There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile.
He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.
Look, everyone! Pretty new things! Anything to distract you from the worst government in British history. Should I submit my George Osborne update for the new one pound coin to The Royal Mint?
Chorlton Park
When the sun shines, I worship. British weather is reliably unpredictable so the chance to roll around in the grass while I turn a strange shade of beetroot is something to be cherished. I watch dogs playing, butterflies skip round my head and my mind plays Perfect Day by Lou Reed. “Drink sangria in the park…” Mine’s a banana and strawberry smoothie, thanks. On the news, many thousands of people are rioting over the right to keep their green spaces…and their rights in general. Every second of peace, here, is a luxury to me.
Laburnum
It’s a daisy.
A solar owl
Emerging from one of the most impressive tube stations, deep beneath Westminster, we stood in the shadow of Big Ben and before long we were wandering off the beaten track, away from the tourists.
The Palace of Westminster is an impressive riot of Gothic fakery, every buttress and spire insisting on it’s medieval origins. The Houses of Parliament are a testament to the great Victorian illusion that the establishment was rather more established than it really was. But just behind the familiar sight of Big Ben is a quiet empty park free from coach parties and cameras.
I had no idea Victoria Tower Gardens were hidden behind the bustle of buses and mounted police. A single stone folly, the Buxton Memorial Fountain stands on the great stretch of green which runs parallel to the Thames.
Designed in 1865, the fountain has been moved, ransacked, and renovated. It’s original statues have been stolen, but it remains a monument to the abolition of slavery in The British Empire. (Although there are some clubs in Vauxhall where slavery is alive and well and something of a vocation!)
The metal spire is unusually colourful for the period and has more in common with Gaudi than the grim preserve of the Victorians.
Stone lions guard the fountain which used to spout drinking water under the beautiful vaulted marble roof.I can see the place is more suited to a Vogue fashion shoot now, than the pomp and pageantry of the past.
London fizzes with energy, so finding an oasis like this is a relief, even if the sun is hiding and May feels more like November.
“Hello? London? Big Ben? Sovereign’s Entrance? Are you avin a larf?”
This is why I love London. You can wander just a few yards and the scenery around you is transformed, from Nu Industrial Deco to Gothic Revival in a matter of seconds. I think I made the first one up, but the Capital is alive with hidden wonders, and taking a wrong turn is the thing to do.
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Emerging from the Tube station, the first big surprise is that the street is real. When Eddy Grant sang ‘We gonna rock down to Electric Avenue,’ he was referring to the Brixton riots of 1981. I was only 14 years old, and although I watched Britain burning on the television, I later failed to make a connection with the song, or the widespread hatred for Continue reading
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© My artwork, photography and music are copyright Mark Wallis 2015
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