same barb
place, different barb times
On Good Friday we went to
the Barbican, we left Leyton's shores and headed for the City, the sun shone
brightly, a strange phenomenon for an English Bank Holiday. The roads were clear of traffic as we cruised
along by Vicki Park we would have opened the sun-roof but Timu
hasn`t got one. We drove along over the pot-holes in Worship
Street (some of them have been there
so long that they are marked in
the A-Z) so severe are they, that
there is a
special warning sign which tells people
with loose teeth
to keep their mouths closed for
200 yards. We approached the Barbican along Chiswell
St only to find our route
was detoured (we had come so
close, what could we do? ) I needn`t have worried, Karen`s
razor-sharp mind had assessed
the situation, it was
risky but.... with reckless but calculated
abandon we drove past the
road-works THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD
Luckily there were no witnesses.
We parked
Timu and headed
for the Art gallery, my heart was filled
with trepidation as
this was our first visit to the Barbican gallery
since I nearly
ran Douglas Hurd over on Remembrance Sunday
(allegedly). At this point I
must make it clear that wheelchair-users have their vision set on the
floor up to waist
height, so I didn`t see him, `onest yer `onner! Anyway
this problem was to rear
its ugly head again, I was concentrating
on the floor trying not to fall
off the pavement when Karen said “Did you see that man with the bird on his
shoulder?” Now even I would
have noticed Long
John Silver. It turned out to be a young bloke
carrying a bird of
prey, a harrier hawk called Megan.
“No she’s been working, I
bring her up here when hired and she flies about to scare the pigeons away”
We had
a long chat with him but when he asked if I wanted
to stroke Megan in
true News of the
World fashion we made our excuses and left.
We then went on to play
the lift game. The guide telling you on
which floor your destination is hasn`t been updated
but the lift controls have. It’s lots of fun. Because of this new feature we got out on
the wrong floor to find a folk music concert in full swing, this music was to
be heard throughout the complex... great
stuff…
We finally made it to the
correct floor (I`m still not quite sure which it was but and....c`est la vie). At this point Karen suggested a visit to the Barbican`s conservatory,it was on
this floor, she had nice memories
of it from a previous visit with her Mum and Dad. It was a real strange feeling a quiet,
tranquil spot in a large building in the heart of London.,. The only sounds
were flowing water and the call of blackbirds , apparently a male and a
female had somehow found their way in
and built a nest, the gardener said they
wouldn`t hurt the
plants, so they are now awaiting the flutter of tiny wings. Would they be a flock of Barbi`s?
Anyway we left the
conservatory and so at last to the gallery to see their British Impressionism exhibition, it
was really good and included the
original painting of the infamous DEAD
FISH print.. I feel that I should explain,
the painting shows a fish sale on a turn of the century Cornish beach , I
bought a print of the picture in 1981
and wanted to put it up at home,
“Ughh
I don`t like that with all those dead fish” says
Mum.
I still think its great, but
the original is a million times better so it was worth going just for that one.
After this we still had
over an hour until theatre time so where better than the Lakeside cafe. This is
another feature of the complex (I feel I’m now beginning to sound like a Barbican promotion) so we sat out in the sun drinking coffee and eating cake (a major feature of
our busy lives) and generally saving the world. One day I will tell you
about the mysterious gold figures. It was getting closer to theatre time so we
went back inside, watched John Kirkpatrick for a couple of numbers, played the
lift game again and eventually arrived at the theatre.
Now the theatre is wondrous
to behold, a bar, nice snacks but most of all Losley
ice cream (oh ye lovers of ice cream please note this is to die for). We then took our place in one of the boxes
especially for people with mobility difficulties, got out our Pick`n`mix (specially blended at F.W. Woolworth Bakers Arms
purveyors of sweetmeats and other luxury
requisites ) and got ready to watch Twelfth Night, I had studied this
for my O level.
After the play back into
the lift (no problems this time for Karen had mastered the insidious lift game ) and apart from nearly reversing into John Kirkpatrick`s drummers`s kit it
was an uneventful journey home. Even the pot-holes in Worship St couldn’t take
the shine off a great day.
Fine art & film
critic