managed to stub my little toe. Not quite sure how it happened but it involved a Marimekko bag, an overflowing bedroom floor and a manoeuvre trying to do something quickly while also trying to avoid any sudden movement of the back. (Before you ask, no alcohol had been consumed while making this manoeuvre). My little toe got caught in the strap and buckle of the bag and although at first I though nothing of it, the pain in the toe became more insistent, and inspecting it, I noticed I'd acquired a nasty purple left little toe twice the size of its counterpart on my right leg.
So, now my lovely readers, I am sitting here with my toe wrapped up and my left leg up on a chair, trying to work on my laptop while keeping my spirits up. (What is happening to me???)
But there is some good news: while writing is difficult in these conditions (and on painkillers), I am able get on with formatting The Englishman ready for publication in paperback. This, fortunately, is a task that requires a little less concentration than writing. Wish me luck because this little piggy won't be going to market otherwise!
A poorly toe to go with the poorly back.
No, it's my back once again.... Yes, I know it's getting a little boring now, but bear with me, normal blogging service will soon be resumed. (I am seeing a wonderful osteopath).
However, to make matters worse, yesterday I also managed to stub my little toe. Not quite sure how it happened but it involved a Marimekko bag, an overflowing bedroom floor and a manoeuvre trying to do something quickly while also trying to avoid any sudden movement of the back. (Before you ask, no alcohol had been consumed while making this manoeuvre). My little toe got caught in the strap and buckle of the bag and although at first I though nothing of it, the pain in the toe became more insistent, and inspecting it, I noticed I'd acquired a nasty purple left little toe twice the size of its counterpart on my right leg.
So, now my lovely readers, I am sitting here with my toe wrapped up and my left leg up on a chair, trying to work on my laptop while keeping my spirits up. (What is happening to me???)
But there is some good news: while writing is difficult in these conditions (and on painkillers), I am able get on with formatting The Englishman ready for publication in paperback. This, fortunately, is a task that requires a little less concentration than writing. Wish me luck because this little piggy won't be going to market otherwise!
A poorly toe to go with the poorly back.September 4, 2013
Feeling Homesick
I've recently come back from Tampere in Finland, from a surprise trip arranged at the last minute due to a family crisis. I won't go into what that was, but I ended up being in my hometown for a week, visiting areas of the city which I just haven't had the reason to go to for a long time. Each day of my visit I drove past my old primary school, the woods where we cross country skied in the winter, and the area where our family home was, before we moved to Stockholm.
During this time in Tampere I also once again marveled at how the city has changed. The two main factories, Finlayson and Tampella no longer produce cotton or machinery, instead the areas have been developed into cultural centres and high quality residential areas. Many old apartment blocks are receiving facelifts; even the train station now has a set of escalators and some lifts. (I know, they've probably been there for a years, but it was the first time I'd noticed them).
When I got back London, after all was OK with family, I found myself thinking how I could arrange my life so that I could live in Tampere. This, from the girl who swore she'd never go back there, or who has for months now been considering applying for British passport (I'm coming clean - I haven't done it yet!).
It helped that the weather in Tampere was glorious. The sun was shining every day, transforming the colour of the lakes into the brightest blue. Each way I looked there was water. One morning I went for a jog and ran past beautiful houses, into the woods along the shores of Lake Näsijärvi, and thought how wonderful it would be to be able to do this every day. The place was so peaceful, so calm, yet it only took a few minutes to reach the city centre by (a regular and not crowded) bus service. To think that I’d be able to have a sauna every day, or that no-one would ask me if I was in bad mood if I didn’t smile all the time!
When I came back to London, on the first morning the tube was hot and packed. On my way home the very same day, our local station was closed due to overcrowding, so I ended up, together with hundreds (perhaps thousands?) of other people, taking the long way round, adding an extra hour to my journey home. Why do I live in a sardine tin of a city like London, I wondered, as I tried to keep my nose out of a particular smelly armpit in another full-to-bursting tube carriage.
At the weekend I went to Harris and Hoole in Crouch End for a coffee and the girl behind the desk asked, after mishearing my name as Elena, if I was Italian. ‘No,’ I said, ‘Are you?’ ‘Yes,’ the girl answered, adding with sad look in her eyes, ‘I’ve just come back.’ I looked at her and replied, ‘I’ve just come back from my home town in Finland and keep wondering what an earth I’m doing living in London.’ She laughed and nodded.
So many of us displaced people feel the same homesickness. Yet, here we stay.
September 3, 2013
Comedy Downstairs at the King's Head
Last Saturday, on the spur of the moment, and because of The Englishman's recent interest in stand-up comedy (more about this later in the year), we decided to check out the Comedy Cabaret Downstairs at The King's Head. I'd heard great many good things about the acts that perform there, so I was very surprised when we got tickets at the door an hour before the 8.30 pm performance. Thus convinced that we were in no hurry to grab a good seat, we went off to have some pan-Asian food at the nearby Tootoomoo (a review coming soon).
But later when we descended the stairs at quarter past eight, the place was packed. The only available seats were either behind a pillar or right by the stage. Guess which one we (or rather I) opted for? We regretted that decision as soon as the compare, the excellent and hilariously funny, Dominic Frisby, started ripping into our similarly naive neighbours. ('Told you so,' whispered the Englishman in my ear) I think we got off quite lightly. Dominic asked us what we did for a living and I even got in a plug about my novel, The Red King of Helsinki. Not bad work, eh?
Dominic FrisbyThe rest of the acts that followed Dominic Frisby were equally good, and we laughed like drains most of the night. My particular favourite was Toby Williams, who under the alias (I presume it was an alias, because this is how he was billed) of George Ryegold, did a really convincing series of sketches in a role of a disgraced doctor. There is embarrassment galore in people's illnesses anyway, and playing a delusional GP who's been struck off the register worked beautifully for the set. I really liked Ryegold's understated delivery, and his act made me think of Krister Henriksson's performance in Dr Glas. Comedy is just the other side of the coin from a tragedy?The next day I spotted Williams/Ryegold on TV. He's the brilliant vet in the Specsavers ad about a (not so) dead cat. It's a small world for comedians.
We will definitely got to a Cabaret Night again, and will also check one of the Comedy Try Out nights for new acts.
Downstairs at The King's Head
2 Crouch End Hill
London
N8 8AA
Tickets are £11/7 for the Comedy Cabaret and £4/3 for Comedy Try Out Nights.
August 30, 2013
A visit to the Houses of Parliament
Watching the British MPs debate a proposed military action into Syria in the House of Commons last night, I was reminded of a visit Daughter and I took to the Houses of Parliament a few weeks ago. I've always wanted to go, mainly because of my first degree.
When I first moved to the UK, I was in the process of writing a thesis on the British Political system, particularly the birth of a new party called the SDP. The exodus of a 'Gang of Four' of politicians from the Labour Party was one of the biggest political news in Britain in the 1980's.
During my research into the thesis, I tried to get to the public gallery at The House of Commons, but never got to go for some reason or other. But something quite amazing did happen to me in those early days in London. While walking just outside the Houses of Parliament on a sunny autumn day in 1984, I literally bumped into David Owen, the then SDP leader, and one of the original founders of the party. I was stunned; here was the very object of my study!
'I'm sorry', said David, smiled and hurried on.
The Gang of Four, David Owen is 2nd from the left. Photo: GuardianI watched his back, thinking I should run after him. But what should I ask him? My mind had gone completely blank. I saw him greet the policeman at the entrance to the House of Commons and disappear inside. To this day, I regret that I didn't run after him and ask him something - anything. An interview (however brief) with the then leader of the SDP would have made my thesis! (I'm glad to say that my thesis won a prize nevertheless - wait for it - for being entertaining. This is when I realised I was much more suited to fiction than to academic study.)
At least a few weeks ago, finally, I fulfilled another desire, that of visiting the British Houses of Parliament. I'd spotted a post by Time Out on Facebook that the Houses are open every day during the summer recess (and now on Saturdays all year around), so I immediately booked two tickets and took Daughter with me.
It was a similarly sunny day as it had been on that fateful day when I'd bumped to David Owen, and I could see Daughter was getting quite fed up with me talking about it.
The lovely Daughter.But as soon as we entered Westminster Hall, we were both silenced by the awesome beauty and grandeur of the place. A huge stained glass window at the far end was letting in light into the otherwise gloomy, vast hall. We were led into a queue and soon our tour guide began speaking to us.
The guided tour of the Houses of Parliament, conducted by a Blue Badge Guide, lasts just over an hour. As well as getting to see both of the Houses, you get a brilliant history lesson on not only the building, but on the Kings and Queens of England and their role in the establishment and current running of the British parliament.
And then of course there's the art. As a recent (with Honours!) graduate of History of Art, Daughter often nodded knowledgeably (oh, how proud she makes me!) to the words of the guide. To me, the gilded thrones, Italian mosaics, the hand-painted wallpaper and the stained glass windows all seemed too embellished to be real, but worth seeing all the same.
I was more interested to see the debating chambers. Luckily during the tour we had the chance to stand (but alas, not sit), between the benches of both the House of Commons and the Lords. Seeing the green benches of the Commons at close quarters was an emotional experience. I felt as if I'd entered a church. I remembered that for a while in my thirties I dreamt of being a politician, but knowing my uncanny talent of always saying the wrong thing, and not really (at the time) wanting to change my nationality, all those thoughts faded into mere day dreams.
Back in the real world, while I stood between the benches where MPs have conducted their heated arguments for hundreds of years, and trying very hard to resist the urge to sit down (and I'm sure be escorted out of the House and even prosecuted for some kind of violation of the code of conduct, and hence scuppering my current efforts to gain British citizenship), our friendly guide told us an interesting fact, which reflected my mood. Apparently the reason the benches are opposite each other, with the speaking sitting at the far end, is because the original parliament was set in a church, St Stephen's Chapel. This is also the reason why the Members of Parliament on entering the Chamber, bow their heads towards the Speaker's chair in a mark of respect, in a similar manner you'd honour an altar. So I wasn't so daft after all, thinking I'd entered a church!
The tour was full of little intriguing snippets of information like this. We were also told that, before playing Maggie Thatcher in the film Iron Lady, Meryl Streep, donning dark glasses and a scarf, spent two months coming to the public gallery to watch the MP's. Apparently, once the fact became known, the presence of the Hollywood star began to affect the performances below and some of the MPs became quite flamboyant in their oratory.
Our guide also seemed to be quite taken with our current Queen, and her habits. So if, like me, you are also fascinated by the Royals, as well as British politics and history, this is a satisfying way to spend an hour or so. Plus there were no queues; no waiting. We were booked to go for 3m on a Friday, and even though we turned up half an hour early, we were just shown to the next available tour, which happened every ten minutes or so.
The badges we all had to wear during the tour.You can also book an afternoon tea after the tour at the Pugin Room, which overlooks the Thames.
The cost of the tour of the Houses of Parliament, as well as the tea (unlike the one at The Ritz) is quite reasonable:
Adults: £16.50Concessions (students, over 60s and members of the armed forces): £14Children (5-15 years): One child free with each paying adult, but will require a ticket for admission. £7 for each additional childChildren (under 5): Free, but will require a ticket for admissionDisabled visitors: Standard prices as listed above (carers have free admission, but will require a ticket for admission)Afternoon tea in the Pugin Room: £25.00 (in addition to the guided tour ticket)Please note that tours are not recommended for young children as there is a lot of walking.
When I first moved to the UK, I was in the process of writing a thesis on the British Political system, particularly the birth of a new party called the SDP. The exodus of a 'Gang of Four' of politicians from the Labour Party was one of the biggest political news in Britain in the 1980's.
During my research into the thesis, I tried to get to the public gallery at The House of Commons, but never got to go for some reason or other. But something quite amazing did happen to me in those early days in London. While walking just outside the Houses of Parliament on a sunny autumn day in 1984, I literally bumped into David Owen, the then SDP leader, and one of the original founders of the party. I was stunned; here was the very object of my study!
'I'm sorry', said David, smiled and hurried on.
The Gang of Four, David Owen is 2nd from the left. Photo: GuardianI watched his back, thinking I should run after him. But what should I ask him? My mind had gone completely blank. I saw him greet the policeman at the entrance to the House of Commons and disappear inside. To this day, I regret that I didn't run after him and ask him something - anything. An interview (however brief) with the then leader of the SDP would have made my thesis! (I'm glad to say that my thesis won a prize nevertheless - wait for it - for being entertaining. This is when I realised I was much more suited to fiction than to academic study.)
At least a few weeks ago, finally, I fulfilled another desire, that of visiting the British Houses of Parliament. I'd spotted a post by Time Out on Facebook that the Houses are open every day during the summer recess (and now on Saturdays all year around), so I immediately booked two tickets and took Daughter with me.
It was a similarly sunny day as it had been on that fateful day when I'd bumped to David Owen, and I could see Daughter was getting quite fed up with me talking about it.
The lovely Daughter.But as soon as we entered Westminster Hall, we were both silenced by the awesome beauty and grandeur of the place. A huge stained glass window at the far end was letting in light into the otherwise gloomy, vast hall. We were led into a queue and soon our tour guide began speaking to us.
The guided tour of the Houses of Parliament, conducted by a Blue Badge Guide, lasts just over an hour. As well as getting to see both of the Houses, you get a brilliant history lesson on not only the building, but on the Kings and Queens of England and their role in the establishment and current running of the British parliament.
And then of course there's the art. As a recent (with Honours!) graduate of History of Art, Daughter often nodded knowledgeably (oh, how proud she makes me!) to the words of the guide. To me, the gilded thrones, Italian mosaics, the hand-painted wallpaper and the stained glass windows all seemed too embellished to be real, but worth seeing all the same.
I was more interested to see the debating chambers. Luckily during the tour we had the chance to stand (but alas, not sit), between the benches of both the House of Commons and the Lords. Seeing the green benches of the Commons at close quarters was an emotional experience. I felt as if I'd entered a church. I remembered that for a while in my thirties I dreamt of being a politician, but knowing my uncanny talent of always saying the wrong thing, and not really (at the time) wanting to change my nationality, all those thoughts faded into mere day dreams.
Back in the real world, while I stood between the benches where MPs have conducted their heated arguments for hundreds of years, and trying very hard to resist the urge to sit down (and I'm sure be escorted out of the House and even prosecuted for some kind of violation of the code of conduct, and hence scuppering my current efforts to gain British citizenship), our friendly guide told us an interesting fact, which reflected my mood. Apparently the reason the benches are opposite each other, with the speaking sitting at the far end, is because the original parliament was set in a church, St Stephen's Chapel. This is also the reason why the Members of Parliament on entering the Chamber, bow their heads towards the Speaker's chair in a mark of respect, in a similar manner you'd honour an altar. So I wasn't so daft after all, thinking I'd entered a church!
The tour was full of little intriguing snippets of information like this. We were also told that, before playing Maggie Thatcher in the film Iron Lady, Meryl Streep, donning dark glasses and a scarf, spent two months coming to the public gallery to watch the MP's. Apparently, once the fact became known, the presence of the Hollywood star began to affect the performances below and some of the MPs became quite flamboyant in their oratory.
Our guide also seemed to be quite taken with our current Queen, and her habits. So if, like me, you are also fascinated by the Royals, as well as British politics and history, this is a satisfying way to spend an hour or so. Plus there were no queues; no waiting. We were booked to go for 3m on a Friday, and even though we turned up half an hour early, we were just shown to the next available tour, which happened every ten minutes or so.
The badges we all had to wear during the tour.You can also book an afternoon tea after the tour at the Pugin Room, which overlooks the Thames.The cost of the tour of the Houses of Parliament, as well as the tea (unlike the one at The Ritz) is quite reasonable:
Adults: £16.50Concessions (students, over 60s and members of the armed forces): £14Children (5-15 years): One child free with each paying adult, but will require a ticket for admission. £7 for each additional childChildren (under 5): Free, but will require a ticket for admissionDisabled visitors: Standard prices as listed above (carers have free admission, but will require a ticket for admission)Afternoon tea in the Pugin Room: £25.00 (in addition to the guided tour ticket)Please note that tours are not recommended for young children as there is a lot of walking.
August 11, 2013
Crouch End Knowledge - Done!
On a complete spur of the moment, the Englishman and I decided to go on a pub crawl last night. He'd been going on and on about the fact that I'd not finished The Knowledge (this self-imposed task involves visiting every pub in the area) and thought last night was good as any to finally achieve my goal.
But in order to finish the task, first we needed to avoid temptation and (for once) walk past our local, the Maynard Inn (that of the famous Scotch Egg Friday). Determined, we made our way briskly even past the next temptation on Park Road, our favourite tapas bar, Bar Esteban, and carried on towards Broadway, and up Crouch Hill to The Railway Tavern, a pub we had yet to visit.
The Englishman had a pint of UBU and I a pint of Staropramen. On this sunny evening we even managed to get a table in the little garden at the back. (The whole of Crouch End has been quiet since the start of the school holidays - the area's not called 'Nappy Valley' for nothing).
The garden at the back was minuscule, it's true, but full of flowers and very pleasing to the eye. However, it didn't satisfy The Englishman, because when we were walking out, he announced, 'This is a Winter Pub.' I have no idea where he gets these categorisations from. There's 'The Perfect Boozer'; there are pubs that are, 'A bit too poncy for my liking' (I suspect my favourite The Maynard comes under this description), or those that are just 'OK'.
The next unvisited pub on our list was the local Wetherspoon's, but I wasn't ready for that yet, so we nipped in for a quick half at the King's Head. We'd been here before, and if it wasn't for the difficulty in walking past The Maynard, we'd come here a lot more often. The pub is a traditional one, with swirly pattered carpet and dark wooden interior, but the cellar hosts some of the sharpest comedy acts in North London. There's always something going on, which I really like. The beer wasn't bad either, I had Camden Hells and the Englishman a pint of Summer Lightning (he doesn't believe in halves).
After we'd finished the delicious beers (I do like the Camden Brewery lager), still I tried to wriggle out of going into the Weatherspoon's opposite. 'Don't be such a snob,' the Englishman said and pushed me across the road. I'm not sure if it's snobbery, but I dislike pubs that belong to large chains. This one, called Devonshire House, is extremely popular, I grant you. Even at breakfast time when I pass the place on a bus, I often see their regular patrons having the first pint of the day in there. (See why I wasn't so keen?) But tonight I was on a mission, so off we went. To play it safe, I asked for a bottle of Sol.
Leaving the Englishman at the bar, I found a table in the back. Compared to the other two pubs we'd been to, the place was heaving with almost every table taken. I noticed there were couples eating, or groups of girls having drinks. There was a TV in the corner and some plastic plants around. (Not so good). But glancing at the menu, I noticed they had my current obsession, frozen yoghurt on there. I've been wondering why there's no Froyo place in Crouch End. Idly I considered, that if in dire need, I might venture in here for a hit.
The Englishman arrived at the table carrying three bottles. 'Somebody joining us?' I asked. 'It's a fiver for three bottles!' he said. It was then that I saw the reason behind the popularity of this place. (I know, I'm a bit green sometimes). With his infinite wisdom, the Englishman had asked the barman to leave the top on the extra bottle, so we didn't need to drink all three. Just as well, because I was getting quite tipsy.
Next (and luckily last) on the list of unvisited pubs in Crouch End was a place, which I'd not even spotted before, on Topsfield Parade. (Just shows you!?). At the Henry Reader there was a pleasant surprise waiting for us. In the mostly empty pub, there were two large screens showing a friendly match between Tottenham (the Englishman's soccer team for my US & Scandi readers) and a Spanish side, Espanyol. I don't usually like TVs in pubs (who does!?) but this was different. Two other Spurs suppporters began having an (almost) intelligent conversation with us about the match, about the forthcoming football season, and about whether our best ever (although possibly not - what do I know?) striker, Gareth Bale, would be sold off.
'It's a Spurs pub,' the Englishman rejoiced (I think he'd had quite enough beer by this stage too) on our way out. I then remembered that the worst categorisation he could give a drinking establishment is a 'Gooner's pub'. I knew he wouldn't even consider stepping into a pub populated by Arsenal fans. With not only officially completing The Knowledge, but also finding a pub which would show away matches, and friendly towards Spurs, on our doorstep, the evening had just about become complete.
So there you have it - The Knowledge of Crouch End Pubs is now officially complete. Needless to say, there was a bit of a headache hovering around my temples this morning….
But in order to finish the task, first we needed to avoid temptation and (for once) walk past our local, the Maynard Inn (that of the famous Scotch Egg Friday). Determined, we made our way briskly even past the next temptation on Park Road, our favourite tapas bar, Bar Esteban, and carried on towards Broadway, and up Crouch Hill to The Railway Tavern, a pub we had yet to visit.
The Englishman had a pint of UBU and I a pint of Staropramen. On this sunny evening we even managed to get a table in the little garden at the back. (The whole of Crouch End has been quiet since the start of the school holidays - the area's not called 'Nappy Valley' for nothing).
The garden at the back was minuscule, it's true, but full of flowers and very pleasing to the eye. However, it didn't satisfy The Englishman, because when we were walking out, he announced, 'This is a Winter Pub.' I have no idea where he gets these categorisations from. There's 'The Perfect Boozer'; there are pubs that are, 'A bit too poncy for my liking' (I suspect my favourite The Maynard comes under this description), or those that are just 'OK'.
The next unvisited pub on our list was the local Wetherspoon's, but I wasn't ready for that yet, so we nipped in for a quick half at the King's Head. We'd been here before, and if it wasn't for the difficulty in walking past The Maynard, we'd come here a lot more often. The pub is a traditional one, with swirly pattered carpet and dark wooden interior, but the cellar hosts some of the sharpest comedy acts in North London. There's always something going on, which I really like. The beer wasn't bad either, I had Camden Hells and the Englishman a pint of Summer Lightning (he doesn't believe in halves).
After we'd finished the delicious beers (I do like the Camden Brewery lager), still I tried to wriggle out of going into the Weatherspoon's opposite. 'Don't be such a snob,' the Englishman said and pushed me across the road. I'm not sure if it's snobbery, but I dislike pubs that belong to large chains. This one, called Devonshire House, is extremely popular, I grant you. Even at breakfast time when I pass the place on a bus, I often see their regular patrons having the first pint of the day in there. (See why I wasn't so keen?) But tonight I was on a mission, so off we went. To play it safe, I asked for a bottle of Sol.
Leaving the Englishman at the bar, I found a table in the back. Compared to the other two pubs we'd been to, the place was heaving with almost every table taken. I noticed there were couples eating, or groups of girls having drinks. There was a TV in the corner and some plastic plants around. (Not so good). But glancing at the menu, I noticed they had my current obsession, frozen yoghurt on there. I've been wondering why there's no Froyo place in Crouch End. Idly I considered, that if in dire need, I might venture in here for a hit.
The Englishman arrived at the table carrying three bottles. 'Somebody joining us?' I asked. 'It's a fiver for three bottles!' he said. It was then that I saw the reason behind the popularity of this place. (I know, I'm a bit green sometimes). With his infinite wisdom, the Englishman had asked the barman to leave the top on the extra bottle, so we didn't need to drink all three. Just as well, because I was getting quite tipsy.
Next (and luckily last) on the list of unvisited pubs in Crouch End was a place, which I'd not even spotted before, on Topsfield Parade. (Just shows you!?). At the Henry Reader there was a pleasant surprise waiting for us. In the mostly empty pub, there were two large screens showing a friendly match between Tottenham (the Englishman's soccer team for my US & Scandi readers) and a Spanish side, Espanyol. I don't usually like TVs in pubs (who does!?) but this was different. Two other Spurs suppporters began having an (almost) intelligent conversation with us about the match, about the forthcoming football season, and about whether our best ever (although possibly not - what do I know?) striker, Gareth Bale, would be sold off.
'It's a Spurs pub,' the Englishman rejoiced (I think he'd had quite enough beer by this stage too) on our way out. I then remembered that the worst categorisation he could give a drinking establishment is a 'Gooner's pub'. I knew he wouldn't even consider stepping into a pub populated by Arsenal fans. With not only officially completing The Knowledge, but also finding a pub which would show away matches, and friendly towards Spurs, on our doorstep, the evening had just about become complete.
So there you have it - The Knowledge of Crouch End Pubs is now officially complete. Needless to say, there was a bit of a headache hovering around my temples this morning….
