Day 7, Sunday 6th May.
The day dawned typically bleak and dismal, perfect for the planned art and cultral experience. But little did we know that our beautifully warm flat was like a cosy cocoon that protected us from the icy north pole wind that penetrated us to the core once we stepped outside. We left early in the morning with the decidedly dodgy secondhand wheelchair and opted to cab it down to the Tate Britain where the planners research had advised us of a boat departure to the Tate Modern at 9.40am. Only problem was that no one else in London was up at 9am so the roads were empty and we subsequently arrived with 20mins to spare. We huddled in a busstop beside the Thames as the gate to the jetty was locked and there was probably less protection out on the jetty anyway.
The ferryman arrived right on time so we were transported to the warmth of the modern art world and Grannie was ultimately thawed out with the help of numerous cups of coffee.
The pusher moved rapidly through the exhibitions, pausing only briefly at the Damien Hirst installation of the cows head enccased in a large perspex box surrounded by living breeding blowflies- it may well have converted many to vegeterianism, and the planner and the payer were not quite sure how it fulfiledthe criterea of art. We also witnessed the infamous diamond encrusted skull and some very talented needlework of a further special exhibition by Alighiero Boetti. We lunched at the cafe overlooking the Thames and then reluctantly returned our borrowed brand new wheelchair from the Tate Modern and resumed a tentative journey across The Millenium walking bridge towards St Pauls cathedral. The Locals and tourists were out in force by now and the chill winds continued to blow. We whisked Grannie into a London cab to keep her warm and to preserve the limited life of the dodgy wheelchair. This is such an easy task as all the London cabs are equipped with ramps so it is simple a matter of the driver unleashing the ramp and pushing the wheelchair complete with Grannie straight up the ramp. The driver was happy to play tour guide and take Grannie on her desired route through Hyde Park and across the Serpentine to the Royal Albert Hall, where we collected the tickets for the afternoon performance of the night of 1000 voices. It was leaukemia charity event and not withstanding the fact that the planner and the pusher could only count about 400 choiristors, there were many other talented singers, dancers and showmen who performed a wonderful array of songs from all of the most memorable musicals.
Interval enabled two of the 'P's' to adjourn to the bar where our stunning cheese platter awaited along with two delightful glasses of Pinot. The third 'P' was content to listen to the Albert Hall organist tinkle the ivories.
We cabbed it home again, this time adjourning to another local, the Chelsea Potter for a typical pub feed and pint of cider.
The day dawned typically bleak and dismal, perfect for the planned art and cultral experience. But little did we know that our beautifully warm flat was like a cosy cocoon that protected us from the icy north pole wind that penetrated us to the core once we stepped outside. We left early in the morning with the decidedly dodgy secondhand wheelchair and opted to cab it down to the Tate Britain where the planners research had advised us of a boat departure to the Tate Modern at 9.40am. Only problem was that no one else in London was up at 9am so the roads were empty and we subsequently arrived with 20mins to spare. We huddled in a busstop beside the Thames as the gate to the jetty was locked and there was probably less protection out on the jetty anyway.
The ferryman arrived right on time so we were transported to the warmth of the modern art world and Grannie was ultimately thawed out with the help of numerous cups of coffee.
The pusher moved rapidly through the exhibitions, pausing only briefly at the Damien Hirst installation of the cows head enccased in a large perspex box surrounded by living breeding blowflies- it may well have converted many to vegeterianism, and the planner and the payer were not quite sure how it fulfiledthe criterea of art. We also witnessed the infamous diamond encrusted skull and some very talented needlework of a further special exhibition by Alighiero Boetti. We lunched at the cafe overlooking the Thames and then reluctantly returned our borrowed brand new wheelchair from the Tate Modern and resumed a tentative journey across The Millenium walking bridge towards St Pauls cathedral. The Locals and tourists were out in force by now and the chill winds continued to blow. We whisked Grannie into a London cab to keep her warm and to preserve the limited life of the dodgy wheelchair. This is such an easy task as all the London cabs are equipped with ramps so it is simple a matter of the driver unleashing the ramp and pushing the wheelchair complete with Grannie straight up the ramp. The driver was happy to play tour guide and take Grannie on her desired route through Hyde Park and across the Serpentine to the Royal Albert Hall, where we collected the tickets for the afternoon performance of the night of 1000 voices. It was leaukemia charity event and not withstanding the fact that the planner and the pusher could only count about 400 choiristors, there were many other talented singers, dancers and showmen who performed a wonderful array of songs from all of the most memorable musicals.
Interval enabled two of the 'P's' to adjourn to the bar where our stunning cheese platter awaited along with two delightful glasses of Pinot. The third 'P' was content to listen to the Albert Hall organist tinkle the ivories.
We cabbed it home again, this time adjourning to another local, the Chelsea Potter for a typical pub feed and pint of cider.
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