Day 34 - Tuesday May 23, 2017 - London
Today is Ann’s birthday but as she and John are in Boston, we won’t be able to see her but we’ll try and call or will message her later today.
This morning, we have tickets for the Hockney exhibition at Tate Britain – or rather, we will have tickets once we collect them from the box office. Unlike the Amsterdam museums, the theatre we were at last night, the trains we took to Copenhagen and to Amsterdam, the Heathrow Express and just about everybody else that you buy tickets from online (except Virgin Trains East Coast), all of whom simply email you the tickets and you print them yourself, the Tate insists on you collecting them from the box office – which rather negates a large part of the benefit of buying them in advance online in the first place.
We head round the corner for coffee and a muffin and then take the tube two stops south on the Victoria line to Pimlico. Tate Britain is not much more than a five-minute walk from the station, so we’re there early, about 9.35. Just as well, as there are already two lines outside, one in the direction from which we approached and one from the opposite direction. It’s not clear what the different lines are so, while Anne-Margaret keeps a place in line, I wander down to where the two lines meet outside the door. It turns out one line is for people who need to buy tickets and one is for people who need to collect tickets. Fortunately, we’re in the correct (collection) line. There are also a few people loitering near the junction of the lines. As time passes, more people join the lines or, as in our case, go down to the door to try to figure out what’s going on. Eventually, someone comes out and starts checking that people are in the correct line. Later on, while standing back by the door, the same chap makes an announcement about something. What he’s saying initially eludes us as the three Americans behind us, talking so loudly that they are oblivious to everything (and everyone) else, drown out whatever it is he is saying. It is very tempting to turn round and tell them to stfu but eventually we manage to deduce that, in light of yesterday’s events in Manchester, they may be doing random bag searches.
As more ‘loiterers’ arrive, he then has another go at the lines, establishing a third line for members (who get in free) and those with tickets and banishing any other loiterers to either the ‘buy tickets’ or ‘collect tickets’ lines. Ten o’clock finally arrives and, not a minute before the appointed time, they open the doors and we all shuffle forward. As three lines all try to get through the doorway at the same time, it’s somewhat disorganised but once inside we find the ‘collection’ line and get back in line again. As we’ve observed before, these places really should hire Disney to teach them how to do it. If you need three lines, set up three rabbit runs, properly delineated, with clear signs as people approach as to which line is which. If you’ve ever been to a Disney park, you’ll know how they demonstrate a consummate degree of skill in organising large numbers of people with a minimum of fuss.
At the ‘collection’ desk, they had what appeared to be boxes of pre-printed tickets. After an unsuccessful rummage in the boxes, the chap had a go on his terminal and, presumably having found our collection reference number, printed out the tickets. When asked why they didn’t just email the tickets, like everybody else, so we could print them ourselves, he shot back ‘We don’t have a ticketing system. We’re hoping to install one this year.’
We then had to line up again to get into the exhibition, with those with timed 10 am tickets (like us) supposedly having priority. We eventually make it in, using the time in that line to purchase the audio guide which, as in the Amsterdam museums, proved invaluable to having a better understanding of the exhibition. Entering through the doors, you’re immediately in a space with paintings – so the first thing everybody does is stop, causing an immediate logjam.
The exhibition was organised into 13 rooms, with each room having a different theme and, by and large, mapping Hockney’s career chronologically. It wasn’t long before it was very crowded and there were the usual assortment of people who, oblivious to everyone else, come and stand in front of you. In one case, as I stood there directly facing a painting and listening to a related commentary, a man came and stood right in front of me – and I mean right in front. If I had inclined my head slightly, I could have forcefully nutted him on the back of his.
After we’d been through the exhibition, we spent some time in the rest of the museum, including the Henry Moore and Turner collections, before heading over to the pier to catch the ferry two stops up river to Tate Modern. We had to wait 15 minutes or so for the ferry with the result that during that time a tour group arrived in dribs and drabs. They’d obviously been to Tate Britain and were, like us, on their way to Tate Modern. Fearing a scrum once the ferry arrived, we were relieved when the tour guide called his group together – at the end of the pier away from what appeared to be the only boarding ramp. The ferry arrived shortly after and we were thus able to move into prime boarding position. As we were on first, we sat up front in the middle. The seats at the sides would perhaps have provided better photo opportunities but the two front seats in the middle had much better leg room. The ferry wasn’t that big and it looked as if we eventually took off leaving a few people behind.
We got off at Bankside and, as it was now lunchtime, went into the pub next to the Globe Theatre for something to eat. That done, we walked along to Tate Modern. We had been intending to go to the Giacometti exhibition but, after five weeks away, we are starting to feel a bit ‘museumed out’ so we settled for a wander round some of the permanent collection.
That done, we slowly made our way along the south bank of the river, eventually stopping at the Southbank Centre for a soda and a sit down, entertained for part of the time by a Bollywood dance class/exhibition that was going on. We were scheduled to meet Danny, Sonja and their four children at around 5.45 at Wagamama, so eventually went and got a table for the eight of us and waited for them to arrive.
They arrived in good time and it was great to catch up, particularly as we hadn’t seen Sonja and the two girls for quite some time and had never met the two boys. They’re all growing up rapidly – time flies. After dinner, we went over to a street food market that was on, in search of ice cream. Eventually, it became time to leave and they headed to Waterloo to catch the train home and we walked back to the hotel, across the river, along Pall Mall, up St. James’ Street to Piccadilly and back to the hotel.