Thursday, April 19. Crossed London the long way last night to join L in new lodgings , travelling about two thirds of the Circle line where all the brutal confidence of C19 engineering is on view - massive girders holding up the ceiling, bathroom tiles as in NY subway. Passing the opportunity to change for Fenchurch Street, then Liverpool Street and King's Cross, tried to remember what was the fourth station on the Monopoly board, but without success. Girl opposite me reading Tina Fey autobiography whiuch I had just put down at A's place. Synchronicity! A and I agreed that while entertaining it's a book that reveals nothing - just a succession of stand-up comedy routines and one-liners. New place one of those flats that are jammed into the structure of an old house. Stairway and hall where your elbows graze the wall on either side, then 2 good bedrooms and a bathroom with a big sitting room/kitchen above. Bathroom with a mercifully heated floor of pretending travertine and modern fittings so beautifully designed it was an IQ test just to empty the handbasin. The shower at least was more user-friendly than either S or A's, in both of which the mixer taps delivered water either ice-cold or scalding hot quite unpredictably whatever setting they were put on.
Dined at Lebanese cafe - L too poorly to eat much. Some of the nicest hummus I have ever had. Complimented the man behind the counter, who was pleased. Were going to watch television, but the controls were complicated and we were tired. A propos English TV, it occurred to me that English intonation makes all the news seem very grave and important, whereas for us it's just one darn thing after another. On retiring, double bed quickly proved untenable, effect of mattress rather like that of cyclone wire with a blanket thrown over it. Have slept on a layer of cardboard over cyclone wire in the past (Wattie Creek), but this was something different: retreated to the single beds in the 2nd bedroom and slept like logs. Breakfast at a Brazilian cafe with a Polish girl in charge. Her English limited, L had lost her voice, I my usual inarticulate self so communication difficult. Excellent coffee.
Then to our new lodgings, a studio apartment I suppose you'd call it in a concierged block about halfway between Russell Square and King's Cross. Ee told us it was a red light district, but I put that down to her private fantasy - the result of reading about too many bad girls in the 18th century. Afterwards, L having examined a phone box near King's X Station, not so sure. Meeting K in Natural History Museum for lunch where we had much talk over sandwiches and coffee. L bought me a roast beef sandwich - a kind of Freudian response she slips into in the presence of vegetarians. K still cut up about her sister's death a year ago and dissolved in tears when the topic turned that way. Had it been my place, I would have hugged her, but I think for someone once so close there is a line that can't be crossed. Conversation little constrained by L's total loss of voice - where necessary she wrote speaker's notes for me on a scrap of paper which I enlarged on. Boy at next table with big glass buttons in his ears that threw circles of light on his neck in a fascinating way.
K suggested seeing more of Natural History Museum, but we were keen to have a look at V&A which I have felt I was doomed never to have a chance of exploring. The museums are free, though the V&A made a rather peremptory request for £3 at the entrance which we were shamed into contributing. L felt it could have been dressed up with one of those things where the coin you drop in goes round and round before finally falling into a bin - one such at Wyong Plaza used to provide great entertainment. At the Natural History Museum your £3 makes a dinosaur skeleton light up, though why you would want to I don't know.
More decorative Dutch firebacks and wrought iron railings than I am ever likely to see agin. Enjoyed stained glass gallery, but felt that that art lost its way in about C15 - not regained till the best of the C19. Some Constables made me think of T - they have a print of the Haywain which to him is a picture of a dog and a tractor, which he will point out with 'Woof woof' and 'Rrrrrr'. Victorian paintings always good value - one from 1842 of Cinderella about to try the glass slipper where the principal character looked just like the young Queen Victoria. Made me reflect on the inevitable choices we all must make at different times. Was Cinderella happy ever after - or Victoria - or K? L says K must feel regretful when she sees us together - which I'm inclined to think just self-congratulation on L's part. A ganymede whose prominent buttocks seemed to have been accentuated with rouge I found distasteful. Highlight here a big Burne Jones, though a Rossetti of Jane Morris was also striking. Those 2 alone, perhaps, didn't raise the question of what I was looking at which I found troublous in Florence. Out and goodbyes sometime after 5, after perusing disappointing selection of postcards. On way home enjoyed a supermarket experience which enabled me to create pasta with a tomato sauce enriched with capsicum, olives, finely chopped lemon rind, and fresh oregano. A number of the ingredients we bought were already in our cupboard, but we weren't to know that. Then to bed after repeat of New Tricks on BBC1. Slept soundly.