Back in 2014, a rather amazing installation took place in the moat at the Tower of London. I imagine most of the readers know about the Tower which, like a lot of TV celebrities, is smaller than you expect. It’s ancient, has some ravens which aren’t allowed to leave because of some mumbo-jumbo about the British royalty falling into disuse if they do – though frankly some of the peripheral royals do a pretty good job without having to restrict the travel urges of a few ratty corvids – and is home to a quite extraordinary quantity of bling called the Crown jewels that it does make you wonder if it is actually real or some paste-based charade.
For all my sneery tone which might be the result of one too many school trips when I was a preteen it does get some stuff right. That installation of ceramic poppies was one such. I went back several times and had the honour to listen to my great uncle Willie Dyson’s name read out before the last post was played, he having been killed during WW1. I still have a couple of the ceramic heads of those poppies as garden ornaments.
This year, Queen Liz hits her platinum disc for surviving 70 years on the throne. Quite an amazing feat of longevity and we rightly will celebrate this modern miracle (which has had the incidental benefit of keeping that worzel, Andrew as far away from the throne as possible).
One such celebration is a superbloom installation which involves filling the moat with wildflowers. This week we’ve just acquired a couple of tickets to wander amongst the blooms in mid July (the exhibition lasts from June to September) and I’m looking forward to it already (after the last two years, any outing like this will be a real treat even if it rains, the trains are cancelled and England don’t improve at cricket, all of which are more likely than not).
Beyond that and collecting the lawnmower which has had its annual service it’s been a quiet old walk. I’m reading a slightly weird book about this woman who turns into a flea – like a werewolve only without the full moon and ripping apart thing. I’ve watched a good Irish-Belgium drama called Hidden Assets and a grisly reconstruction of serial killer Stephen Port’s victims alongside the egregious hoophobic incompetence of one section of the Met Police. Four Lives is worth a try, esp for the performances of Sheridan Smith (a new Judy Dench perhpas) and Stephen Merchant playing very much against his comic personas. Have a look at the excellent Outlaws if you need confirmation of his comedic talents.
And watch out for tomorrow’s most excellent post about walking the ‘dog’.