Expensive wasn’t necessarily best at MPH
We broke our own ‘let’s-not-visit-London-at-the-weekend’ rule on Saturday, and hopped on a train down to the capital to see MPH. Nik and I had free tickets worth £33 a pop, so we thought it worthwhile to tolerate another day another day on the trains to see some spectacular cars.
Once in the city, though, getting to Earl’s Court wasn’t easy. I had foolishly forgotten my Oyster card (which frustratingly needed a top-up anyway), and so we had to battle the tourist queues in order for me to buy a one-day travelcard. The Liverpool Street ticket machine lines of people weren’t moving, so we ended up walking to Bank, where broken down machines weren’t encouraging, and the negative thoughts usually encouraged by our weekday commuting trips to the capital started to creep up on us.
Ticket purchase done, the Central and Piccadilly line Tubes whizzed us through the underground network, where we met with comfortable crowds at Earl’s Court, and stands of expensive shiny cars. The highlight of MPH is a live show, which with presenters Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May is what a live edition of BBC Top Gear would be like.
The 75-minute show featured handfuls of automotive models wheeled out in front of an enthusiastic several-thousand-strong crowd, and a frenzy of action, games, and stunts. It was enjoyable – and loud – and with pyrotechnics to rival budget movies, was a very visual experience.
The ‘Prestige Motorshow’ (a hall of static display cars) was less exciting, and after an hour of weaving between the crowds and cooing over old Fiat 500s (our favourites of the whole show), we jumped back on the Tube and headed back into the centre of town.
A stroll to Borough Market made it our first stop, where we sidestepped and peered at all sorts of fresh produce stalls. Offering locally and speciality-sourced breads, cheeses, fruit and vegetables, fish, meat, mushrooms, and olives (and olive oil), among other tasty-looking items with which to fill the Borough Market hessian shopping bag, it’s very much a tourist market, as the throngs of ethically-minded buyers proved.
Borough Market baklava or balkava?
Spotting a stall specialising in the near-Eastern ground nut, honey, and pastry delicacy of baklava, we bought a bagful to munch on. I had never tried it, but as Nik had enjoyed more than his fair share while in Greece, I was curious to try it for myself. It’s very sticky, and very, very sweet, but served well as a dessert to follow lunch.
Walking down to the Tate Modern, we were curious to see Shibboleth, the 167m crack which runs the whole length of the old turbine hall at the South Bank museum, not only because part of a London landmark had been sacrificed to make it, but also to see exactly how Doris Salcedo’s vision of racism had been interrupted.
The bewildering Shibboleth at Tate Modern
It was very impressive, though largely from a technical viewpoint. We still weren’t sure if it was art, and quite how it represents racism, but it’s definitely worth going to see, before it disappears in April. Starting as a hairline opening at one end of the gigantic hall, it steadily grows to a gaping chasm, and is as shapely as a crack can hope to be. Like many other curious visitors, we dipped our hands or feet in its contoured internal walls, and so well shaped are these, the bottom of the crack is never visible. It must have taken ages to sculpt it.
Louise Bourgeois’ Tate Modern spider a little creepy-crawly
I was a little disappointed by Louise Bourgeois’ fearsome-looking spider overlooking the Millennium Bridge and gazing toward St Paul’s, though. Still scary against a cloudy and grey November sky, and looking like it’s about to scuttle off and attack the City, it wasn’t as large as I had imagined it would be. This was maybe a relief, for someone who doesn’t like spiders all that much.
Our final stop of the day was the Design Museum, to see the Zaha Hadid Architecture and Design exhibition. Ultimately, I was expecting more from the Iraq-born designer. While the showcase was an interesting mix of buildings, furniture, and other objects, the buildings weren’t recognisably buildings, having a very organic, if geometric appearance.
Renderings were joined by sketches which resembled paintings, bringing architecture and art together, while a fair few of the buildings shown hadn’t been built, but were competition winners, or Hadid’s visions of the future.
Even the smaller exhibition of Matthew Williamson’s past and current colourful catwalk glories couldn’t hold off our gradual tiredness, though, and we headed back to Liverpool Street for the train home having enjoyed our weekend day in London.
And as we zizzed up the mainline with weary legs and feet, we were looking forward to going home. But, as fireworks climbed into the darkness of the night sky around the moving train, we were a little gladdened that for once, we hadn’t stayed local.
