Voices in your head: Books and Statues

First off, let me say, that The British Library isn’t a tourist-friendly place. You can’t just walk in, look at all of the beautiful books and then leave. To really get the most of the library you need to be prepared to spend pretty much the whole day there. I didn’t know that at the time.

That said it doesn’t stop it from being a beautiful place to spend an afternoon. It is next door to Kings Cross/St.Pancreas intl. Station which makes it easy to get to. There are exhibitions for those of you who like paying to bore yourselves to death, and ping pong tables (complete with paddles and balls) in the courtyard outside for the rest of us.

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There is also the statue of Newton in the courtyard, hunched over and looking more like a tribute to Darwin than anything else. Thanks to a company named Singing Statues he and several other statues in and around London, has been given a voice. If you have the Layar app (or any QR code reader) on your phone you can call him and hear about his marvellous life. It’s a 4 minute long monologue but it’s pretty interesting.

If you do have the time to register You will need two forms of ID (Passport, Drivers licence, Debit/Credit Card will do) to get your British Library ID. If you aren’t actually there to do real research asnd you don’t have any idea what to start with, pack your stuff away in the cloakrooms downstairs and go straight for the maps and rare books. You log in to the online catalogue, fill out the names and the shelfmarks of the books you want on a little form which is then given to the gremlins in the archives downstairs. It takes around an hour for the gremlins to dig up your books/ resources and deliver them to the reading rooms. But there is nothing quite like the smell of a stupidly old map. I mean really…it’s horrible.

TL;DR

You can’t just walk in and read the books, there are hoops to jump through first.

There are ping pong tables outside and a statue that talks.

Kitty says 2/5 Rawrs

Quiet Spaces in Busy Places: St. Christophers Place

City tigers have an innate understanding of human traffic. We understand the way it ebbs and flows, we can predict when to slip through narrow gaps to overtake passers by and we have a shared (inexplicable) hatred for those who cause us to slow down or worse, stop.

However if you’re from a quieter side of life the speed of the crowds can be overwhelming and nowhere more so than on Oxford Street. But tucked away amidst the madness under a silver ballerina is St. Christopher’s Place, a little safe haven where you can escape the crowds and take a breather.

I love it in the evening when the little alley between Marble Arch and Oxford Street Station is lit up in lilac. The second you slip down the alley the roar of the high street is muted and the piazza is a great place to rest and people watch. There are also some great restaurants and shops around the square so you can grab a bite and have a look in the boutiques before rejoining the stampede.

So the next time you’re on Oxford Street keep an eye out for the silver ballerina.

Night at the Cinema

No matter how many times I wrapped the fleece around my fingers they just couldn’t get warm. As the sky darkened overhead I slunk down into my deck chair and hid my nose in my jacket. At least the headphones doubled as ear muffs. The cinema screen flickered from colour to black and white and the family in front cheered.

I had come on a whim. I liked the idea of being on a roof, the view of London looked incredible and I didn’t know anything about the film other than it was from the 1940s and called Hue and Cry. On the other hand the family in front, who made up the majority of the audience that night, had come because ‘dear old dad’ was in the film. One lady passed around a tin of travellers sweets whilst another commented that she remembered them being forced to watch it as kids. A man replied that he’d never actually heard the line and they all happily nagged each other to ‘shut up this time’ so that they could actually hear the line instead of all pointing out ‘that’s him, there he is!’

Naturally the rest of us had pricked up their ears at the thought of having the descendants of a famous actor in our midst and as the characters rolled onto the screen one by one I could tell that we were all playing a silent game of guess who. About halfway through, just as I became more interested in whether the glittery thing in the sky was a planet or a satellite, a cheer went up from the front seats.

Dear old dad had come on screen said his line and gone.