Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Friday, 26 March 2010
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Friday, 19 March 2010
Let him that is a true-born gentleman,
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
somerset Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
(William Shakespeare Henry IV Part 1 Act 2 Scene 4)
Thursday, 18 March 2010
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
This notice in the window of irascible book seller David Drummond of Cecil Court, WC2. Apropos of nothing save his own glorious grumpiness given that the poem's subject matter relates to trains and not shops, the sign is a symbol of the service you will find within: the BEST service in London. Hilariously short tempered, a unique "retail experience" (by God they'd hate that phrase) can be had here – and in all the shops in Cecil Court.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Friday, 12 March 2010
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
The phrase "Break the Ice" enters the language via William Shakespeare in The Taming of the Shrew.
The Duke of Wellington invented the Slush Puppy.
One of those statements is false.
(That's ice at midday in Trafalgar Square yesterday, btw.)
Monday, 8 March 2010
Dubious London facts: "In London one is never more than 10 feet away from a rat." Some say seven feet (those "some" being northerners, mainly).
Some would say even closer – see this scene above in the Temple Church with a rat chewing the ear of a Knight Templar.
For more, read James Herbert's tourist board classic The Rats. For less, see The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
London always leaves a fingerprint to remind us where she's been. In the old Docklands the "planners" preserved industrial detritus as part of their "heritage concept". The cranes and machinery cast angry shadows on the unimaginative modernity.