Better pub beef

Last month we tried Sunday Roast - that is to say olde English beef in ye olde English pub in Laycock - as reported at reference 1 - and were not terribly impressed. And then, quite by chance, in the margins of a visit to the Wigmore Hall we tried again, with much better results.

To start at the beginning, down to the station early Sunday morning, the day after the Derby (won by Auguste Rodin after a stunning finale. Trainer Aidan O'Brien. Favourite Dettori unplaced) and the day after a train strike. A bright, warm day. The modest loft conversion on Meadway was coming on well, but silent on this day of rest. The bearded indigent had turned out and we wondered what he did on strike days. I wondered how my ears were going to perform, full of oil against the deep clean scheduled for the following day.

A crowded four coacher from Epsom. A crowded tube from Vauxhall. A rather florid bit of tunnel on exit from the tube train: the sort of decoration which would be a bit wearing if there was a lot of it. But Oxford Circus above ground was quiet enough, as was All Bar One.

Treated on the way to a Maserati: the the good life rolls on in Cavendish Square. Even if these cars do not hold their price very well: a quick peek on Bing suggests I could have a second hand one for a snip at £25,000, less than half what I might pay for a new one.

And what looked like a decent sized crane, out back of what I think used to be House of Fraser. With Debenhams somewhere beyond that, the place with the wobbling tile art work on the outside walls and what used to be a comfortable snack bar down below, in among the fancy shoes. So many changes I am losing track. And sad to say, BH was not interested in my taking some proper close-up shots of the crane.

Wigmore Hall fairly full, with green and white flowers flanking the stage, with the promise of some yellow to come in the days following. I was reminded that they use half flower pots, which sit against the wall behind better than whole pots. What a medical person might call a sagittal section.

Two computers and two scores. Two convex bows (wood away from the hair) and two concave (wood near the hair), one more convex than I had scored on the last occasion, noticed at reference 2.

Just before the off, the clouds in my ears parted and I started hearing all kinds of interesting noises. While the Hadyn sounded very delicate, which I rather liked, but BH was fairly sure this was just another artefact of my still more or less blocked ears. Whatever the case, Haydn quartets continued to please both of us. Very reliable chap.

On exit, we popped into Howell's, the fancy clothes shop next door, also into unusual art exhibitions, on this occasion all about cooling towers, with one of the pictures there included above, lifted from reference 4. The Ferrybridge station cricket team playing at home, underneath the Ferrybridge station cooling towers. We rather liked the pictures, although BH was not impressed by the idea of serving tea in her tower block flat with a socking great cooling tower right outside.

The souvenir art version was rather fun, but it would take up too much space in our already crowded suburban villa (in the estate agent jargon of the time when it was built).

For lunch, I had thought to return to the Bellaria in Great Titchfield Street, but got there to find it was something else. I suppose it was eighteen months since we were last there, a visit noticed at reference 3. So rather than one of the fancier places round about, we settled on the 'Crown & Sceptre' public house opposite which, as it turned out, was possibly favoured by the gay community - as well as strays such as ourselves. The old-style public convenience next door had been re-purposed as an underground coffee bar.

The wet part of the proceedings. Probably from the people at reference 5. Maybe from Majestic - so I must take a look next time I am in one of their stores.

The meat part. Aged sirloin or some such. The bar maid explained that most pub meat - including that at Lacock - turned up in large vacuum packs - and that the quality varied a good deal. But on a good day, what might not look terribly appetising in the pack, worked well enough in the oven. Whatever the case, this beef had worked well and the green vegetables which came with it were pretty good too. Yorkshire pudding fresh enough, but rather bland and tasteless, much improved by a small quantity of the power gravy which I had remembered to ask for on the side. The kitchen remembered too.

A very satisfactory meal.

Out to head for Tottenham Court Road tube station, now much enlarged to cater for the Elizabeth line, taking in the rather grand entrance to the Meyerstein Institute of Radio-Therapy. Perhaps from the very early days of same, when radiographers were supposed to wear lead aprons. But according to something turned up by Bing: 'The Meyerstein Institute of Radio-Therapy at the Middlesex Hospital, London, was opened by Sir William Bragg on June 9 [1938], before a large audience with many representatives of medicine and science. Sir William Bragg referred in reminiscent terms to the early days of X-rays and radioactivity, pointing out the ever-growing interest in the quest of the invisible phenomena about us. The Institute which he declared open is at the north end of the original Cancer Wing of the Hospital, four floors of which have been reconstructed and adapted to radiological work. The main equipment consists of four X-ray installations having Metropolitan-Vickers tubes actuated at 250 kilovolts, four Newton and Wright sets of oil-cooled Siemens tubes to be run at 200 kilovolts, and a 4-gram radium unit, the radium being automatically transferred to a large radium safe surrounded by 10 inches of lead when not in actual use upon patients. The protection of the personnel has been carefully studied throughout the entire working arrangements. The layout of the Institute is of a very pleasing as well as efficient character, being well ventilated and lighted, with ample space and air for patient and operator alike. The whole policy has been to provide trustworthy apparatus with the best possible conditions under which a selected staff can pursue radiological investigation'. So even then, Siemens were working their way in.

The new Elizabeth Line was indeed very grand, with lots of long walks available. So maybe in twenty years time we will wonder why on earth there was so much fuss about the cost and time overruns. But I did wonder who owned it? Another Emirates operation? I didn't spot anything about money at reference 6 (Wikipedia) but there was money at reference 7 (Institute of Civil Engineers). And as far as I can make out on a quick skim, a lot of money was borrowed, but borrowed in the ordinary way and ownership remained with TfL or some such. Not an emirate to be seen. No rules about graven images - not that I have a clue as to whether such rules apply in secular as well as sacred spaces in places like Saudi Arabia.

The plan had been to go to Stratford and see what that had become, but we managed to get the southern branch and so wound up at Canary Wharf instead, which turned out to be something of a destination for Sunday afternoon promenades. We also turned up a family of Canada geese, with goslings just to the left of the adults.

Rather different sort of sport was available in circular inflatables, complete with cook, barbecue and beer. But sport of which I think I might tire reasonably quickly in the absence of female company. Perhaps these trips only last for an hour or so, after which you can get back to the pub. Furthermore, the meat storage arrangements did not look that clever for a hot day.

After seeing some of the sights and a few of the shops, we took the Jubilee Line back to Waterloo, rather easier, as it turned out, than getting back from Stratford.

The platform indicator at Waterloo. Everything in order. We caught a train in less than ten minutes, so quite possibly the ID45 on platform 1, top left. Didn't think to take notes at that point.

I suppose ID45 is some sort of train identifier, known to the various track side receptors and to the fat controller, the chap who lives in a discrete but carefully fenced shed just to the country side of Wimbledon station. Perhaps more or less hard wired into the cabs of locomotives. With the fat controller having detailed knowledge of where each locomotive is supposed to be at any one time, that is to say what route it has been assigned to. All of which is beginning to sound quite complicated. So perhaps we buy locomotive management systems from Siemens too.

Hot by the time we got home. And quite a long outing by our standards.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/05/licensed-dining-in-far-west.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/07/scotch-egg-and-cornish-pasty.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/10/access-denied.html. Took rather longer to track down this visit than it ought, the result of the restaurant being called 'bellaria' rather than 'bellario'.

Reference 4: https://www.margarethowell.co.uk/.

Reference 5: https://www.riasbaixaswines.com/about/.

Reference 6: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_line.

Reference 7: https://www.icevirtuallibrary.com/doi/full/10.1680/jcien.17.00005. Crossrail project: finance, funding and value capture for London’s Elizabeth line - Martin Buck FICE FRICS - 2017. Bing's best effort.