pumpkinstrokemarrow

Apparently the Swedes were rather cross that the king's guard failed to take proper care of his body which was rather mistreated before they were able to get it back. Which reminded me that I had been rather shocked when I read, in the wake of doing Richard III at the Old Vic (see July 13th), that the naked body of Richard III was exhibited for three days at some abbey handy to Bosworth before being buried. But on reflection I thought that, in those unsettled times, the victor wanted to be sure that every one knew that Richard III was good and dead. Didn't want any trouble with pretenders later. Wanted everybody to be clear that the late king was properly down, dead and out. Something which some allege that we failed to do at the end of the First World War.

While we were at the Hall, we took in a tour of the place, which I had not been able to take on my last visit (see 22nd December 2010). Good tour, in which one got to see various important memorabilia, a war memorial, a grand staircase and the temple. No expense appeared to have been spared, except with the rather tatty cinema seats for the posteriors of the assembled celebrants. Strong Old Testament flavour, with both five pointed and six pointed stars. Corridors lined with panels made from a sort of tree from Tasmania which is now extinct. Most impressed by the doors to the temple, said to be solid bronze, adorned with various low relief sculptures and with each leaf of the door weighing several tons. The doors swung vary smoothly and appeared to be hung using ordinary if hefty looking butt hinges. Maybe the screws were a lot longer than you might think. Or maybe the door frame was solid bronze too. Or maybe both.

The day had started with a quick visit to what we thought might be the café in the entrance to the hotel inside the newly restored St. Pancras. All very grand, but the café area in the reception had very uncomfortable looking seats and the bar area looked to be far more interested in selling grub than grolsch, so we decamped the rather less grand café at the entrance to the National Library. The tea bags and biscuits came from some gang called Peyton & Byrne which I assumed was one of those heritage sounding names dreamed up by the marketing chaps at Rank Hovis, but which Mr. Google reveals at http://www.peytonandbyrne.co.uk to be a real foodie company. Foodie, but not beneath whacking out products with his brand at other peoples' cafés. As it turned out the biscuits were good - I had a rather large fig roll, the size and shape of the sausage rolls knocked out at the Antelope in Tooting - but the Earl Grey tea tasted like no other Earl Grey tea before. Maybe I had some sort of herbal concoction with the wrong label.

From there to the rather nice space in front of the Library proper, only spoilt by some bad sculpture and a no smoking sign. Which seemed a bit mean considering that it was quite a large space without a roof and the sort of people who use this sort of facility are quite apt to be puffers. Dashed inside for a gander at the Lindisfarne Gospels and then down to Marchmont Street for lunch, which we took in a reasonably unreformed café, not much affected by the sprouting of many more modern establishments nearby. There must have been more eating and drinking establishments in the area than anything else, which is perhaps as it should be, as it was the late night curry haunt of some of those who used to live with me in Passfield Hall back in the late sixties.