Up town for the day. First, one of those guided walks, this one
The Feisty Women of Bloomsbury.
The Hogarth Press was run from here for a while.
Hilda Doolittle lived here in her menage a trois.
Helena Kennedy pops in here when she’s not lording it.
Lord Peter Wimsey got started here.
The obligation to shop was met at Gay’s the Word bookshop, even if only by a couple of postcards.
Lunch in First Out, still one of the most civilised places in the West End. Twenty+ years ago I lent them a hundred quid to help them get started – they had come up with a brilliant matched-funding scheme where loads of little people lent them money not as shareholders but as supporters, to provide their initial capital. It worked. And I got my £100 back with interest at the then rate of 15%.
Then off with Liz to see the XFiles movie. Just another thriller really, I was expecting proper aliens having never seen the TV programme. The villains are Russian again, what comes around… The not very convincing two-headed dog reminded me of all those circus side-shows of pickled mutants that I read up for one of my better degree essays. Some were born that way, some were elaborate Victorian fakes, especially the mermaids. Great innovators, those Victorians.
The film was in the Trocadero. This was a highly educational experience, my having never been in there before. It felt like being inside a proper aliens movie. I was thinking, I need to come back and photograph this in daylight, then realised it has no daylight. You don’t know if you’re going twenty storeys up into the sky or into the bowels of the earth. Horrible. And jampacked with families on jolly outings.
We’re all doomed.