Victorian

London January 2025 #4

London, Mobility, Travel, UK

Today was Docklands Day!

I took a favorite boat ride, and visited a museum that I’ve wanted to see for quite a while — the Museum of London Docklands. Afterwards, I rode the boat a bit further and stopped off at Westminster for a little while. Thought I might be able to get a few decent photos.

Strangely enough, Uber (as in, the car service) runs the river taxis. They used to be called the Thames Clippers. Because most of the sights are within shouting distance of The Thames, I pretty much take these things all over the place up and down the river, rather than using the tube or buses. They’re very comfortable.

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It’s about a 30 minute ride to Canary Wharf, the boat docking twice to pick up and drop off people along the way. Much more pleasant than a city bus, nicely heated, a snack bar, and the view is certainly nice. (Plus, I don’t have to climb and/or descend a teeny-tiny steep staircase on a bumpy, moving city bus.)

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Canary Wharf/Docklands is only about 30 years old, all told. The entire area was originally warehouses, docks, and maritime businesses back in the age when London was the largest port in the world. Now, a brand new city sits where those docks and warehouses were. It’s all like, HSBC, Barclays, Santander, Rupert Murdoch’s stuff, blah blah. It strikes me as a very new, spotless version of Midtown Manhattan, minus the congestion and pee smell.

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O, look! Banks!

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Funny pollarded trees. Hi, trees.

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The museo was about a ten minute walk from the wharf, so that wasn’t too bad. The museum was especially prepared for people with mobility challenges.

Generous elevators, little chairs that convert to canes you can carry around, great signage, very helpful docents … really very well done. I noticed more than one group made up of carers and folks with serious mobility issues. But then, London does disabled access very well.

It’s mostly dioramas and period recreations, with exhibits of artifacts alongside each area. The aim is for us to see and feel what it was like in the docklands back in their docklandical heyday. They do a great job, so I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

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I could totally live in that cottage in the center photo. In fact, if I squint a little, I do. It looks exactly like our house, lathe and all. (I’m not kidding.) I wonder whose fault that is!

I sat down on benches and chairs aplenty, but it was still a big walking day. After a sausage roll and a can of (Original) Coke, I was ready to get back to the boat — bye, bye Docklands!

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Tired Phill.

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I was feeling a bit better after sitting on the comfortable boat for a while. Exactly what I needed, especially after the walk back to the pier. My leg nerve thing was actually not bothering me. That shows up as an overtired sort of thing. Today was more of a tingly, numb feet thing. That’s what happens when I’ve been walking and standing a great deal.

After the 30 minute ride back, I decided to stay on the boat another few stops and then turn back around to Bankside. It seemed like a good time of day for some photos of Westminster. I’m visiting Westminster Cathedral later in the week, but I’ll be right in the middle of where it’s rammed with people. I got a few nice shots today (although that big, stupid wheel shows up behind everything).

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After hopping the other-way boat back home to Bankside, I went a few blocks over to the drugstore to get some purple hair color. (Two or three aggressive washes takes the brightness out quite a bit, so I decided to have a much needed, happy, aggressive wash tonight; and purple it up tomorrow morning.) Swung by to see the friendly folks at the Red Bus Shop to grab some evening provisions, and then I got my favorite burger and fries to take-out. My tingly feet told me that they wanted to eat in the hotel room, rather than landing me on my face and imprinting souvenir cobblestones on my forehead.

Whew! That had to have been a good few miles today. However, I’m back in by 5 o’clock and looking forward to a hot bath, some British television, and a great deal of rest.

See you tomorrow!

Dickens & The Romantics

Musician, Theatre

That would be a good name for a band.

I’ve been writing to pass the time — I have a half+ draft of of a very Dickensian chamber musical written. If you’re familiar with Dickens and/or the Romantic Poets; it’s principally about the Micawbers, Nell Clenham, and Thomas Gray.

Its usual fate would be this: Printed out, bound, and put in a drawer unproduced. That’s 100% okay. I have a few of these unfinished on top of the upstairs piano. It would sting a little to banish this one though, because I think it’s quite good.

The last time I produced a musical I was swimming in actors and theater people. Since moving, I don’t have the theatrical friends I used to, we’re all spread out now. After a point, I don’t work very well alone. Eventually, you need to make demo recordings, bounce ideas around, and read out loud with another person.

I decided I’m going to be actively on the lookout, but I haven’t decided quite how. I’ll be looking for a baritone-tenor to work with, who could then take the role of Thomas as things progress.

I looked at the rates and specs for the Paramount theatre around the corner. It’s beautiful, but it’s way, way, way too big. I knew it would be. It’s a good thing — if it were 50% the size and didn’t have a balcony, I’d have been tempted to get out my checkbook.

The Peekskill Paramount

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There’s a super-cute small theater about a sixty-second walk from our house. (No kidding!) It’s a “nope” though. It’s marketed as a wedding/events/catering venue. Of course, its rates reflect that.

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I think I probably gasped when I was given the dollar signs for this beautiful, quirky little place. But, being what it is, it would cost several thousand dollars for just one afternoon/evening. Plus, no piano. (And I don’t need canapés at intermission.)

My peculiar little five-person musical play would be most at home in a small 19th century lecture hall or an old stone meeting house, even the large parlor of a grand home. So, that search continues.

But first things first. If you know a “Thomas” candidate, send him my way! We’ll do a video submission. He’d be late 20s/early 30s, handy to Westchester, theatre experience, baritone/tenor, perhaps a bit awkward. I imagine an Adrian Brody type.

Well, That Was Expensive

Home and Renovation

Every so often during this (very slow) kitchen renovation, I run across something that (to me) seems very common; then I realize upon then trying to purchase it, it’s not.

Evidently these iron-and-slats kitchen drying racks on pulleys are one of those things. They’re easily bought in Great Britain, but not so much here. I guess we prefer the standing XWing kind.

Ninety bucks. Forty of that was shipping from the UK and having to import the wooden rails as well because the standard sizes of lumber are not the same in both countries.

Ah, well. I’m happy I found one.

(not my photo)

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All this aside, I don’t feel quite well today, and it’s a bit chilly. It’s not even cold yet, and the notification emails I receive alerting me to homes for sale in Saint Augustine are already tempting — even if the house is really not that great, needs some work, and is way too small.

The Historian’s Tax

Home and Renovation

And then, you run across that thing.

The thing that may not even have a specific name. In this case, I’m referring to a “wall-mounted early-1800s plate rack.” I read quite a bit about them, but never figured out exactly what it’s supposed to be called. They seemed to start disappearing with the Victorians. As far as the late-Colonial folks go, they probably didn’t need a name for it, knowing it more as “where my plates go.”

A salvaged rack from a vintage kitchen

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These hung on the wall over the sink. After washing, you put your clean plates directly into it so they could drip dry.

When kitchens started to become something to look at as well as work in, we decided that you shouldn’t be able to see all of our plates and stuff. Cabinets, drawers, and counters took the place of racks, shelves, and tables. Pots were no longer hung from the ceiling, crockery was put out of sight, and all of our kitchen stuff disappeared into hidden spaces.

You don’t see them very much anymore, other than non-functional versions in custom kitchens to display fancy plates. This is where the Historian’s Tax comes in.

No, you can’t walk into a store and buy one, but there are craftspeople out there who would be happy to make you one … for $400+. That’s for pine — not even oak or another decent hardwood. And some of the examples I’ve seen from craftspeople don’t have an open bottom; which defeats the purpose entirely. For far less than half, I can get some really nice cabinet-grade wood, and build my own.

I can make it the perfect size for the space we have. One of the most important DIY things I’ve learned is that there’s no sense in having some thing that’s almost correct. I designed my own with a bit of detail/trim — just a leeeeetle bit over the top. Out of period, yes, but a little gingerbread never hurt anybody.

My design

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I do love the continuum — Just over 180 years ago a half block off Main Street, standing here on the same spot on the very same floor next to the old chimney, someone stood over a basin. Tucking away their plates into whatever this thing is called. Maybe they even built it themselves.