Presto Agitato
18 May
Well, the London Eye was absolutely fabbity and marked the beginning of a week of mayhem in advance of my departure from UCL and eventual departure from London. Frankly, I've made more use of this world city in the last few weeks than I've made of it in the previous twelve months.
But back to the Eye. It is quite the most beautiful piece of engineering, elegant, poised, with sweeping lines. I'm afraid of heights. I thought I would be disconcerted by the flight. If there had been any wobble or shudder, I would have been. But the whole thing is relentlessly smooth and is continually in motion until they need to allow wheelchair access. You would think that a structure of that size would take five minutes to stop and a great deal of juddering to start up again but no. It stops dead with ease and simply picks up again. I was filled with respect.
Afterwards, we went for a quick drink in a pub on Whitehall. That lasted until
closing time and I staggered home. 
I was expecting Ross to be there but
he'd mislaid my keys and e-mailed in his apologies. It was maybe for the best as
I sweated and struggled through the night in a disturbed and thrashing sleep.
We deliberately kept the weekend for us. Nothing much doing apart from watching The Sixth Sense on video. Though that was excellent in itself. I did guess the twist in the end but not in the way that it was executed.
Sunday I stayed over at Ross's so that we could visit Tate Modern on the Monday.
What can I say about the Tate Modern that hasn't already been written? Not a lot really but suffice it to say that we both loved it and want to return time and time again. The entrance via the West doors into the Turbine Hall is pure theatre. The enormous Louise Bourgeois spider sculpture looks diminutive in the space.
I went up one of the Louise Bourgeois towers which was a thrill. We looked round
one of the public galleries which was exhausting and intense. I spotted Patrick
Duffy in amongst the throngs which will mean nothing to you if the name Bobby
Ewing means nothing to you. He's in Art at Wyndhams Theatre at present
so must have been catching up on research.
There are so many artworks that struck home that it is difficult to make a sensible assessment. The one that has haunted me, however, was a large photograph of a forest which covered a wall. When you looked closer it was revealed as a cemetery. Look closer and it is a Jewish cemetery. Read the accompanying texts and it is a Jewish cemetery outside of Warsaw. The photograph is described as a lament for those who have been laid to rest there and for those who could never return to honour their dead because they were taken away, they were never lain to rest with their own. What I saw, however, was a massive assertion of life. Life in the form of the vegetation which had crashed its way through the man made edifices. Bold, assertive lines of fully mature trees shrugging aside the fussy lines of the monumental masonry. To me, it felt like one of the most positive statements of the unstoppability of life I have witnessed in a long time.
As I said, Rossi and I will go back time and time again to get the full measure of the place. I'm hoping that he will become a member so that we can enjoy full privileges and that he will be encouraged to go their often and get to know the staff.
I dropped Ross at his place and headed back in to town for my first show of the week - Alan Bennett's The Lady in the Van.
In my time I have seen most of the theatrical greats - Olivier, Gielgud, Richardson, Scofield, Guinness, McKellen, Jacobi, Ashcroft, Hiller, Jackson, Redgrave, Dench, Mirren. Dame Maggie I have somehow managed to miss and I am so glad that I caught her at last. The play is cunning but slight. However it is exceedingly well written and gives Dame Maggie the part of a lifetime and she relishes every moment of her mad eccentric character. The change when she comes on for her curtain call is just astonishing. It's like a whole different person comes on to the stage.
Tuesday, I was back to work and then out in the evening for a meal and drinks with Chris and some other library colleagues. It was a lovely way to end six and a half years of professional association. Chris and I got rather drunk and ended up having serious chats on the platform of Liverpool Street station waiting for the 12:30am train out.
Wednesday more work. I was professional enough not to be so drunk that I couldn't deliver the second part of a training course and then the evening brought the second show of the week - The Graduate.
Most people are going to see this show to see Kathleen Turner in the nude. I was far more interested in Matthew Rhys. For the record, Ms Turner is a fine looking woman and Matthew Rhys is a poppet with the proverbial buttocks you could bounce pennies off. The show is a good night out - easily as good as the film though obviously different.
Unlike Anne Bancroft, who played Mrs Robinson as an ice-cold bitch, Kathleen Turner goes for the anger and disgust in the rôle. She is a woman who was majoring in Art, got pregnant by and had to marry a man she didn't like or love and has sought refuge in a bottle ever since. Her money and status in the community are no solace and she simply scourges everyone around her. Kathleen Turner does the whole thing con brio. It is a bravura performance. Matthew Rhys holds his own <fnar> and is excellent as the spoilt brat Benjamin. My only criticism of his work is that vocally he occasionally sounded too much like Dustin Hoffman.
Thursday was my last full day at work at UCL and in the evening I met up with Keith. This was a lovely evening full of nostalgia and warmth. When I came down to London in 1993, Keith was my partner. We arrived on a Sunday evening in a hired car filled with possessions and Cyril who was howling his head off at the indignity of being caged. We were heading in the direction of Brixton to stay with Colin - another full circle when you come to think of it. Keith reminded me that we actually drove down Shaftsbury Avenue and from Cambridge Circus down to Trafalgar Square and into Whitehall.
I was so glad to have seen him. I've yet to catch up with James, Linda and Mary, Gill and Robert. But I'm doing well and handling this departure lark better than I had expected.