venta

On Saturday afternoon ChrisC and I hopped on the 65 bus. It runs from Ealing Broadway down to Richmond; I use it reasonably often. However, on Saturday we elected to stay on it all the way to its terminus at Kingston-upon-Thames just to see what Kingston was like.

( Kingston and Richmond Park )

I spent quite a lot of Saturday afternoon bimbling vaguely around central London. The only really fixed points in the itinerary were Postcard Teas, and Arigato, the Japanese supermarket on Brewer Street. However, I was derailed before I even started... as the tube pulled into Bayswater, ChrisC suddenly said "Let's go to the Bagpuss Shop! Jump!"

(I had no idea what the Bagpuss shop was. And it turned out not to be open yet anyway.)

However, we had a pleasant wander in all sorts of directions, mostly choosing backstreets over the busy thoroughfares because (a) people are dreadful en masse and (b) they're better hunting grounds for blue plaques. I like blue plaques.

Of course, the official Blue Plaques are nowadays placed by English Heritage, but older ones might be labelled Greater London Council, or LCC. Plus there are numerous blue plaques which are not Blue Plaques. And there are green plaques, brown plaques and occasional oblong plaques... Stick it on a wall with a pleasing font, I'll read it.

However, something tells me that ( some English Heritage plaques are not what they seem )

Saturday saw me ambling over to Smithfield to peer at John Squire's most recent batch of artworks. He seems to have left his splattery, Pollocky period behind and entered a blobby, organic, bacteria and jellybean period. Actually, experts tell me that there was at least one other period in between, but I missed it completely. I don't go a bundle on non-representational art as a rule, but one room containing around 25 canvasses is small enough that even I can sustain interest. There was even one which - had I a spare £13,000 and a huge expanse of bare wall - I might have considered living with. And one which so resembled a wallfull of squirming maggots that I found it difficult to look at.

The Louvres and National Galleries of this world should really consider that most people can't keep up with their vast collections. Half an hour with a roomful of works is the sort of handy, bite-sized amount of art appreciation that you can slide neatly into your day without skimping your lunch or missing out on your afternoon tea.

Opposite the Smithfield gallery is a surprising Tudor gatehouse which leads into St Bartholomew's churchyard. The church was closed, but it set us off on a long ramble.

( An afternoon in London, with pictures )