Lambeth Bridge

Pictured, the (relatively) new steel-arch bridge linking Lambeth Palace to Millbank and Westminster. Built to replace an earlier design by P W Barlow (which suffered from severe corrosion and considered unsafe) Lambeth Bridge features five spans, some pleasing decorative iron-work and obelisks at either end topped by pine cones known to be a symbol of hospitality from at least Roman times (note to the wise: these pine cones have often been mistaken for pineapples part of the from the fact that pinecones were once called "pine apples"). The bridge is repainted every several years and the most conspicuous colour in the bridge's current paint scheme is red, the same colour as the leather benches in the House of Lords. This is in contrast to Westminster Bridge which is predominantly green, the same colour as the benches in the House of Commons at the northern end of the Houses of Parliament. The current bridge opened as a four laner in 1932, shaved now to three including a buses-only. The London Eye is in the middle of my shot.

Tate To Tate

Yesterday, after a considerable amount of whinging and whining, I take the kids to the Britain to catch the Tate-To-Tate boat to the Modern. Missing our connection by an instant, we explore the Tate Britain and the kids see some modern art - their first exposure BTW. 

We study Francis Bacon and Madeleine notes that the painter "must be a very sad man, dad" (a series of his paintings portray Bacon's lover, who committed suicide). 

They otherwise have little time for the galleries and it is futile for me to read the captions for myself or them - they race around earning the Evil Eye from the elderly security guard. Francis Bacon I learn was an Irish figurative painter who died in 1992 - his effeminate nature enraged his father who may have horse whipped Francis from an early age, resulting in the often nightmarish or grotesque imagery in the painter's work. 

Bacon is most famous, perhaps, for his Wound for a Crucifix which was blasphemous in the 1930s. Other shocking works include warped figures with small mouthlike openings and sharp teeth which reminds me of leeches somehow.

"You see, painting has now become, or all art has now become completely a game, by which man distracts himself. What is fascinating actually is, that it's going to become much more difficult for the artist, because he must really deepen the game to become any good at all."
Francis Bacon

Salty Old Dog

On Moe's recommendation and at age 25, I read Churchill's six-volume history of WWII (Moe finished the tomb in a high school month, while it took me a year). It is remarkable both for its sweep and for its sense of personal involvement - it ultimately earned Churchill the Nobel Prize in 1953 and secured his legacy for the ages. Before jumping into Churchill whole-hog, I read William Manchester's classic The Last Lion trilogy: Visions of Glory, 1874-1932 and Alone, 1932-1940. Sadly, Manchester was unable to finish the final volume - when Churchill reclaimed his poll position and guided Britain and the Free World to its finest hour. Manchester died in 2004 with about 200 pages, too sick to write following a series of strokes and bereft from the loss of his wife in 1998. Sonnet and I have visited Churchill's war bunkers next to St James's Park and nearby Downing Street; we have also made the pilgrimage to Blenheim Palace where Churchill was born and Hitler wished to live should he have succeeded. In a recent poll by the BBC, Churchill was voted the most important Britain of all time beating out... yes, you know it.... Diana. Gag me with a spoon. Photo from the Churchill archives.

Lady Astor: "If you were my husband, I'd give you poison."
Churchill: "If you were my wife, I'd take it."

Ray In The NYT

Here is our very own hero Ray Horton pictured in today's New York Times - he is at the back left in the red scarf. The re-union brings 10 curators from New York and around the US plus one from London though not Sonnet - at least not yet. Written in the NYT, the group is the inaugural class of the Center for Curatorial Leadership, a fellowship program founded last year to address what many in the museum world see as a need for curators to become better business people. In part, the goal is that business people — or at least those with far more financial acumen than art training — do not end up running museums. And it is also to help the next generation of museum directors cope with the growing financial pressures on art institutions as they compete for visitors with one another and with the pop-culture industry. The announcement is well timed given the problems facing Los Angeles museum community regarding ethical lapses regarding their collection sourcing. Ray is professor at Columbia Business School with whom Sonnet, Katie and I travelled Pakistan and Western China. I took his Modern Political Economy course, which was a favorite with me and many of my MBA classmates.

Guitar

Madeleine this morning at the school-drop. She's loaded down with bags and things, and the guitar has begun in earnest with evening practice (I goad them to play "Stairway To Heaven." Note to Moe: this is a famous rock and roll song by Led Zeppelin). It is a good morning and I help Mrs Reynolds in the classroom with administrative work - you know, cutting and pasting plus a little filing. Fun stuff, which allows me to participate in the classroom antics from the sideline. I remember visiting Grace's Montessori school in the '70s and how much fun it was to run around with the squeakers (me being the Big Kid, age 11+). The Montessori was in an Oakland Church and Grace converted the teaching area into a thing of wonder including a outdoor recreational with constructions using old navy piers and other timbers. The vision was hers alone and the kids were loved and worked out.

Otherwise afoot at the school, Music Week begins February 4th including a Jazz Concert, a Baroque to Rock presentation and numerous singing events - all open for the parents on different days. Stay tuned.

When the music changes, so does the dance.
African proverb

Yaqub

Yaqub Shaw

A Pakistani driver brings me home from the airport and we get to talking. He has four children from teen to six months and has lived in Sussex since age five with the exclusion of several years when he returned to Pakistan to study religion and engineering. He's otherwise 42 or 43 I would guess. We discuss being Muslim in the UK, and he says he is British first - "we all are." He says without question England is the most accepting place in Europe and the least concerned about his religious beliefs: "It is the best place by far." On radicalism and young people, he says the young are easily brain-washed and have nothing else but anger, which they do not understand. "I just want to live my life. I am too old to be angry." 

In the summer of '97 Sonnet, Katie and some friends with Columbia Professor Ray Horten traveled the 1500 kilometer Karakorum Highway connecting Pakistan and China a the Khunjerab pass or 17,500 feet. The road descends into the Taklamaken desert at the base of the T'ien Shan mountains. It was hard to do this trip then, and probably impossible now. My photo of Yaqub Shaw, who provided our security - Yaqub is a retired Lt Colonel in the Army and otherwise presents a menacing, emotionless presence which was used on several occasions beyond Rawalpandi where not a Westerner can be seen. Yaqub owns the Sky Bridge Inn in Sust, the last small village on the KKH before China. It is surrounded by sky touching and jagged mountains. He is proud of his property no doubt, and on this evening we light a bonfire on the roof and a friend plays the flute and chants long ago tribal songs which bounce off mountain walls and back to us.

Transpo

Here's another one from this weekend at the Transportation Museum. The lighting represents the London Underground's famous tube map. Very clever. The kids love the up-ramp, where they dash and slide until I holler: "Enough!"

A survey by the Office for National Statistics gives us this data on Britain's consumption, as percentage of weekly expenditure after mortgage or rent:

Fags: 5.6%
Fruit and Veg: 4.5%
Meals out: 3.1%
Alcohol: 2.9%
Bus fares: 2.2%
Biscuits and cakes, 2.0%

That was 1957. And in 2006?

Petrol: 4.0%
Council tax: 3.8%
Meals out: 2.8%
Alcohol: 2.5%
Fruit and Veg: 1.4%
Cigs: 0.9%

Of course, today the British make considerably more money so the significance of petrol, cigarettes and alcohol is understated in the recent data.

'90

Here is Katie with her fabulous crew from Harvard. The East Coast re-union includes almost all her freshmen year roommates or suite mates: Sharon, Steph, Joanna, Rachel, Laura, Gif, Kristin, Mary and me. Plus some random kids thrown into the mix. How interesting to think that I first met this crowd in the fall of 1986 on a college Road Trip with Steve Tapper and Roger Murff. If I dare recall, there was a lot of drinking and cavorting which remains lodged in my memory bank (for the record: we maintained our purity much to my present regret. I mean - why not?). In 1997, Katie, Joanna, Sharon and I travelled the Karakorum Highway connecting Pakistan and China.

Madeleine is doing a good job with Kuman, her maths program that she follows outside the classroom. The daily assignments build confidence and progress at her pace - Madeleine does her homework without cajoling and enjoys it. Today, she traces numbers from top-to-bottom and counts their corresponding objects.

Quattro Torri

Driving home this evening I pull off the A4 in Chelsea to take this photograph of the Battersea Power Station. Planes buzz across the sky to Heathrow leaving their jet tail. The kids remain in the car sleeping; afterwards we return home listening to The Kooks. Sonnet and Rana greet us at arrival - Rana is on her way home from Davos where she has been covering events as Economics Editor for Newsweek. Rana is a dear London friend who moved to Brooklyn's Park Slope last year, so Sonnet is thrilled to see her. On Davos and given the equities melt-down last week, the reunion of the world's economist, politicians and bankers is significant. Rana hangs out with the Good and the Great and is full of interesting stories to pass along to us plebians. The kids weasel some more T.V. and now sit transfixed in front of "Ben 10".

Covent Garden

Here we are looking serious at the Transport Museum in Covent Garden. I learn interesting factoids like the Underground has 276 stations and runs over 243 miles of line, making it the longest underground railway in the world, and one of the most served in terms of stations. There are also numerous closed stations. In 2005, 971 million passengers used the Underground and for the first time ever in 2007, over one billion passengers were recorded. Today, just over 3 million passengers use the Underground each day, with an average of 3.4 million passengers on weekdays. 

Swedes Håkan Wolgé and Lars Andersson set the Guinness Book of World Records for visiting each node in 18 hours, 25 minutes and 3 seconds in 2005. It is also a well known fact that the rate of train stoppage is directly correlated to the urgency of your trip.

Eitan enthusiastically relays that in 1890 horses dropped 1,000 tons of poo onto the city streets each day.

Madeleine to Sonnet: "You know, Eitan wants a pet more than he wants you."

Madeleine on growing up: "I want to be a swim-racer. I want to be a book writer. I want to be a deep sea diver. I want to be a taxi driver." (she breaks into song)

Ketchup

I take the kids to Covent Garden so Sonnet can have the afternoon to herself. We park off The Strand and walk to Burger Heaven for - yes - burgers. And chips. Eitan follows his strategy of eating his least favorite first than the main event: in this case, the french fries before the hamburger. We discuss transportation as we are heading for the Transport Museum, which opened last year following a two year upgrade. On transportation, the kids belt out: "Subway! Plane! Car. Boat. A horse (Eitan) A snail! (Madeleine). We also discuss what goes on a hamburger and Eitan confides that he hates mayonnaise but loves ketchup, which he spreads everywhere until I stop him. If its green, Madeleine won't touch it.

Madeleine sees two boys on a doorstep: "Look Eitan - orphans!"

ゴジラ

Eitan announces to Sonnet that he wants to go to University so: "I can be a footballer. And a paleontologist." Yes, his class is discussing dinosaurs and the boy's imagination is captured. In fact, he wants to practice his new skill in our backyard digging fossils (I put the kabol on this idea). I think every kid imagines himself one day as Indiana Jones searching for some lost arc. I did, anyway, and this led to Godzilla by the first grade. We had a Japanese live-in nanny - Taka - who switched me on to the weirdness of the Japanese including monsters. I surveyed the Sunday TV listings for Friday night's Creature Feature preying Godzilla was on the midnight show. My fascination took us to San Francisco's Japan Town where I would save my coins to buy Japanese action figures and books, which Taka would loving translate (Katie was more interested in calligraphy and other practical matters). So who, or what, is Godzilla? Created in 1954, Godzilla is one of the most recognizable action/fictional symbols of Japanese pop culture. He has been considered a filmographic metaphor for the United States beloved by Brown's semiotics program and other less serious students (ok, an unnecessary jab I agree). The earlier Godzilla, especially the original, attempted to portray him as a frightening, nuclear monster. Godzilla was a representation of the fears that many Japanese held about the nuclear attacks on Hiorshima and Nagaski, as well as the fear of those types of attacks occurring again. As the series progressed, so did Godzilla, changing into a less destructive and more heroic character (who can forget Godzilla Vs. King Kong?) as the films became increasingly geared towards children. And so me. BTW it was Paul Tong who turned all of Washington primary on to our beloved creature.

The gas warning goes off while Sonnet on her way to pick up Madeleine.
Eitan, from the back: "what happens if we run out of gas?"
Sonnet: "We would stop in the middle of the road. But we don't want to be late for pick-up."
Eitan, after some consideration: "It would be sensible, if we do not want to be late, to get gas now."

Dipso, Fatso

Here's the boy at The Bank of England club. He has a goal scored on him during his morning match, and feels rotten only made worse by the sideline who cheers for the scoring kid. Eitan comes off the pitch dejected and tells me "I'm rubbish at goal." Poor guy. Madeleine begins her morning at swim team, then football and finally performance class. She's the energizer bunny and I have to tell the kids to keep their traps shut so Sonnet and I can have an afternoon nap. I'm recovering from my busy last week, which took me to Dublin, Munich, Zurich and Paris. I think it was productive but time will tell. Otherwise this weekend is pretty low-key and without social engagements and thank goodness.

Eitan writes a story, titled "The Dragon's Garden" about a statue that comes to life and befriends a little boy. We await the full action. When I ask Madeleine at dinner if she has a story too, she pauses and then: "well, it is in my head dad." Encouraged to disclose her secret, she describes a girl, who has a watch on her wrist and when twisted, she ends up in somebody else's bed. And she's a boy.... and has a willy. She (or he) longs to see her mother. Then her dead grandmother appears and tells her to take the watch off... but failing this they go to heaven together, where the little girl (or boy?) is given another chance so she goes to the doctor who cuts open her head and takes out her brains and replaces them with the brains of the girl (or boy) in her bed. "there's lots of blood" says Madeleine, matter-of-factly.

Apparently Britain, as a Britain-pride-boosting exercise, is debating a logo. You know, something like a "statement of values" defining what it means to be us - a Declaration of Independence of sorts. My favorite suggestion from the general public is: "Dipso, Fatso, Bingo, Asbo, Tesco" (Asbo stands for "anti-scoial behavior order while Tesco is the ubiquitous supermarket chain). Perfect.

Beer and . . .

I'm in Munich and this is a land of beer and football for sure. Of course it is also the Octoberfest which lasts sixteen days and draws many tens of thousands to Munich who drink many tens of millions of gallons of beer. The rest of the year these Germans are recovering. Or talking about it. As far as I can tell anyway. Before Munich I was in Dublin for the day which, being Dublin, was cold and grey and of course raining. Despite this, I managed to go jogging between meetings on Marrion Square and the smell of coal burning adds to the distinct cheer of the place. I'm with a number of private investors and pension funds who may be interested in buying Industry Ventures (I am a Venture Partner and helping them raise Fund V). It's a fickle business and today's stock market fall across Asia and Europe muscles its way to the top of any conversation - get out the popcorn, one Limited Partner tells me (we're relieved to see the US exchanges have only a minor declines when they open earlier today). Talking to the kids on the phone, Madeleine asks for a goldfish and Eitan a Nintendo DX. I tell them: no way.

Crawl

Eitan in motion. During swim practice, I run in Richmond Park with several other dads whose kids are doing the same (swimming, that is). Eitan's coach is pushing for a more advanced group which would require two work-outs a week. He's resisted so far while football remains his main sport (Bonus ! Manchester United won last night in Reading, putting them at the top of the Premiership - Eitan whoops with joy as his heroes Wayne Rooney and Christiano Rinaldo score the winners). We now sit at the breakfast table doing homework and me blogging. Sonnet is at yoga - Bikram BTW or the one where you sweat. This evening my friends from Industry Ventures arrive in London for the beginning of a mad cap across Europe visiting six cities in five days in a schedule which now rolls into the following week. I'm sure that Conde Naste would not approve.

Skate

Madeleine and I take a lap in an otherwise unseasonably warm winter - same as it ever was. Taxi drivers tell me 25 years ago London got several feet of snow which would stick. This year we haven't even a dusting - the first time in 11 - though it is only January. School yard Mums are talking early spring and daffodils are poking their heads three months early. This morning, Madeleine tries out for the local swim team and passes with flying colors. Her Saturdays will be loaded: swimming, football and performance class. Phew! We've also signed her up for Kumon, which is a Japanese approach to maths. It requires every-day homework which begins counting dots and continues to calculus building confidence along the way we hope. I've seen in the classroom those kids who are not going with the program - they become bored, distracted and behind. The teachers charge ahead and unless the parents are engaged it's over before it begins.

Eitan purposely scares the bejesus out of Sonnet this morning. Afterwards, he: "Mom, don't think that this is the last time I will be doing that."

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"
Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"



Madeleine: "Dad, can I buy some squiggly string at Pandomium?"

Kiddo

Lest we forget the cute little sprogue that was Madeleine, here is a shot from early 2002. Many of Madeleine's best qualities were evident early: fearless, demanding, forceful. Of course, at the time these traits were not necessarily viewed with, ahem, our full appreciation. Now they are applied in the classroom where she often has her hand up with the right or wrong, greeting new people sometimes in Spanish, and on the football pitch - when she wants a goal, she brushes the boys back. Without doubt she feels the ever present thumb-on -forehead which is Eitan, but she is also figuring our her interests and this is half the fun (as long as she stays clear of the drums or electric guitar).

Pommes Frites

France attracted a record number of tourists in 2007, with no signs that the euro's strength has deterred outsiders to the euro zone, the Minister for Consumer Affairs and Tourism said yesterday and reported in the IHT. "France is going to set a record in 2007," the minister, Luc Chatel, said on LCI television. "It will pass the 80 million mark for visitors in 2007." France is the world's top travel destination with tourism accounting for about 6.3% of gross domestic product according to data from the Finance Ministry. Not surprisingly, Paris is the most popular city in the world welcoming 30 million foreigners in 2004 (the Big Apple sees 44 million, but this includes foreign and American, according to NYC & Co.). And what is the greatest draw, you may ask? Why Euro-Disney, of course, which receives 12.4 million guests per year, followed by Notre Dame and the Sacre-Coeur basiica with 12 and 8 million respectively. The busiest museum is the Louvre with 8 million culturistas and the beloved Eiffel Tower at 6 million per year (and 200 million since its birth in 1889). Photo from DK Images.

Yesterday evening heading into Mayfair on bus, I find Eitan's teacher Ms Swain on her way to see Kafka at the Lyric Theatre. This gives us a chance to talk outside the schoolyard. This is Ms Swain's first full classroom following several training years and accreditation and her enthusiasm is front and centre. She gushes about her kids and Eitan, who she describes as "a star". We trade a few notes on bands like Wilco and she is impressed that Sonnet and I saw the Chemical Brothers last month. And then it hits me: I am probably 15 years her senior. Woa. I could almost be her dad. And why is this somehow disturbing? Well, teachers and professors have always been statemanly like figures, mature, you know .... older. And here Ms Swain and I trade a generation and I'm on the downhill side.

Northern Lights

This image of the Northern Lights over Yellowknive, Canada, sent to me by Stan who of course spent many years admiring the phenomenon from Alaska. A sad truth is that during my early courtship of Stan's daughter, Sonnet and I failed to visit her home-state when it would have been convenient, ie, from San Francisco (London it's a 20+ hour indirect voyage + Stan and Silver now live on the Western Slope). As for the mechanism: Auroras are produced by the collision of charged particles, mostly electrons but also protons and heavier particles, from the magnetosphere, with atoms and molecules of the Earth's upper atmosphere (at altitudes above 80 km). Most originate from the sun and arrive at the vicinity of earth in the relatively low-energy solar wind. When the trapped magnetic field of the solar wind is favourably oriented (principally southwards) it reconnects with that of the earth and solar particles then enter the magnetosphere and are swept to the magnetotail. Further magnetic reconnection accelerates the particles towards earth.

The collisions in the atmosphere electronically excite atoms and molecules in the upper atmosphere. The excitation energy can be lost by light emission or collisions. Most aurorae are green and red emission from atomic oxygen. Molecular nitrogen and nitrogen ions produce some low level red and very high blue/violet aurorae. Unfortunately, I'm not able to credit the image which is part of an unmarked series.

Mice

Madeleine, over breakfast, casually announces that she has mice in her bedroom eliciting an immediate (and gratifying) response from her mother. I decide to probe a little deeper, and learn that the mice have names: Molly, Polly and Jack. They are friendly mice and like to take tea by Madeleine's bed, just before bed-time. Sometimes they sit on her shoulder and talk about "important things." Eitan, of course, is indignant: "You DO NOT have mice!" he says. When I turn to Eitan and ask how he knows if anything is real, let alone mice - he bangs his head against the table and says: "See! It hurts!" And existentialism takes the back seat to the pragmatic. Photo at school this morning before pre-class yoga.