Monday, July 17, 2006

Tate Modern

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to the Tate Modern gallery we go. We went past this on the way to The Globe Theatre recently. How hard can it be to find again...

Everyone knows, before you look at art, you've got to get your laughing gear round a nice burger.


And they don't get much nicer than this.


Crossing the Thames by the Millenium footbridge, the tide was out and when the tide goes out, so do the mysterious Mudlarks. They pick all sorts of stuff out of the mud from Roman coins, to Victorian naval junk and modern garbage.


Ah, here we are. This used to be a coal-fire power station before the Tate got hold of it - and a bloody good job they did too.


This is the Turbine Hall, where the, err, turbines used to go and the biggest space in the gallery.


This bloke has found a lot of wooden stuff and made a nice pattern out of it.


For each piece, there is a little plaque telling you something about the piece. How hard can that be? I mean really...

Steve Roach 1958-
I Fart in Your General Direction - 2006
Digital Photograph treated for display on a Blog.


Here, the artist juxtaposes a crappy sculpture - wasn't even finished off with a decent lick of paint, the sentiment of the time - with his wife who has found something far more interesting out of the window. As she turns her back on the piece, she brings her derriere to bear and readies an eggy one. Reminiscent of Vito Acconci's navel gazing crap and evoking scenes of African disunity, he seems to be saying 'are the pubs open yet' or, more importantly, 'can anyone else get on this gravy train'. First exhibited in a basement flat in Ladbrooke grove to only two people, it was hardly worth the effort.


Very easy indeed, then.

The far more interesting thing out of the window.


Enough of that, the grumps don't allow photos - though it's not entirely clear as to why. You can see it with old paintings, constant flashes can fade the paint. It would be difficult to damage a badly welded together thingy made out of bits of old cars. Copywright was suggested but then they have photos of all sorts of stuff and it's not exactly explicitly stated that they got the owner's - or subject's, for that matter - permission when they were taken. The whole no-photo thing is a mystery unless they want you to buy piccies from the shop, I suppose.

Nice brown lawn for lunch. Global warming, it seems, is turning the lush green fields of south-eastern England into the sort of arid plain that Spain would be proud of.


Hey, I could get used to this writing thing...

Steve Roach 1958-
Pidgeons. On the Ground. - 2006
Digital Photograph treated for display on a Blog.


With obvious references to the Luftwaffe or, perhaps, grey splodgy things, the artist pictures the birds all moving in the same direction. Do they, like us, have purpose? Or, like us, do they lack direction? Are they just winged rats or do they have a place to play in the urban landscape? Whatever. Roach strangled the pidgeons just after the photograph was taken and ate them 'baked in a pie' for a piece of performance art - mistaking them for four and twenty blackbirds. As he said at the time; 'it is the artist that determines what art is', the pretentious twat.


For some reason, there was a lot of activity on the river. Even saw some Morris Dancers, something the English regard in much the same light as Australians see Steve Erwin - i.e. a national embarrasment.


And this lot decided to do the climb to the top of St Pauls. Good view up there but, frankly, I can't be bothered.


When I got home, I thought I'd look at a career change, too...

Monday, July 10, 2006

The Tiffany Collection

My Monday off and took myself off to the city - Temple Station then a short walk down to Somerset house to check out The Tiffany Collection.


Nice view of the Embankment on the way.


Good spot overlooking the river to have a sit down.


Outside of Somerset House.


Main entry doors - very posh - complete with guard ready to empty my bag and check for explosives.


Big gold thing in foyer which I got in trouble for taking a picture of - no piccies allowed inside.


Lots of diamonds and rare gems and loud American matrons pushing their way through for a better look.


This is the one I want - some drooling on the glass on my part here.


This is The Tiffany Diamond - could pay the mortgage off with this one - actually could probably buy half of Sydney with it.


Left Somerset house and took off to find some lunch - passed The Savoy on the way - by the cars I saw arriving here, this is the place to stay if you can afford a real Tiffany piece.


Statue of Robert Burns in the Embankment Park - famous Scottish poet. (Steve: the only literate one we've ever met.)


The Embankment Park, grabbed a sandwich and sat on the grass and enjoyed the serenity.


More of the park - very pretty little oasis in the heart of the city, before heading home to do the ironing.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Footy Woe

Australia:

The road to the World Cup for Australia this time - and it will be a whole lot better next time - was difficult and unfair. Well, unfair is probably too strong a word. Had the Australian Leage been sorted out earlier things would have been different - too many vested interests trying to be big fish in a patheticaly small pond. Still, as it stood, The Aussies had to win in Asia-Pacific and then knock out the fifth-place South American qualifier. And they did! Of course, you could argue that, could they not do this one simple thing, they hardly deserved a go for the very pinnacle of international footy itself. Still, everyone else qualifies in their own region, and so should Australia.

And qualify they did. 30 years after their last - goalless appearence - they were back. And didn't they do well! A win against Japan, draw with Croatia and the expected loss to Brazil got them second place in Group F and entry into the second round. Nobody, with the possible exception of coach Guus, thought they could have done it. The odds were against them from the start but skill, tenacity and sheer bloody-mindedness got them through. Australia woke to discover that the world knew who they are and - and you could see this comming - with typical Aussie one-eyedness when it comes to all things sporting, figured that it would only be a formality to bringing the cup itself home.

Socceroos celebrate their 2-2 draw with Croatia that sealed the second round place.

Then there was Italy.

The second round clash with Italy was not the Austraian teams best outing. Oh, it was entertaining alright. A thing of beauty and excitement. The Socceroos missed Kewell but should have pressed the 11-10 man advantage in the 40 minutes after an Italian was red-carded to the showers. Though the Aussies had good possesion, they were essentially outclassed by Italy - who went on to the final - and never really looked dangerous enough.

Then there was the penalty. Grosso's dive in the area was wrong, very wrong. But footy's a funny old game and you get that. Italy boshed the penalty home in the last second of the game and that was the end of the Socceroos. There was outrage, of course. Cries of 'the referee's a wanker' (they all are), lamentations of how unfair it all was and, as is the custom, 'we were robbed'.

In reality, though, Australia, for the first time in their history, sent a world-class team to the only world competition worth being at and did so much more than not disgrace themselves. They arrived, finally, and will be back in years to come. After this performance, it is certainly not inconceivable that the Socceroos will one day bring it home.

England:

If Australia were expected to crash and burn, England were expected to do precisely the opposite. The so-called 'dream generation' carried the expectations of a nation to go and put it to the rest of the world by winning the World Cup for the first time in 40 years.

England's qualification wasn't exactly smooth - there was a time when, theoretically, they wouldn't - but they got in with room to spare and were drawn in to, arguably, one of the easier groups; Paraguay, Trinidad and Tobago, and Sweden. Squad choice was a topic of conversation from the start. Coach Sven chose to take only 5 strikers including; unfit Owen (who later went home with a devastating injury), untried Walcott (the 19 year old who has never started in a Premier League match), injured Rooney (with a broken toe that managed to heal itself just in time), and lanky Crouch (who looks all wrong but definitely does the business).

The wins against Paraguay and the West Indians, and then draw with Sweden put them comfortably into the the second round clash with Ecuador. This 1-0 win was not done the easy way and it was not difficult to see why. The 4-1-4-1 formation never worked well. Rooney, by this time fit enough for a full 90 minutes, worked hard at the front but never had the support. England secured the win but everyone knew they would have to improve to realise the dream.

A note about Rooney. He is, without a doubt, one of the best strikers in the world. He is a nasty little short-man with a nasty little short-man attitude that makes him take on defenders head-on, leave them in his wake and pop the ball in the net. He is, by far, at his best when the ball is at his feet and, given the support he needs, is the sort of dangerous little git that can make a scoreline. On his own though, he is an accident waiting to happen. He can't get long high balls because he just can't reach them and, as his frustration rises in proportion to the number of potential passes he watches sail on by, his temper kicks in. His best partnership is with Owen and, with him gone, Sven offered nothing. Either Crouch or Walcott could have been the injection he neded. It doesn't take a master strategist to see that 4-1-4-1 was never going to deliver the goods.

You could see the quarter final match with Portugal coming. Hopes were high but you could see the nerves in player and fan alike. While England got away with 4-1-4-1 against Ecuador, the stakes were rising and it was clear that a tweak was needed. So Sven went with 4-1-4-1! And Rooney's red card buggered it all up.

Inevitable.

That incident will go down as the stuff of legend. Cries of 'the referee's a wanker' (they all are), lamentations of how unfair it all was and, as is the custom, 'we were robbed', etc, etc. The fact is, Rooney was fouled - badly - at the start, something the ref should have seen and put a stop to right there. But he didn't and Rooney ended up in a big tangle. Rooney being Rooney, and it MAY have been an accident, managed to stomp an Iberian right in the wedding-tackle and was red-carded. While Rooney's team-mate, Ronaldo, MAY have urged the referee on to the red card, likewise, he MAY NOT. (Though, it must be said that if he ever decides to set foot in this Sceptered Isle ever again, he is likely to get a large lump of it inserted into his head.) The outcome SHOULD have been two yellows; one for Rooney and one for the Portugese that fouled him, and a free kick to Portugal - because Rooney's foul was a little worse. Ronaldo should also have got one for being a great big goofy big-mouth.

And so it goes. The end of extra time saw no score and the penalty shoot-out ended for England the way they always do - the end of the line.

Likewise.

What else did England do wrong? Well, not much. Their defence was probably the best in the world. It's no good putting them away up front when you are letting them in at the back. That the 120 minute score against Portugal was 0-0, much of which was played at a 10-11 man disadvantage, is a testament to just how good they were. The mid-field was pretty damn good too. Beckham is considered to be past his prime, but the mid-field possession was about as good as you could hope for in most of their matches. Their only real failing was in not pushing far enough forward to support the strikers - long ball after long ball dropping at the opposition's feet. The attack force was a bloody disaster both in terms of personnel and strategy. Sven had to go.

Sven has gone, Beckham has resigned the captaincy and we can now start on the 4 year haul to the next penalty shoot out followed by the early flight home.

And so it goes...

Friday, July 07, 2006

Magdalen College

Thought, as we were in town, we'd have a closer look at one of the unis. Magdalen (pronounced Malden, apparently, cos it's run by a bunch of pretentious gits) College, like many others, has a long history and is pretty to boot.

Old boys include Dudley Moore, Erwin Schrödinger (him of the cat fame) and Prince Tomohito of Mikasa (err, something to do with the Japanese royal family).

Let's check it out.

The church door is firmly locked to keep people like me out. You don't want your 600 year old chapel crumbling to dust, do you.


The Chancellor's house. Noice.


If I had a sword, a bash-people-over-the-head thing and a bulbous cod-piece, I'd be a lot happier than this, I can tell you.


With a herd of these on-site, you never have to phone for a delivery pizza.


The central quadrangle.


The dining hall - just the place to eat all those deer.


Some nice stained glass, too.


There are gardens throughout.


You, too, can get some of this. Just be born stinking rich. Sorted.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Oxford Town

After a night of proper English beer, it was time for a fist-full of paracetamol, several buckets of coffee and a saunter into town.

The B&B - with an owner that is so weird that people will run a mile to get away from him.


See.


Aha, a pub. Time for lunch.


Err, punts.


The Radcliffe Camera.


Hertford Bridge.


A very grumpy stone bloke.


Medieval part of town.


Christchurch College. Location for bits of the Harry Potter movies - oh, and they do a bit of learning, too.


Where the empire was won. Lost too.


Noice quackers.


Me. And boats. That's it.


Sneaked into this college and hung out by this pretty bit of river that really should belong to everyone.