Nothing to report this weekend. It was a write-off, because I went out clubbing with my former flatmates from Ireland.
It was quite successful, though. We got 4 Protestants.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue
This week I went to another show. You probably don't know it, but it's pretty legendary over here. It's a radio show that's been playing for 38 years called "I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue". I assume the name is deliberately similar to it's predecessor "I'm Sorry, I'll Read that Again". Is this starting to sound familiar? ISIRTA was also a predecessor of Monty Python and the Goodies.
"I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue" is a parady game show. It was created by Graeme Garden of the Goodies as a project that wouldn't require so much preparation, but since the whole thing is extremely scripted, I'm not sure how it would've helped. Until recently, the host was the awesome Humphrey Lyttelton, but he passed away last year. This year they've done a tribute tour with guest hosts including Stephen Fry and Victoria Wood. We had Jack Dee, who is one of the most popular standups here at the moment. The 3 regular players are Tim Brooke-Taylor, Graeme Garden and Barry Cryer.
Their most famous game is called "Mornington Crescent", which is a game where the contestants compete by naming tube stations until one can get to Mornington Crescent. The gag is that while they argue over which arcane rule book they'll follow, there are no actual rules. They're just randomly naming stations and squabbling.
Anyway, it was pretty funny, but they mostly repeated material that I've heard them do before. And some of it wasn't all that topical any more. But it was funny, and I got to see a couple of comedians who were the funniest people in the world when I was 8 years old. Ironically, I was sitting so far from the stage that I could see into Tori Amos's back garden.
On a different note, I had 2 emails today asking if I'm sick of England and heading home soon. I'm rather surprised at that - I didn't know I had that many readers. The answer to both parts would be emphatically "No".
"I'm Sorry, I Haven't a Clue" is a parady game show. It was created by Graeme Garden of the Goodies as a project that wouldn't require so much preparation, but since the whole thing is extremely scripted, I'm not sure how it would've helped. Until recently, the host was the awesome Humphrey Lyttelton, but he passed away last year. This year they've done a tribute tour with guest hosts including Stephen Fry and Victoria Wood. We had Jack Dee, who is one of the most popular standups here at the moment. The 3 regular players are Tim Brooke-Taylor, Graeme Garden and Barry Cryer.
Their most famous game is called "Mornington Crescent", which is a game where the contestants compete by naming tube stations until one can get to Mornington Crescent. The gag is that while they argue over which arcane rule book they'll follow, there are no actual rules. They're just randomly naming stations and squabbling.
Anyway, it was pretty funny, but they mostly repeated material that I've heard them do before. And some of it wasn't all that topical any more. But it was funny, and I got to see a couple of comedians who were the funniest people in the world when I was 8 years old. Ironically, I was sitting so far from the stage that I could see into Tori Amos's back garden.
On a different note, I had 2 emails today asking if I'm sick of England and heading home soon. I'm rather surprised at that - I didn't know I had that many readers. The answer to both parts would be emphatically "No".
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wapping Big ARRRdventure
Unfortunately, it was another weekend of missed opportunities. The original plan was to go to Portsmouth to see the hull of the Mary Rose before they take it off display until 2012. On Saturday, I put it off until Sunday, and then on Sunday I checked the website and couldn't work out if it had already closed or not. And it's not worth doing a 7 hour round trip to not achieve your goal. (See Bristol and Bournemouth).
In case you weren't aware, Saturday was "International talk like a pirate day". Yes, that's an actual thing - I Kidd you not. It started me wondering about piracy in English history. So I did some reading, and headed for Wapping in East London to salvage my day.
I quite like Wapping. In older times it was the dock area of London, but more recently it was refurbished under Thatcher, and it seems quite pretty now. It uses the waterways to good effect.
You may recall that last year, I went to the site of the Tyburn Tree, where London executions used to take place. Pirates, however, were not executed there. They were hanged at Execution Dock, which was a gibbet on the low tide mark of the Thames. This was because the admiralty had jurisdiction over the sea. The tide would then be allowed to rise and fall 3 times over the victim before they were removed, tarred, and hung up as a warning to others.
The exact location of Execution Dock on the Wapping waterfront is a point of contention. Here's Wapping New Steps, which is one suggested location:
And Wapping Old Steps:
You get the point - there's nothing much to see now. But down the road is the Prospect of Whitby, which is a pub that has been there since 1520, and where smugglers and pirates used to meet. I find that pretty cool.
By London standards Wapping is pretty central, but it takes a while to walk there, I can tell you. It didn't help that this weekend was Skyride, where the roads were closed down for cyclists to take over the city.
Besides missing seeing the Mary Rose, when I got to London I found that I was also missing Open House London - the weekend when normally-closed architecture all across the city is open for exploration. I missed it last year too, because I had just arrived in Cambridge and needed to hunt for a flat. Damnit.
If I was a pirate, I wouldn't have to wait for the official weekend to enter these buildings...
In case you weren't aware, Saturday was "International talk like a pirate day". Yes, that's an actual thing - I Kidd you not. It started me wondering about piracy in English history. So I did some reading, and headed for Wapping in East London to salvage my day.
Wapping
I quite like Wapping. In older times it was the dock area of London, but more recently it was refurbished under Thatcher, and it seems quite pretty now. It uses the waterways to good effect.
You may recall that last year, I went to the site of the Tyburn Tree, where London executions used to take place. Pirates, however, were not executed there. They were hanged at Execution Dock, which was a gibbet on the low tide mark of the Thames. This was because the admiralty had jurisdiction over the sea. The tide would then be allowed to rise and fall 3 times over the victim before they were removed, tarred, and hung up as a warning to others.
The exact location of Execution Dock on the Wapping waterfront is a point of contention. Here's Wapping New Steps, which is one suggested location:
And Wapping Old Steps:
You get the point - there's nothing much to see now. But down the road is the Prospect of Whitby, which is a pub that has been there since 1520, and where smugglers and pirates used to meet. I find that pretty cool.
By London standards Wapping is pretty central, but it takes a while to walk there, I can tell you. It didn't help that this weekend was Skyride, where the roads were closed down for cyclists to take over the city.
Besides missing seeing the Mary Rose, when I got to London I found that I was also missing Open House London - the weekend when normally-closed architecture all across the city is open for exploration. I missed it last year too, because I had just arrived in Cambridge and needed to hunt for a flat. Damnit.
If I was a pirate, I wouldn't have to wait for the official weekend to enter these buildings...
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Showing Up
Okay, I haven't been doing much recently. But I've been to see a couple of shows.
A few weeks ago I went to the "Corot to Monet" exhibition at the National Gallery in London. It traced the development of naturalism into Impressionism in the 19th century. It was pretty good.
Tonight, I went to the big exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum for this year "Darwin: Endless Forms". It's celebrating 200 years since Darwin's birth, and I thought it might be some of his personal effects, but it was better than that. It covered the impact that evolution had on culture at the time. First, with the changing views on nature, and then the Victorians hijacking it to argue that lowerclass people should be left to die because it was natural selection, the development of strong female characters in art and novels based on Darwin's theory that the female of the species controls sexual selectivity (as can be seen from the peacock's tail display), and the influence he had on the Impressionists. Really well done. The Telegraph called it "the show of the year", and I would agree with that.
Friday night I went to see Tori Amos in London. "From the Choirgirl Hotel" is one of my favourite albums. Her music was excellent, but I was up the back of a huge theatre, and I could only see her as a small gold dot in the distance. Those of you in New Zealand may have been closer to the stage than I was. She's pretty impressive, though. There's none of that wasting time speaking to the audience - she just rolls from one song into the next with hardly a pause. She's a bit of musical phenom: When she was 5 years old, she won a scholarship to the Peabody Conservatory of Music. At one point in the concert, she sat facing the audience with both arms stretched out to the sides, and played the grand piano on the left and an organ on the right. It would've been better if there was a screen, but I'm glad I went.
That's all I've got. The weather's turning bad really fast now. It's all downhill from here.
A few weeks ago I went to the "Corot to Monet" exhibition at the National Gallery in London. It traced the development of naturalism into Impressionism in the 19th century. It was pretty good.
Tonight, I went to the big exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum for this year "Darwin: Endless Forms". It's celebrating 200 years since Darwin's birth, and I thought it might be some of his personal effects, but it was better than that. It covered the impact that evolution had on culture at the time. First, with the changing views on nature, and then the Victorians hijacking it to argue that lowerclass people should be left to die because it was natural selection, the development of strong female characters in art and novels based on Darwin's theory that the female of the species controls sexual selectivity (as can be seen from the peacock's tail display), and the influence he had on the Impressionists. Really well done. The Telegraph called it "the show of the year", and I would agree with that.
Friday night I went to see Tori Amos in London. "From the Choirgirl Hotel" is one of my favourite albums. Her music was excellent, but I was up the back of a huge theatre, and I could only see her as a small gold dot in the distance. Those of you in New Zealand may have been closer to the stage than I was. She's pretty impressive, though. There's none of that wasting time speaking to the audience - she just rolls from one song into the next with hardly a pause. She's a bit of musical phenom: When she was 5 years old, she won a scholarship to the Peabody Conservatory of Music. At one point in the concert, she sat facing the audience with both arms stretched out to the sides, and played the grand piano on the left and an organ on the right. It would've been better if there was a screen, but I'm glad I went.
That's all I've got. The weather's turning bad really fast now. It's all downhill from here.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I've Been Drinking
Having been here over a year now, I'm getting nostalgic.
Take drinks for instance: I've had Sissi, and Fristi, and quite a few Swedish pear ciders (Kopparberg - that's good stuff). I've had a cookie-dough flavoured bottle of milk, that I won't be revisiting except in my nightmares or if I burp really deeply. I had a sauvignon blanc from a small antipodean country in the South Pacific that was revolting. I've had Orangina and Dr Pepper, both of which I think could do well in NZ. In the Netherlands, I drank a 2L bottle of some luridly green monstrosity called "Green Punch". I've had more than my share of Lipton's Iced Tea. The iced tea and peach one is better than it sounds. In Italy, I had a thimble-full of Lemoncello, that turned out to be far more than I wanted. In Ireland, I had Jameson whisky and cranberry juice.
I've been to Cambridge's milkshake shop, proudly boasting 160 flavours of milkshake, where I had the following conversation:
Me: Hi. Can I have an orange milkshake, please?
Her: We don't do orange.
Me: Okay, I'll have a lime one.
Her: We don't do that either.
It was Monty Python's "Cheese Shop" sketch, brought to life.
But this one rates as possibly the oddest: For your vicarious pleasure, I present "Sonda Frutti Carrotti", which as you can see is a blend of carrots and apricot juice.
I was bored, and it was for sale at my local co-op. It's probably Polish. Apparently, in Poland they assume that foods go together if they're similar colours. I look forward to their upcoming strawberry and pig's blood juice.
The first mouthful was great: It was all apricot. The second mouthful was extensively carroty. The third mouthful was back to apricot. I don't think I want to go back for the 4th.
Take drinks for instance: I've had Sissi, and Fristi, and quite a few Swedish pear ciders (Kopparberg - that's good stuff). I've had a cookie-dough flavoured bottle of milk, that I won't be revisiting except in my nightmares or if I burp really deeply. I had a sauvignon blanc from a small antipodean country in the South Pacific that was revolting. I've had Orangina and Dr Pepper, both of which I think could do well in NZ. In the Netherlands, I drank a 2L bottle of some luridly green monstrosity called "Green Punch". I've had more than my share of Lipton's Iced Tea. The iced tea and peach one is better than it sounds. In Italy, I had a thimble-full of Lemoncello, that turned out to be far more than I wanted. In Ireland, I had Jameson whisky and cranberry juice.
I've been to Cambridge's milkshake shop, proudly boasting 160 flavours of milkshake, where I had the following conversation:
Me: Hi. Can I have an orange milkshake, please?
Her: We don't do orange.
Me: Okay, I'll have a lime one.
Her: We don't do that either.
It was Monty Python's "Cheese Shop" sketch, brought to life.
But this one rates as possibly the oddest: For your vicarious pleasure, I present "Sonda Frutti Carrotti", which as you can see is a blend of carrots and apricot juice.
I was bored, and it was for sale at my local co-op. It's probably Polish. Apparently, in Poland they assume that foods go together if they're similar colours. I look forward to their upcoming strawberry and pig's blood juice.
The first mouthful was great: It was all apricot. The second mouthful was extensively carroty. The third mouthful was back to apricot. I don't think I want to go back for the 4th.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
To Studland: the Return of the King
My brain can only hold so many things. I have a mental list of places I want to see in Europe. Barcelona will be high on the list, and then I'll read about an interesting salt mine in Splod, Poland and forget all about Spain. It's like a Chinese smorgasborg where you want to keep eating the cashews out of the sweet and sour chicken, but the next tureen has wontons. There's only so much space on the plate.
But one place that has remained prominent on the list for a while is Corfe Castle (it's the spring roll of the list). It's down south, near Bournemouth, and was Enid Blyton's inspiration for Kirren Castle in the Famous Five novels. I re-read them recently and they're dreadful, but I have a nostaglic soft-spot for them, none-the-less. South-West Trains has a special deal at the moment where you can go to anywhere on their network for 10 pounds return. Trains are stupidly expensive here, so that's a great deal. To Bournemouth!
So I took a train to Bournemouth and - oh sweet Lord what the hell is this - over a million people flock to Bournemouth for the airshow.
One thing I've noticed is that the boringness of planes seems to speak to the English. Air shows are really popular here. Personally, if I want to see a plane with smoke coming out the back spiralling towards the ground, I'll fly Qantas.
I set off along the road west towards the ferry that crosses the harbour to Studland and the castle. It was agonisingly slow because there were people everywhere.
Notice the child sitting on the curb, clutching a plastic spade. How sad is that?
There is (or, was) a Banksy stencil on the leg of the pier (it says "Buried Treasure", and has an arrow pointing downwards into the sand). Could I get anywhere near it? Not bloody likely. At this point, Banksy's artwork is mocking me on a weekly basis.
Here are some shots from the air show:
Once I got along the clifftops a bit, there were fewer people and things improved. I dropped down one of the chines and walked along the waterline with my shoes off. The chines are the small gullies that run down from the clifftops to the beach. In the 18th century, this area was largely deserted, and smugglers used to use the chines to carry goods inland.
I was hoping to make it to the castle in about 2 hours, but it took me 3 hours just to get to the ferry, which is still many kilometers from Corfe. I had already walked about 10km along the beach. I think I screwed up my Google Map scales again.
I went across and at Studland there was a notice warning of:
1) A naturist beach
2) Unexploded ordinances from practice D-Day landings
Those are 2 types of package that I want to avoid stumbing upon. So I caught the ferry back, got on a bus to the station, and then tried to catch a train along with 999,999 other people.
When I eventually got onto a train, I was crammed in next to a woman from Belfast. As an icebreaker, I mentioned that I'd just been to Dublin, and she mentioned that they loathe the Republic of Ireland and that her uncle was an IRA commander. Yikes. Do I know how to make friends or what?
So, there you go. At least I got out in the sun and got to see the Bournemouth albino walrus colony and ... those were English sunbathers? Oh God, it was all just awful. After 2 weekends of abject failure, next weekend I'm going to wedge a chair against my bedroom door, crawl into my sleeping bag, and pull the drawstring really tight. You can't eat smorgasborg every week.
But one place that has remained prominent on the list for a while is Corfe Castle (it's the spring roll of the list). It's down south, near Bournemouth, and was Enid Blyton's inspiration for Kirren Castle in the Famous Five novels. I re-read them recently and they're dreadful, but I have a nostaglic soft-spot for them, none-the-less. South-West Trains has a special deal at the moment where you can go to anywhere on their network for 10 pounds return. Trains are stupidly expensive here, so that's a great deal. To Bournemouth!
So I took a train to Bournemouth and - oh sweet Lord what the hell is this - over a million people flock to Bournemouth for the airshow.
One thing I've noticed is that the boringness of planes seems to speak to the English. Air shows are really popular here. Personally, if I want to see a plane with smoke coming out the back spiralling towards the ground, I'll fly Qantas.
I set off along the road west towards the ferry that crosses the harbour to Studland and the castle. It was agonisingly slow because there were people everywhere.
Queue to Look Over the Railing at the Beach
Notice the child sitting on the curb, clutching a plastic spade. How sad is that?
All of Humanity, Standing on a Beach
There is (or, was) a Banksy stencil on the leg of the pier (it says "Buried Treasure", and has an arrow pointing downwards into the sand). Could I get anywhere near it? Not bloody likely. At this point, Banksy's artwork is mocking me on a weekly basis.
Here are some shots from the air show:
Once I got along the clifftops a bit, there were fewer people and things improved. I dropped down one of the chines and walked along the waterline with my shoes off. The chines are the small gullies that run down from the clifftops to the beach. In the 18th century, this area was largely deserted, and smugglers used to use the chines to carry goods inland.
I was hoping to make it to the castle in about 2 hours, but it took me 3 hours just to get to the ferry, which is still many kilometers from Corfe. I had already walked about 10km along the beach. I think I screwed up my Google Map scales again.
I went across and at Studland there was a notice warning of:
1) A naturist beach
2) Unexploded ordinances from practice D-Day landings
Those are 2 types of package that I want to avoid stumbing upon. So I caught the ferry back, got on a bus to the station, and then tried to catch a train along with 999,999 other people.
When I eventually got onto a train, I was crammed in next to a woman from Belfast. As an icebreaker, I mentioned that I'd just been to Dublin, and she mentioned that they loathe the Republic of Ireland and that her uncle was an IRA commander. Yikes. Do I know how to make friends or what?
So, there you go. At least I got out in the sun and got to see the Bournemouth albino walrus colony and ... those were English sunbathers? Oh God, it was all just awful. After 2 weekends of abject failure, next weekend I'm going to wedge a chair against my bedroom door, crawl into my sleeping bag, and pull the drawstring really tight. You can't eat smorgasborg every week.
Corfe Castle (Somewhere Over There...Bugger)
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Checking out Bristols...
...skyline.
As part of my attempts to get abreast of English culture, I went to Bristol. I was hoping for mammories that would last a lifetime, but it all turned out a bit of a bust, and I was left feeling quite the boob.
It was pretty disappointing. I've mentioned the artist Banksy several times here. I'm a pretty big fan. Because he's an anonymous stealth graffiti artist, he doesn't exactly advertise, but this is special. He originally comes from Bristol, and he's currently replaced exhibits at the Bristol Museum, in a show called "Banksy vs Bristol Museum". I've been looking forward to it for weeks.
So, up before 7am and bike across Cambridge to the station, 1 hour on the train to London, 1 hour on the Tube to Victoria station (Victoria Line out of action again), and 3 hours on the bus to Bristol (traffic jams on the motorway). Then I legged it down the road to the Museum to find that the queue for the exhibition was 4 hours long, and they would close before I could get inside.
I'm not sure if you can see in this picture, but the queue is the width of the street and runs way up the hill past the icecream van into the distance. And this is the queue to get a stamp on your hand so you can join the first queue. Yes, seriously.
So there's the paradox - New Zealand wouldn't get a show this great because there isn't the population base, but in the UK you can't see the show because there're too many people.
I had printed off a map of Bristol and marked the standard tourist sites, in case there was a problem. So I did that stuff instead. First stop was the Clifton Suspension Bridge. It was designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel (real name Richard Starkey) in 1834, and spans the Avon Gorge.
The green area across the bridge is called Leigh Woods. It had an iron age hill fort (Stokeleigh Camp) several centuries before Christ, and they've found neolithic arrow and axe heads in the area.
In a tower on the hill above the bridge there is a large camera obscura. I've never seen one of those - it was really cool.
When he wasn't designing bridges, Brunel also designed the Great Western Railway, the SS Great Britain, and - so long as no one is fact checking this - the Eiffel Tower and the Parthenon.
The SS Great Britain was made of steel instead of wood, and had a revolutionary balanced corkscrew propeller. It was worth checking out. The ship is in an old dry dock, and there's a layer of water in glass at the water line. You can descend through that and walk around the hull.
The SS GB logged over 1 million nautical miles at sea. In one incarnation, it took immigrants around the world to Australia and New Zealand. Hundreds of thousands of Aussies are descended from immigrants that travelled on it.
The ship was skuttled in the Falklands in 1934 (in shallow water), but refloated in 1970 and returned to Bristol.
While I was roaming, I found this:
If you don't know the name, W.G. Grace was recently voted by Wisden as the greatest cricketer of all time. It was ridiculous of them not to pick Bradman, and most people felt it was just a stunt to draw attention to their list. Grace played in the 19th century, and was know to refuse to leave the crease just because he was out, on the grounds that the crowds had come to see him play. I know that would've helped my batting record.
This is St Peters Church in Bristol. This is about the best picture you can get of it. Up close it's messy and covered in chicken wire. It was in the centre of the shopping district, but it was bombed in the Blitz and the area was wiped out. The bombed out church has been left as a monument, but it's no Kaiser Wilhelm Gedรคchtniskirche (I assume).
If you want to see more about the Banksy exhibition, here's a video:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/arts_and_culture/8094839.stm
and here's a slideshow:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/bristol/hi/people_and_places/arts_and_culture/newsid_8096000/8096891.stm
Gutted. And I passed up on U2 at Wembley to see the Banksy show. By the time I found I couldn't get into the museum, there wasn't time to get back to London for the concert.
As part of my attempts to get abreast of English culture, I went to Bristol. I was hoping for mammories that would last a lifetime, but it all turned out a bit of a bust, and I was left feeling quite the boob.
It was pretty disappointing. I've mentioned the artist Banksy several times here. I'm a pretty big fan. Because he's an anonymous stealth graffiti artist, he doesn't exactly advertise, but this is special. He originally comes from Bristol, and he's currently replaced exhibits at the Bristol Museum, in a show called "Banksy vs Bristol Museum". I've been looking forward to it for weeks.
So, up before 7am and bike across Cambridge to the station, 1 hour on the train to London, 1 hour on the Tube to Victoria station (Victoria Line out of action again), and 3 hours on the bus to Bristol (traffic jams on the motorway). Then I legged it down the road to the Museum to find that the queue for the exhibition was 4 hours long, and they would close before I could get inside.
Banksy Queue
I'm not sure if you can see in this picture, but the queue is the width of the street and runs way up the hill past the icecream van into the distance. And this is the queue to get a stamp on your hand so you can join the first queue. Yes, seriously.
So there's the paradox - New Zealand wouldn't get a show this great because there isn't the population base, but in the UK you can't see the show because there're too many people.
I had printed off a map of Bristol and marked the standard tourist sites, in case there was a problem. So I did that stuff instead. First stop was the Clifton Suspension Bridge. It was designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel (real name Richard Starkey) in 1834, and spans the Avon Gorge.
The green area across the bridge is called Leigh Woods. It had an iron age hill fort (Stokeleigh Camp) several centuries before Christ, and they've found neolithic arrow and axe heads in the area.
In a tower on the hill above the bridge there is a large camera obscura. I've never seen one of those - it was really cool.
When he wasn't designing bridges, Brunel also designed the Great Western Railway, the SS Great Britain, and - so long as no one is fact checking this - the Eiffel Tower and the Parthenon.
Brunel's SS Great Britain
The SS Great Britain was made of steel instead of wood, and had a revolutionary balanced corkscrew propeller. It was worth checking out. The ship is in an old dry dock, and there's a layer of water in glass at the water line. You can descend through that and walk around the hull.
The SS GB logged over 1 million nautical miles at sea. In one incarnation, it took immigrants around the world to Australia and New Zealand. Hundreds of thousands of Aussies are descended from immigrants that travelled on it.
Awesome. "How many roads must a man walk down?" "42".
The ship was skuttled in the Falklands in 1934 (in shallow water), but refloated in 1970 and returned to Bristol.
While I was roaming, I found this:
If you don't know the name, W.G. Grace was recently voted by Wisden as the greatest cricketer of all time. It was ridiculous of them not to pick Bradman, and most people felt it was just a stunt to draw attention to their list. Grace played in the 19th century, and was know to refuse to leave the crease just because he was out, on the grounds that the crowds had come to see him play. I know that would've helped my batting record.
This is St Peters Church in Bristol. This is about the best picture you can get of it. Up close it's messy and covered in chicken wire. It was in the centre of the shopping district, but it was bombed in the Blitz and the area was wiped out. The bombed out church has been left as a monument, but it's no Kaiser Wilhelm Gedรคchtniskirche (I assume).
St Peters Church
If you want to see more about the Banksy exhibition, here's a video:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/arts_and_culture/8094839.stm
and here's a slideshow:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/bristol/hi/people_and_places/arts_and_culture/newsid_8096000/8096891.stm
Gutted. And I passed up on U2 at Wembley to see the Banksy show. By the time I found I couldn't get into the museum, there wasn't time to get back to London for the concert.
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