9-24 Blame Paul McCartney (again)

One of my first posts, “Blame Paul McCartney” talked about how the song “When I’m Sixty-four” motivated me to travel to the Isle of Wight. And yesterday I talked about how I mistakenly booked a hotel room for the wrong date. Perhaps that was my subconscious telling me to stay an extra day in London so that I could see Paul McCartney’s photographic exhibit “1963-64, Eyes of the Storm” at the National Portrait Gallery, which closes on October 1. After breakfast at the hotel which, by the way, was an all-you-can-eat buffet with an enormous assortment of food and drink and, at £15, a terrific value, we hopped the H98 to the Elizabeth Line. That took us to Tottenham Court Road Station from which we made our way to the Gallery.

As we were walking there, we passed a wonderful little exhibit called, "A Step Beyond"

where you're invited to "step inside our digital portal to discover a new perspective." A pretty cool thing to just happen upon.

I had bought timed tickets to the McCartney exhibition the night before, so we waltzed right in and were immersed in the world of the Beatles in their very early days. I was transported to the days of my childhood. I’m old enough that I remember seeing them on the Ed Sullivan show. I was hooked! They were so different, so cheeky, so cute! My favorite Beatle was George Harrison. Funny, because when I showed my grandmother a publicity photo of the Beatles, she said George Harrison reminded her of my father. (I’ve spent a lifetime trying to forget that remark and its psychological implications.)

Anyway, the photos were so lovely, reflecting a time when all the madness surrounding the Beatles was just beginning. Some of the photos revealed the stress of constant press conferences, photo calls and performances but most of them showed four lives inextricably, and happily, entwined. I walked through the exhibition with a huge smile on my face and a kind of longing for the simplicity of those days.

From there we went to the 3rd floor to the Tudor portraits. The NPG cleverly has you take the escalator to the top so you can start with the oldest portraits and work your way forward in time as you descend. The portraits aren’t limited to painting, but also feature sculptures and photographs, many of which are iconic. I found it interesting how different portraits elicited different feelings in me. I’m sure that had to do with how I felt about the history attached to them. A huge portrait of a large group of commanders from WW1 made me vaguely angry.

The quote accompanying one of the sculptures bears repeating today.

I particularly enjoyed portraits of some of my favorite writers and performers, often saying to myself, “So that’s what he looked like.” I’ll include some photos below for your enjoyment.

From there I did a little last-minute shopping for things I’ll need for the next leg of the trip while Bruce did his obligatory pub crawl. It being Sunday, most restaurants and many pubs are closed (something which I find curious) so we opted for a late lunch at a little restaurant called “Crepe, Coffee, Chai.” The Masala chai I ordered was beautifully spicy.

I chose the chevre galette made with sun-dried tomatoes, walnuts and honey. I could, and may, go back and order it again when we’re back in London. The crepe was wafer thin and crispy, and the blend of flavors was perfect.

Back to the Elizabeth Line to the Hayes and Harlington stop (which I kept calling the Hale and Hearty stop) then back on the H98 to Hayes & the hotel. It’s going to be an early morning tomorrow so we decided to relax tonight at the hotel and maybe enjoy a cocktail at the hotel bar, as you do.

From the Portrait Gallery

Richard III

Elizabeth I (very close game)

Young Winston

Dear Beatrix Potter

Charles Darwin

Benjamin Disraeli

Noel Coward

Vivian Leigh and Laurence Olivier

Ivor Novello

Oscar Wilde

Judi Dench

Joseph Conrad and Rudyard Kipling

Final Submission in Fire on Ice by Raqib Shaw

Yes, this is an eclectic group, but you'll just have to come and see the whole collection yourself. You'll thank me.