Bulgari

One of the features of the Financial Times Online is advertisements from Bulgari, often showcasing fancy looking women wearing fancy looking jewellery - jewellery which on closer inspection looks quite unsuitable for ordinary people: quite apart from the price, which one assumes is monumental, most of it would look rather silly at anything other than a very fancy bash, full of masters of the universe with their trophy wives. And then some weeks ago we had an advertisement for a show at the Saatchi Gallery featuring something called Serpenti Metamorphosis. We booked ourselves a slot for the Monday before Christmas.

This despite my only previous experience of the Saatchi Gallery being a large converted garage (or some such) in north London containing lots of arty photographs of very unpleasant looking abdominal hernias. We got the impression from the passer-by that we asked the way that locals just assumed that anyone going there was some kind or perv or pedo. All rather distasteful.

But in a garage no longer, rather in some large chunk of what used to be the Duke of York's Headquarters, for which see reference 3. I had thought that it used to be the barracks for a couple of battalions of Foot Guards or something smart like that, but I now know that having started life as a school for the children of army widows about two hundred years ago, it became a sort of general purpose administration building for the army, a sort of army equivalent of Government Offices, Great George Street, known to cognoscenti as GOGGS.

Whole site sold off to a developer in 2000 for getting on for £100 million and now home to a variety of retail and hospitality operations - and the Saatchi Gallery, which you get into by passing through the central pillars in the snap above. Maybe it is a listed building, far too awkward and expensive for any regular occupation, so Saatchi have got it cheap.

Off to a good start in that it seemed pleasantly warm after the cold spell. Off to a bad start in that I forget my telephone, not realising until we were in Meadway, too far along the road to retrace my steps, although I would probably have made our train if I had resorted to the old Boy Scout trick of 25 paces walking, 25 paces running and so on.

The bearded indigent had moved from just outside the doors to just inside. He was still there when we got back some six or seven hours later. As far as I am aware he is not noisy or messy, just a touch untidy.

Train full by the time we got to Victoria. From where we managed to find our way to bus stop R without difficulty, from where we got a bus to what is now called Duke of York's Square. The bus stop being outside what I think I used at one time to be known as the Thistle Hotel, but is now the Clermont of reference 4. One of those grand hotels which used to be associated with all the big London railway stations. I remember the slightly faded, once very grand public areas of the ground floor, and very faded bedrooms that I could afford up on the fourth or fifth floor. Perhaps the Clermont people have done a refurb.

And so into the Saatchi gallery, where there was a good supply of very smooth front of house greeters, mostly young, mostly female. It turned out that we didn't need to have bothered booking at all, but one never knows. The booking was, in any case, a bit slack, not resulting in any kind of receipt or ticket. But then it was free and perhaps its purpose was to get our email address so that they could send us mail shots - not that any have arrived yet. Perhaps some cunning system detected my lack of proper Bulgari customer credentials.

The exhibition consisted of a room of moderate size containing Bulgari exhibits, enclosing a cubic experience. The two large walls were occupied by computer generated moving art, while the other two walls, the floor and the ceiling were mirrors. On entry things were so arranged that it seemed as if the floor was in free-fall, which took a few seconds to wear off. You got about fifteen minutes, which was about right. And I dare say one could have gone around again if one was so minded as they were not very busy.

A lot of the Bulgari exhibits were models and mock-ups rather than the real thing. But there was still a fair amount of real, mostly, as I recall, snake themed. Some very large stones, presumably valuable. As noted above, not clear, apart from high-end models who often wear ridiculous clothes anyway, who would wear the stuff, lovingly made though it was.

An interesting experience. A quick peek in some of the other rooms where some of the other stuff was quite good - worth a return visit at some point - and then out to lunch. Passing a modest number of Chelsea Pensioners on the way, mostly wearing high caps, one wearing a top hat and frock coat. Perhaps he was a Marshal of Pensioners.

Outside to try our luck at Vardo's, where we were told we could have a table provided we were not going to take more than 90 minutes about it. Lots of busy young staff, lots of ladies lunching, although the proportion of men present did increase as our lunch wore on. To be found at reference 5, part of the Caravan family of reference 6, with our not having coming across either brand before. But restaurants which come across as places trying to attract bright young things with money to spend. We rather liked this one.

The snap above gives an idea of the sort of thing on offer, including lots of things that we had never heard of. No telephone so I couldn't ask Cortana. In any event, we started with croquettes, the sort of thing you might get in a frozen box from Aldi or Iceland, except that the filling was a bit more exotic than you might expect from those places. To follow, I took a carafe of something white plus chicken with spiced up beans (a bit like miniature butter beans), while BH took a chunk of good looking cod with various trimmings, including a generous dollop of some bright yellow goo. The same bright yellow goo which came with the croquettes. Fortunately for me, on the side. All topped up with some toasted sourdough, which the waiter told us was the nearest they could do to white bread. To give him his due, he was rather amusing about it.

It took them a while to work out that they did not sell Calvados, despite boasting a cocktail operation, but they could do Jameson.

Two curious looking gentlemen hanging around outside. We wondered whether they were selling extras for the smart young things inside.

While the communal washbasin was an elaborate - and probably expensive - construction of aged timber with some kind of a metal liner. Several taps. About the size and shape of a coffin. All very artisanale. In fact, the whole place looked rather expensive and we wondered who had put up the money to build it. Is there really that much money in mid-range eateries?

All good fun. Although I dare say next time we turn up it will be full: no room at the inn for suburban pensioners on a day out.

Out to investigate Partridge's, a grocer which I think used to operate out of rather grand premises in Sloane Street, not far from Sloane Square. Good for a Polish boiling ring, something that one does not come across very often these days, having once been readily available in places like Woolworth's, back in the days when this last had a substantial grocery operation. Good for a bottle of Hambledon bubbly, that is to say made in the village where we stayed for a few months in the mid 1970's, in the upstairs of the east wing of a small country house. Our landlord there was a major general (father a full general, son a brigadier in Afghanistan last I heard) who went to dinner, maybe even played bridge, with the chap that started the bubbly vineyard. I think he might have been a military gent. too. Baguette adequate rather than good. But lots of other stuff to try, next time we are in the vicinity. See reference 8. Forgot the sauerkraut to go with the ring, but BH was able to sort that out in the course of her next visit to Kiln Lane.

After which we strolled down the Kings Road, admiring the various pubs, some famous, and various shops which had once been famous pubs. As far as the Fire Station where we picked up a No.319 to Clapham Junction. A bus which took us down Beaufort Street and which must have taken us past the house on the right where my elder brother once had a ground floor, front room. Back in the days when bedsits were all the thing.

Into Battersea Food & Wine of Falcon Road where I was pleased to find the last Turkish flat bread. Not quite as fresh as it might have been, and rather more salty than usual, but still pretty good. And making a pretty good fried egg sandwich the following morning. Plus some Turkish Delight. An excellent shop: there is always something one can take, even if it is not what one went in for. The source, for example, of the Kosovan sausage of reference 7.

The haul.

PS: I learn this afternoon that Bulgari also run hotels, including one in London. You can browse the very fancy website for free, but this viewer was well out of his wallet's comfort zone. I did not investigate whether the room rate included breakfast or whether you were allowed to smoke on the balcony.

References

Reference 1: https://www.bulgari.com/en-gb/.

Reference 2: https://www.saatchigallery.com/exhibition/serpenti_metamorphosis_by_refik_anadol.

Reference 3: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duke_of_York%27s_Headquarters.

Reference 4: https://www.theclermont.co.uk/victoria.

Reference 5: https://vardorestaurant.co.uk/.

Reference 6: https://www.caravanrestaurants.co.uk/.

Reference 7: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/04/kosova-suxhuk.html.

Reference 8: https://www.partridges.co.uk/.

Reference 9: https://hambledonvineyard.co.uk/. Later: military gent. indeed.