On Vox: “these bandages cover more than scrapes” - bandages[hot hot heat]
Part
Three
It is a hot hot heat, the kind that makes the air above ground shimmer and reminds me of the sizzling hi-hat crashes at the start of Meatloaf’s ‘Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire’. Perhaps covering such a long distance over ground on foot in a sweltering 35 degree heat accompanied by only a bottle of water and an MP3 player wasn’t such a great idea. I’m glad to be out in the fresh air and sun for a while and not wasting a day rushing around in the tube where EU regulations suggest it’s actually too hot to transport cattle never mind humans.
Having learnt a little about the historic sights and sounds of Soho and less about myself, having sampled the wonderful aromas of Chinatown and the slightly less delicate scents of beer and greasy fry-ups from the many pubs I decide that it’s time to have a little sit down in the shade. Luckily in London there’s a nice park only a stone’s throw from most of the central Underground stations. I’ve no idea what park I’m in but it’s somewhere around Russell Square. Hell, let’s just call it Russell Park for the sake of an argument. There’s a busy little Tesco just around the corner where I’ve managed to pick up some ethically sourced tuna sandwiches, a packet of prawn cocktail crisps and a bottle of water for the bargain price of £2. It’s not quite a seafood picnic feast but it’ll do. There’s a pretty girl sitting twenty yards away on my left hand side. She’s eating some pasta dish and like most of the London ladies I’ve seen she is breezy and effortlessly beautiful, perfect hair, sunglasses perched atop her head as she flicks through something or other on her iPhone. If I was drunk I’d probably try and talk to her but mid day drinking in the sun is frowned upon in such cases so I finish off my sandwich and shun the possibilities of the present and future for a delve around the past.
I’ve always been a bit of a history geek. I could easily spend an hour or so getting hopelessly lost in the British Museum and another hour and a half wandering aimlessly around the Egyptian collections. In fact that’s exactly what I managed to do. Almost three hours later I emerge from the museum to be reunited with that searing sun after spending some glorious air conditioned time with the finest array of historic items I’ve ever seen. Strange one-eyed bird sculptures and mummified cats watched my every move and I explored the ancient dead of Egypt, amazed at the intricate and ornate decorations of their final resting places so beautifully preserved after many thousands of years. Plaques tell us their names, ranks and histories while their bandaged bones wait behind panes of glass probably cursing the disrespectful flashes and whirring shutters of a million cameras. I’ve joined in the morbid snapping although I eventually feel so bad for one family ripped from their resting places and placed for all to see beside their wonderful red, gold and blue wooden coffins that I put away my camera and slip down the stairs to check out some big carved rocks.
Having A-levels in languages, computer programming and history, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise to people that I’ve always been somewhat enthralled by The Rosetta Stone. What did surprise me initially was that my sun-addled brain had temporarily forgotten it was housed in The British Museum until I spotted a little replica of it for sale in the Grand Hall Shop where I was happily wandering, gazing up at the huge domed glass roof, erected at the request of Queen Elizabeth II to celebrate the turn of the last Millennium. The second surprise came when I tracked it down to a side-room just off that Grand Hall. After battling through swathes of Chinese tourists I came face to face with this historic rock which solved the ancient riddle of Hieroglyphics, opened Egyptian languages up to the masses and provided historians with a unique insight into the hows and whys of Egyptian life... and it’s rather small and unimpressive - simple black rock, pointed at one end and bearing inscriptions in three different languages. The battle through photo-hungry tourists was much more epic than the relic itself. I took a picture, read the story that I already knew and left ancient Egypt behind in search of contemporary London once more...
There’s a Japanese man at the gates of the museum selling snack food to tourists. They’re clever folks those Japanese. It reminds me that I’ve forgotten to check out the Samurai exhibition but I’ll save that for next time. They’re clever folks those Samurai. They’re clever folks those Egyptians. My stomach is rumbling by now though and I pick up a quick Mars Bar snack. Thank god someone invented chocolate. They’re clever folks those Aztecs.
Originally posted on thesneakybandit.vox.com
It is a hot hot heat, the kind that makes the air above ground shimmer and reminds me of the sizzling hi-hat crashes at the start of Meatloaf’s ‘Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire’. Perhaps covering such a long distance over ground on foot in a sweltering 35 degree heat accompanied by only a bottle of water and an MP3 player wasn’t such a great idea. I’m glad to be out in the fresh air and sun for a while and not wasting a day rushing around in the tube where EU regulations suggest it’s actually too hot to transport cattle never mind humans.
Having learnt a little about the historic sights and sounds of Soho and less about myself, having sampled the wonderful aromas of Chinatown and the slightly less delicate scents of beer and greasy fry-ups from the many pubs I decide that it’s time to have a little sit down in the shade. Luckily in London there’s a nice park only a stone’s throw from most of the central Underground stations. I’ve no idea what park I’m in but it’s somewhere around Russell Square. Hell, let’s just call it Russell Park for the sake of an argument. There’s a busy little Tesco just around the corner where I’ve managed to pick up some ethically sourced tuna sandwiches, a packet of prawn cocktail crisps and a bottle of water for the bargain price of £2. It’s not quite a seafood picnic feast but it’ll do. There’s a pretty girl sitting twenty yards away on my left hand side. She’s eating some pasta dish and like most of the London ladies I’ve seen she is breezy and effortlessly beautiful, perfect hair, sunglasses perched atop her head as she flicks through something or other on her iPhone. If I was drunk I’d probably try and talk to her but mid day drinking in the sun is frowned upon in such cases so I finish off my sandwich and shun the possibilities of the present and future for a delve around the past.
I’ve always been a bit of a history geek. I could easily spend an hour or so getting hopelessly lost in the British Museum and another hour and a half wandering aimlessly around the Egyptian collections. In fact that’s exactly what I managed to do. Almost three hours later I emerge from the museum to be reunited with that searing sun after spending some glorious air conditioned time with the finest array of historic items I’ve ever seen. Strange one-eyed bird sculptures and mummified cats watched my every move and I explored the ancient dead of Egypt, amazed at the intricate and ornate decorations of their final resting places so beautifully preserved after many thousands of years. Plaques tell us their names, ranks and histories while their bandaged bones wait behind panes of glass probably cursing the disrespectful flashes and whirring shutters of a million cameras. I’ve joined in the morbid snapping although I eventually feel so bad for one family ripped from their resting places and placed for all to see beside their wonderful red, gold and blue wooden coffins that I put away my camera and slip down the stairs to check out some big carved rocks.
Having A-levels in languages, computer programming and history, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise to people that I’ve always been somewhat enthralled by The Rosetta Stone. What did surprise me initially was that my sun-addled brain had temporarily forgotten it was housed in The British Museum until I spotted a little replica of it for sale in the Grand Hall Shop where I was happily wandering, gazing up at the huge domed glass roof, erected at the request of Queen Elizabeth II to celebrate the turn of the last Millennium. The second surprise came when I tracked it down to a side-room just off that Grand Hall. After battling through swathes of Chinese tourists I came face to face with this historic rock which solved the ancient riddle of Hieroglyphics, opened Egyptian languages up to the masses and provided historians with a unique insight into the hows and whys of Egyptian life... and it’s rather small and unimpressive - simple black rock, pointed at one end and bearing inscriptions in three different languages. The battle through photo-hungry tourists was much more epic than the relic itself. I took a picture, read the story that I already knew and left ancient Egypt behind in search of contemporary London once more...
There’s a Japanese man at the gates of the museum selling snack food to tourists. They’re clever folks those Japanese. It reminds me that I’ve forgotten to check out the Samurai exhibition but I’ll save that for next time. They’re clever folks those Samurai. They’re clever folks those Egyptians. My stomach is rumbling by now though and I pick up a quick Mars Bar snack. Thank god someone invented chocolate. They’re clever folks those Aztecs.
Originally posted on thesneakybandit.vox.com