We left Bexleyheath at our leisure. Hotel service overall had lacked attention to detail. we were compensated with reductions to our bill. Breakfast had been very good. You can't beat a good waffle (as anyone who has ever been to a Conservative Party Conference will tell you). Dipped in fried egg and maple syrup, it may well be the food the gods overlooked when they raved about ambrosia. We crossed the Thames at Dartford to enter London via the startlingly barren eastern approach. The A13 is not much of an advertisement for anything but certainly does make a case for urban regeneration. I was sidetracked by the sight of Dagenham Freightliner depot and got some rather awkward photographs. The buses I saw today were in rather secure compounds. We managed a long drive-by of the Olympic site but that does not easily lend itself to photography. I can not help but wonder what athletes, officials and freeloaders will think as they approach the site unless they are funnelled along very carefully regenerated routes. The eye of the photographer reveals east London and the City to be a very cluttered place for all that it is vibrant. Subjects are not easily captured. It was (almost) a pleasure to drive across London on a Sunday and we parked free very near Tate Britain. We took out a year's membership which I am certain will be repaid as special exhibitions are not cheap.
As a photographer, it is perhaps surprising, maybe even a little depressing that I am not much gripped by the history of the art. We went to Tate Britain for the Muybridge exhibition. We have moved on so far in the barely 150 year history of photography that I did not find very interesting the bulk of his work which was, to be fair, incredibly advanced at the time. I did enjoy the panoramas of San Francisco. Rachel Whiteread's drawings were largely a mystery to me. She should have kept them to herself as I do not believe they add anything to her better known work. I say this with some difficulty because I could neither name nor recognise a sculpture of hers but the drawings ranged from naive to futile.
A more satisfying experience altogether lay in the restaurant. The food was overpriced but indisputably excellent. The 12.5% service charge was impudent but tolerable. A salad of beetroot, watercress and goats cheese was perfect and Greg admired his parsnip soup with white truffle froth. We had very different main courses but received similar satisfaction. My raviolo (it was indeed singular) of butternut squash with black cabbage and pumpkin velouté was flawless whilst Greg's essentially traditional roast beef lunch featured a generous portion of beautifully cooked meat. Whilst portions were by no means mean it was not solely greed which encouraged a dessert. My sticky toffee pudding had some slightly worrying textures in its fruit but sat well with its caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream. Greg's cheddar was, well, cheddary.
When a day is not gripped by all too common grey cloud, the sun is in fact fairly high still at 2.30 and 3pm. Thus it was in my favour as we visited West Drayton before continuing to the Heathrow Renaissance. My former works place now lies half demolished and soon enough, yet more flats and houses will arise. What their occupants will think of their proximity to the less salubrious areas of West Drayton, I do not know. For today, it was rather sad to stare into the guts of a building where I spent so much time. Barely two miles away in a straight line, the newborn balances the departed. At Heathrow East substantial steelwork is now in place. I hope for a better look tomorrow but I still doubt the entire development will be ready for the Olympics.
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