Leonardo Da Vinci, Painter at the Court of Milan.

"It changed my perspective on life. The man was just a genius in so many areas"

So I sort of had to go. 

Drawn by the glamour of the idea that these paintings may never all come together again, especially not in our lifetimes, the above comment from a friend visiting from the states solidified a desire to see what all the fuss was about. However, when the radio brought Adele to my ears and my eyes slit open to see that it remained dark outside, da Vinci was not exactly my favourite man. The excitement of the previous evening and the denial of the ugliness of a 5.30am alarm were reduced to an all too familiar rendition of "Someone like you" on the radio. But one has to 'mind', on these sorts of occasions, because it's not everyday that one finds the likes of someone like Leonardo da Vinci and the passion he clearly had for his work - I thus got out of bed.

Trafalgar square, the houses of parliament, and an already growing queue of expectant bodies slowly visible as the sun rose made the time immediately bearable. The act of waiting became part of the event, and the collective experience of early morning mixed with expectation of what the day yet concealed quickly excited conversations over clutched thermos flasks. I am no self-proclaimed art-buff and my knowledge of art history is limited -as it seemed with many queue'rs, but this just seemed like an experience that, whilst living in London, one would have to have a damn good reason to miss.

5 hours and 2 lectures hurried-to later, we got our tickets. By 1.30, we got underground and into the rooms of paintings that were buzzing like hives with intrigued, inspired spectator bees....

Walking the galleries is a mixed bag of experiences. The first room takes a bit of battle and when you're not quite in the museum mind-set yet it takes a little patience. In scenes that completely informed me of why we are are a nation known for loving to 'stand in line', people were forming natural neat queues to shuffle past each painting or sketch and read each plate. It was slightly painful but at that point concentration is high enough that you don't quite mind. Don't worry. When it get's to room 2 and beyond the spaces open up and people tended to forget the need to push their bag into your lower back and hurry you on in the most passive aggressive method possible for a gallery. You're free to just walk away from them without the fear of losing your revered 'place'. I'd advise getting a headset guide, lose yourself in it and forget the amount of people. Despite some of the grumpy spectators who seem to want their own private viewing, it really isn't a problem.

The exhibition takes its temporal focus from his invitation to Milan, accompanying the group of varied specialists that Duke Ludovico Sforza was enticing to his court. Room 1 draws you to the workings of da Vinci's mind. The first item is a modestly sized drawing, which when studied depicts his beliefs in the connections between sight and observation, imagination and beauty, and memory. Complex sketches of the inner workings of the brain -although biologically flawed to 21st century minds- reveal a mastery of close, detailed, continued observation that streaks throughout the gallery and the rest of his work.

This leads me to what I found most fascinating in the layout of the exhibition. The obsessive sketches that da Vinci produced in the run-up to his famed masterpieces are all laid out around the walls surrounding the pieces. Whilst "The Lady with the Ermine" stands alone on a wall in the centre of room 2, it is encased by the workings of the artist before it's completion: close studies of  the movements, gestures, bones and sinews of the hands, practice at defining the fur of a mammal thought so beautiful that it would die rather than soil it's fur. It is far slicker than the usual confusion in museums where each room seems to have 4 doors to other rooms and one needs a map in order to make any sort of logical pathway through. Instead, viewers are invited to look at these smaller works as a method of unpacking the larger works which would otherwise be arguably unfathomable to the untrained eye, - to many otherwise a marvel without a meaning. It is a credit to the gallery that they have acquired such an array of his works to be displayed.

I had read that some felt the exhibition was "bulked out" with da Vinci's drawings and other works, but this shouldn't put anyone off. The volume of work that is not actually his own but the work of pupils is at times slightly frustrating, but opens up avenues of thought about the nature of art in 14th/15th century Italy, and throws further light on the sheer meticulousness of his style. Although his own paintings and sketches greatly aided an understanding of that style, the work of his students did something quite different. Under his instruction his protegés completed work that has often been mistaken for his, and has lead critics to dispute the artist of all bar one of da Vinci's paintings. His instruction meant that this talent could be copied brilliantly, but not entirely achieved without his absolute dedication to his subjects. Feeling quite pleased with ourselves, we managed to identify the works of his pupils in the first few rooms - more than a mere method of bulking through conglomeration, the inclusion of such works were a clever way of engaging spectators and lessening a sense of ignorance, I felt.

Walking through the exhibition there are just rooms full of beautiful, intricate paintings, finished with gold halos, glassy eyes and individual strands of hair. Most impressive to me were his sketches of material. Uninspiring as it may sound, he accompanied close-up copies of hands and feet with countless observations of the folds of cloth and the ways in which light falls upon different materials in different positions - even a close look at the sleeve of one of his portraits will reveal this incredibly close attention to detail that I just found astounding. The most impressive spectacle however has to be the two versions of "The Virgin on the Rocks". The rather ghoul-like faces of the second version stare back at their former selves, more idealised, more perfect, and with halo's added in by a "concerned" on-looker later on in time. The paintings reveal a philosophical shift in the artist's thinking as he moved from his previous focus on natural representation to a new, devout style and a belief in the artist's mind as a reflection of the vision of God. - a philosophical journey manifested in the structure of the exhibition itself.
With so much to say for itself and it's artist, it is incredible to think that this second version only came around in part because of a financial dispute meaning the first had to be sold, (or that's what the guide said). Now if you are Dan Brown, you might disagree with me on this one.....

Surprising to me but incredibly entertaining, were the moments of true personality that catch your eye when studying da Vinci's work. His studies of the grotesque figures alongside the idealised beauties of the world were used in some pictures to reflect his disregard for the courtly beauty that was so often revered above all else in art and life. Laughing out loud is perhaps not something someone might expect from a very serious exhibition about one of the most famous artists in history, and is not entirely congruous with the "feel" of the event. But da Vinci had a great talent and a sense of humor to go with it, it seems. 

Look closely at the top left hand corner of this sketch, for example. 

Genius.

Painter, sculptor, philosopher, teacher, scientist, inventor; the list goes on and makes me feel more unaccomplished with every word... 

So, if you have a free morning to spare - (who's busy at 6am?), take your self down to Trafalgar square. See the sunrise for yourself, (take lots of warm woolies!) but most of all treat yourself to the indulgence of a few hours staring at this man's work, before you have to fly somewhere to see it all individually...

National Gallery, London. 9th November 2011 - 5th February 2012.
There's still time - go!

“Yes, that's it! Said the Hatter with a sigh, it's always tea time.”

Life get’s a little more cheery with tea. Fact.

Tea makes you feel better on a sad day, warmer when it’s chilly, and feel at home when you’re far away.

Everyone from Henry James to my family bang on about tea, hell, it’s one of the best presents to give/receive if you ask me!

There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. ~ Henry James

It is no wonder that we, as a nation, have a reputation.

To our American counterparts, tea is an English mystery. From what I have experienced, tea is a quaint, British fancy that when mimicked will turn said mimicker into a very fine Brit-alike. On countless occasions I have been asked in faux-Brit accent (most recognisable as the Queen’s accent), “would you like a potto’ tea darling?” I guess it’s an attempt to make one feel at home…

So it seems that us English are stereotyped for our love of the little leaves we brew and strain and no longer call tcha, but tea. But, an interesting encounter with The Rare Tea Lady left me bedazzled as to just, how, improper we really are when it comes to tea-drinking…

Considering we drink around 165 million cups of the stuff a day on this little island alone, we sure do succumb to the mighty power of consumerism and the fate that poor tea leaves have fallen to. Yes, I am talking bags.

Let me explain. Wandering the Southbank’s Tea and Coffee festival with fellow tea-enthusiast Jon, the Rare Tea Lady was up next to do a lecture in a nearby marquee. To lure us over, this wondrous lady shouted her simple slogan:

“My mission is to de-bag Britain!”

Simple.

And she wasn’t talking the urban dictionary wouldn’t-want-to-be-her “bag” of crass insults between neighbours. No, she was talking small, paper, square/triangle/circle/pyramid/teapig etc, bags. In the 70's, only 3% of our population used a teabag. Last year, only 3% didn't...

Tea was created, in China, more than 5000 years ago. Then the Brits found it, liked it, put tax on it, smuggled it, coaxed China into giving it to us in return for Indian opium, got them addicted, and well, inexorably intertwined with the opium wars, the rest is part of our lovely history.

Now tea is OURS. 

And now we desecrate it. Henrietta Lovell [said-Tea-lady] brought up tea in a way that I’d never thought of before: When a friend comes over, you get out the coffee beans, the nice biscuits, the nice vino, etc etc. Very rarely does one get out the fresh tea-leaves. Or do you?? It’s something we should do FAR more often and, as Henrietta said, is not that much more expensive. Even the Ritz short-change us at tea time, their "high tea" comprising of.....champagne.

A small spoonful of leaves in one “potto tea” is a gem to treasure; add just one cup of water enough for you to drink and NOT filling the pot and leaving it to stew – these leaves can be re-used around 5 times, (and even more if you are a poor student like myself.) It is even recommendable for good taste to use a porcelain cup.

What’s more, white tea is excellent for hangovers.

Green tea is fab for studying with as it has heaps of natural caffeine in it.

Black tea is excellent for being all British and having tea parties ;) 

But bought, bagged tea is not the way forward, I hear. If you buy some of that lovely cheap "cranberry and apple" tea from the supermarket, -don't be fooled by its packaging finery! There are people who get paid to pretty-it-up into a consumer-luring box, in the sentiments of the tea-lady: Don't succumb. There are mainly chemicals in that bag that infuse to make a sickeningly bright pink colour in your cup and fool us into thinking "ahh, healthy herbal fruity tea". 

Furthermore, I believe in the decaff myth. A friend of mine who traveled to Africa last year said that if we all could see the process that goes into decaffeinating tea and coffee, we would never touch it again. The act of stripping coffee beans of their natural caffeine takes so much effort and chemical action - why not just go for Rooibos (redbush) tea? Its lovely, can be drunk with milk (if you are strange like my father), and most importantly, naturally caffeine-free. 

You can get very scientific about tea, too. 

Tea is rich in flavanoids, natural anti-oxidants that help keep healthy, cleanse away, give life a bit of extra oomph – and they sound awesome, don’t they? 

A national study of 1,764 women in Saudi Arabia showed that tea drinkers were 19% less likely to suffer from cardiovascular disease than non-tea drinkers. (UK tea council). 

It also contains fluoride, which helps look after and WHITEN teeth - its the stuff on all the toothpaste adverts anyhow! 

Studies are even being done into the validity of black tea as a cancer-busting aid – pretty nifty. (Tea-Advisory Panel)

So, I'm slowly joining the bandwagon of the tea lady: de-bagging my cupboard as I can afford leaves and cooing over my re-discovered teapots. Why not go for it too? Get your friends over and get the posh tea out! Plus, cake-stands are all in at the moment.

Want to make the perfect cup of tea? Check out advice from the lady herself :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYVAhArdh6Q&feature=player_embedded#!

Ciao for now! I’m off to…..put the kettle on ;)

Going underground.

If the barrier's angry -  you 'aint got no money, 

No use in holding us up it's not funny.

Just top up and pay up

and get on the stairs, 

If you're not in a rush then don't stand on the left! 

Cheery conductors you'll find on the tube,

Wish they'd just get the damn thing to move,

BEWARE: Smiles are banned at most times of day,

Alongside giving your seat away.

Watch out for the rats though they can't reach to foot level, 

Get rid of the screaming child - give it some revels! 

Shouting and swearing and huffing, harassing, 

More tube delays

the crowds start amassing. 

Shouting and huffing and sweating and swearing,

Crumples appear on whatever you're wearing, 

"Red Signal ahead" "but all lines are fine", 

Doesn't seem that way: "Body on the line". 

"Train terminates here" wherever you're heading, 

No tubes to your workplace or café or wedding,

It's hot

no-one cares

there's no geography here, 

It makes no use knowing the city streets clear, 

For tubes have their own own routes, their own rights and rates, 

And all you can bet on is that YOU'LL BE LATE. 

A life in the day - getting all Times-esque

A life in the day ... of a UEL worker. 

So this idea is intriguing. A snapshot into the lives of people, given to you as if you were allowed to sit in their pockets for a day. 

A day in UEL clearing is multifaceted, bringing both joy and disappointment, anger and a sense of resignation. It is a job both invigorating and tiring and after two weeks there I know more about UCAS than I did when I went to uni myself....

As the 5am alarm bell calls, the DLR is not far behind, the circle line being the only obstruction.

I tell you something, King's Cross shows far too many signs of life at that time of the morning. For some people, 6am tube rides are the norm. -huh?

Sleep and a delve into CityAM [[quite possibly the actual most soulless publication I have ever read, without an ounce of intriguing content...]] which induces further snoozing until Cypress.

A well received brioche and a cup of tea are the perfect end to the hour long journey in, courtesy of UEL. Hazy faced hotline staff hover about before the voices come flooding in and our backsides become molded to our chairs for 12 hours.

By the time we get to our phones, the voices are already waiting on all other sides. Call, chat, transfer, click. Call, chat.... Suprisingly, this first day brings less stress than anticipated, with tears kept to a minimum and rituals of politeness well observed. Endless departments are sent applicants, endless e-mails sent, strange questions asked, and many cups of tea made. Students from all over continue to flood and flood our lines with hopes of their acceptance.

With barely enough time to dial " #2# 3333 * c " before the next call comes, we head off for breaks in rounds. My favourite part of the office is the view. Situated right by London's City Airport, we sit and watch as other people fly away whilst we are chained to our headsets and the voices. Sounds depressing, but it is actually a very inspiring sight. Planes have a strange power to them that always makes you stare as you wonder how on earth they are being lifted up and not falling back down again....

As the hours pass the calls get slightly more frantic, as you'd expect. Front-desk duty is worse than the phones. You find yourself trying to put people on hold when they are stood in front of you - somehow doesn't quite work. Physical people are harder to make wait than phone-callers, and the frustration in their expressions is painful to see as you realise your not being efficient enough as they might hope. To each applicant, clearing revolves around them and their place, and 100 other people are totally not having the same problem as they are.

As you can tell, brain function gets scarily impractical as people start connecting to the wrong extensions and wearing their headsets to the loo. Furthermore, the job takes over your life for the days of service, as you speak in phone-lingo to everyone you encounter and can hear phone's ringing as you eat supper... Good job the atmosphere in the office was jolly and the desks surrounding me filled with people who were both helpful and comical.

And most of the students are worth it. Hearing the little voices brighten and breathe gusts of relief makes all your efforts to get them a course worthwhile. UEL is not a university that prides itself on its "league table place", but values the precious nature of education and the importance being able to learn. Many of our applicants were not suited to the systems of school in order to achieve A*s, had personal family histories which hindered them, or wanted to further their education in the one thing they loved, not english maths science and a language.

Seeing more money than I have ever seen spent at Kings being poured into their multi-million pound sports centre and Olympic involvement, their accommodation, their business incentives (amazing opportunities to have your own office with them).... UEL gives those a chance to an education who may not have been the best in their class. You come to lose the snobbery perhaps assumed by top league-table institutions as you see the appreciation of those who are able to clutch onto further education in the areas they long for.

On the flip side....
Despite the utter irritation caused by people calling with no idea of what they wanted to do, asking only what courses they could get onto with 70 UCAS points (oh, it happened pretty regularly), we had to try and refine their search in order to find them something. If someone really doesn't care what they study as long as they get to uni, why oh why are they spending all that money?!? But you can't say that on the phone. Some people really deserve the opportunity to continue their studies, and some people are clearly unfortunate victims of the "must-go-to-uni" society that we live in. University is sadly a knee jerk reaction for too many people, something which will be interesting to observe with the horrendous fee increases next year. The knees, predictably, will not jerk quite so hard.

Journey home and a time to more fully appreciate the splendor of the views on the Dockland's line. Flipping impressive. After flying through Canary Wharf one gets a view of the O2 from every angle- reminders of "school trips to the Dome in 2000" and consequent conversations being sparked.

Cypress - TowerGateway/Bank - Circle Line - King's Cross - Home.

Head goes to pillow and wakes up again at 5am.

Helping people, creating futures, being shouted at.

Best. Day. Ever.

market to mainstage.

Last winter we found an unusually precious gem whilst rummaging through Portobello Road Market. This lucky find was no antique, however. It was Robbie Boyd. 

One year on and we found ourselves headed to hear the sounds of his guitar once more. This time we were getting the full band experience in a professional setting; violins, backing singers, mandolins, keyboard...at the O2 academy. 

'...streets where the riches of ages are stowed...'

The O2 Islington is a much more intimate space than we anticipated, crouching away in Angel almost apologetically. But small stages are awesome for various reasons - most importantly, dancing right in the front row is completely possible. When we arrived Robbie was outside greeting his fans, along with those who had come to support other acts. Three (admittedly over-used) words: down.to.earth.
 It is so wonderful to attend a performance of such talented musicians who are yet still humble enough to keep it personal and show such appreciation for their audience. I'm sure one day the sea of support will be far too vast for this...

'...Hearts melt Orion's belt is always round the corner...' 

Beginning with 'I wont let you go', the band sounded simply stunning. A love-child of London quirk and pure Originality, their live performance revealed no large nuances from the perfected efforts in the recording studio, -- except for the the added thrill of energy naturally acquired in live performance.

It is unusual to break free from the sounds of every other band on offer, to find something that makes you smile through no work of cliché and you are not half-ashamed to say, "wow, I liked that" (Katy Perry style). Don't get me wrong, their songs address the same existential questions that many others too face, - mainly concerning love. But stereotype was never a thought that arrived whilst listening to the band as they persistently entertained their audience, clearly enjoying their music as much as us. A particular favourite of ours has to be 'A London Reminition'. The melangé of recognisable, everyday places and features of the capital is intriguing and comical to any London lover as they are taken on a nippy tour all over, via the underground..

'...haggle in Portobello until the price is right...'

Robbie's characteristically husky voice belted out his [[very own]] lyrics of charm, giggle-inducing realism and wit as the band soared through a set that was over only too soon. Finishing with 'Red Queen', the crowd swayed and jiggled to the music as the strings' melodies dwindled and the fingers came to a halt.

Applause.

Despite our extreme enthrallment, it was a shame that the band were encircled by the clashing sounds of rockers pumping out heavy bass beats. The whole scene felt very high-school battle of the bands, so much so that the funky folk of The Robbie Boyd Band was a very pleasant holiday on the ear drums. Call us old fogies if you will. When the following acts took over the stage, the rhyming of "silhouette"and "cigarette" was the cue for us to pootle offwards into the London night - new R.B.B CD's in hand.

Concert: 02 Academy Islington, Thursday July 28th. Tickets, £8. (bargain)
So take a listen.

Have a click: http://www.robbie-boyd.com/

Do a bit of downloading, or better still go buy the album. No regrets in store, promise.