Anarchy in the UK: Part 5: Pigs on the Wing

Steven had to go back to work on Wednesday; for the record, he works for Lehman Brothers—first in New York, then had transferred to the London office—where he has been since getting his MBA from the University of Rhode Island some 16 years ago. Amy was also at work and the kiddies were in nursery, so I had the day to myself. I drew up a vague list of things to do, but knew that I would likely not adhere to it. So I left the house about 9:30 a.m. and happily remembered how to get the bus to the Tube. My first stop: the Natural History Museum.

I took the Tube to South Kensington and alit to street level. Now, I have to admit (and both Amy and Steven, even after eight years, will back me up on this) London is a very difficult city in which to get one’s navigational bearings. At least in New York, you can emerge from the subway, find the Empire State Building, and pretty much figure out which way is south and/or west. In London, it’s difficult to do that, even with the maps that are posted on many streetcorners. So it took some aimless wandering around Kensington before I stumbled upon Natural History Museum.

It was 10:30 a.m., a scant half-hour after the museum opened, so my hope was that the crowds would be yet to throng. How wrong I was. There was a 15-minute queue to get in, but it was worth it. Initially, I was Jonesing for some coffee, so found a cafe and snarfed some down, then went once more unto the breach. The Natural History Museum is a beautiful building inside and out.
In the center of the main lobby is a dinosaur skeleton, but the crowds kept me from getting close enough to figure out what it was (plus, I have to say, dinosaurs kind of bore me).
Like most natural history museums, this one tends to favor mammals and dinosaurs while giving marine invertebrates short shrift. Still, there was a giant squid hanging from trhe ceiling, so how bad could it be?
There were some cool mammals and, of course, a Komodo dragon:
After spending about an hour or so there (and being horribly disappointed by the gift shop), I went back out and wanted to go to the Science Museum next door, but the queue was two blocks long. Uh, no. I had neglected to bring a map, but remembered that Hyde Park was due north, so I headed towards it. The weather was starting to turn evil, and very quickly turned into a November day, which was unfortunate as it was only August. Still, I wandered through Kensington Gardens to the Albert Memorial, which overlooks the Royal Albert Hall.

How many holes does it take to fill the Albert Hall?
I then wandered through Hyde Park toward Speaker’s Corner (“I go to Speaker’s Corner, I’m thunderstruck/They got free speech, tourists, police in trucks/Two men say they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong...”—Dire Straits). Speaker’s Corner is a “free speech zone” in the northeast corner of Hyde Park where people are allowed to speak publicly, so long as the speeches do not break the law or use bad language (in New York, all speeches would be required to use bad language). It being an increasingly hideous day weatherwise, Speaker’s Corner was fairly abandoned when I went through.

I emerged from Hyde Park at Marble Arch, and was trying to head southeast. It was about noon or noon-thirty, and I was eager to hunt down lunch and/or a pub, preferably both. I entered the subway at Marble Arch; “subways” in London do not refer to trains, but rather underground public walkways that provide the easiest ways of getting across roundabouts and circuses. Maps tell you what “exit” will get you to what corner. I was trying to get to Oxford Street and head east and thought I had the right exit, but I had an incredibly difficult time figuring out which way was east. I went a few blocks in one direction, it seemed wrong, then turned around and tried another direction, which then also seemed wrong. It was really quite frustrating!

So I changed plans and decided to follow Hyde Park south and ended up lost in Knightsbridge (“The pretty things of Knightsbridge/Lying for a Minister of Site/are a far cry from the nod and wink/Here at Traitor’s Gate...” —Elvis Costello). Knightsbridge was way too posh for me, and I was trying to find Soho which was more my speed, but, lacking a map, I only had the vaguest idea of where I was going.

I ended up in Green Park and stumbled by complete accident on Buckingham Palace. I noted it, snapped the obligatory picture, and moved on (quite frankly, the Royal Family bores me).
I saw a sign that pointed in the direction of Trafalgar Square and I knew once I got there I could find Piccadilly/Leicester Square/Soho, etc. There was a very very long walk from Buckingham Palace to anything resembling civilization (i.e., shops, restaurants, etc.). By this time, it was getting nippy, my umbrella was starting to fall apart, and my feet were starting to hurt.

I found Trafalgar Square and then ended up in Piccadilly Circus (“The Piccadilly palare was just silly slang/Between me and the boys in my gang...” —Morrissey). I kept my eyes open for someplace to eat, ended up in Leicester Square (“Bright city woman walking down Leicester Square everyday” —Jethro Tull), and found a small pub on a side street. There weren’t any tables open at first, so I stood at the bar and had a couple of pints, and finally a table opened up and I ordered a fish and chips (with mushy peas, which I quite like) and another pint. A lovely pub, and I was proud that I had finally memorized which coins were which, as squinting to make out the denominations was making me look too much like a tourist.

After lunch, I ambled back toward Trafalgar and decided to visit the National Portrait Gallery, which was interesting to trace British History back through portraits of famous personages, most of whom I had never heard of.

I spent an hour or so there, had to visit the crypt, then went back out to Trafalgar Square, where the crowds were increasing. I toyed with the idea of hitting the National Gallery, but it was about 4:00 by this point. There were a couple of things I yet wanted to see, so I headed out...and for about a half hour, no matter which road I took, I always seemed to end up back at Trafalgar Square. I have no idea how that kept happening!

I headed down Whitehall and, to keep my aching feet from getting too bad, decided to stop in at a pub every so often. For medicinal purposes, of course. I stopped at one across from the houses of Parliament called the Red Lion, had a pint and read the paper, then set out again. I walked past Big Ben just as it chimed 5:00. I will say that I find the Houses of Parliament to be a really cool building.
I knew I should probably be heading back to Hackney for dinner before too long, but there was one place I did want to go..., though I knew how to get there but didn’t know how far it was. I walked past the Houses of Parliament to the Thames Walk and walked along the river. Near Pimlico Gardens, I found a pub called the William IV and stopped in for a pint and a visit to the crypt, then set out again.

And then, about 5:45, found what I was looking for. After all, what self-respecting Pink Floyd fan could visit London without checking out the Battersea Power Station, located just south of the Thames.
I wasn’t really expecting to see a pig flying above it, but a few more pints and I just may....

Aside from being featured on a classic album cover, the Battersea station was actually the first in a series of large coal-fired electrical generating facilities set up in Britain as part of the power distribution system that was being introduced in the 1920s and 1930s. At the time, there were howls of protest about the proposed construction of the station, given the lack of aesthetic palatability of power stations. In a word, it promised to be an eyesore.

However, the London Power Company addressed this complaint by having the station designed by architect and industrial designer Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who by the by, is also famous for having designed the iconic red telephone box, Liverpool Cathedral, and another power station, Bankside, which is now the Tate Modern art gallery. Construction began in 1929 and was finished a decade later. The original power station had a single long hall with a chimney at either end, but between 1953 and 1955, an identical second station was built alongside the original, which resulted in the current four-chimney layout. And, actually, the Battersea Power Station has since become one of London’s most famous landmarks and is generally loved—especially by fanatical Pink Floyd fans.

The station is no longer functioning—the first part of the facility was shut down in 1975, and the second part in 1983. In 1980 the station was declared a heritage site, and there have even been plans to turn it into a theme park, but that never quite happened. The property has changed ownership several times, and from what I have been able to glean, the fate of the station remains unclear—especially as the chimneys have been declared structurally unsound.
Anyway, I was actually not the only one interested in the station; as I was walking along the Thames snapping pictures of it, a couple some yards in front of me were doing the same. Perhaps we all could have joined in a chorus of “Pigs on the Wing.”

By this time, it was getting on 6:00, and I thought I remembered from an Underground map that there was a Tube station in Battersea Park, so I walked across the Chelsea Bridge to attempt to find it. No such luck, so I walked back over the river and ended up in Chelsea (“They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie/I don’t want to go to Chelsea...” —Elvis Costello). Somehow, I ended up in Sloane Square (“Hairdresser on fire/All around Sloane Square/And you’re far too busy to see me” —Morrissey). I popped in to one last pub for a pint/foot rest/visit to the crypt, the grabbed the Tube and headed back to Hackney. As I was waiting for the bus at Bow Road, my umbrella literally fell apart (an Indian kid standing next to me was amused, as was I). Naturally, right after I alighted the bus, the skies opened, and by the time I had walked the block to Amy and Steven’s house, I was quite moist.

But it had been a good day. To be continued...