The Polish women were playing midget rap at breakfast this morning as I chowed down on Chenbl’s special rendition of toast, jam, ham, tomato and butter. We stepped outside to a gray sky and a cool wind, and walked to some more markets where Chenbl was yelled at by a workman, not for taking his picture, but for not getting all his co-workers in the shot and waving at the camera. It’s as if they’ve been instructed on how to ruin a shot without being violent about it.
We passed an olde Shakespeare-era building that reminded me of those 70′s renditions that were popular in Seabrook when I was growing up, and then through a legal campus with a members-only church, and on to Piccadilly where we bought tickets to The Phanton of the Opera. I’d never seen a show before and thought it would most likely be a fair representative of the medium.
We then walked towards the Thames, passing through the banking district and the Royal Court, which looks more like Hogwarts than an official law centre. Churches along the way were for the most part constructed in the middle of the road, for visibility I suppose, and one elderly priest told us he had visited Taiwan in the early 1960s. We were then told by a large black man guarding the Royal Exchange that I couldn’t take photos of the interior. I nodded and said confidentially, “Your secret is safe with me.”
We had various bites to eat along the way, but nothing really approaching a meal. But it was time to head back to Kings Cross to meet up with some fellow photographers from the show, so we took the underground and walked a few blocks to a gallery of photos from 1970′s South Africa. There I met Charlie, JB, Jack, Andy and some other people. I hung back a bit as we walked to some of the other parts of the exhibition. I don’t usually like shooting with other people, and especially not in their wake, but it was interesting to see how each photographer reacted when seeing something to shoot, as well as what drew their attention. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone wasn’t a bit self-conscious about shooting in sight of the others.
We took the metro back to Piccadilly for the show, and, with insufficient time for dinner, we had to resort to some dodgy kebabs and cold fried urgh. I don’t know what it was, so I’ll just say it was urgh, because that was the sound I made when contemplating it afterwards.
Her Majesty’s Theater was nice, though Her Majesty’s Seats were rather small, and I was again told that the entire place was copyrighted when I tried to take a photo of the seats. The show itself was nicely done, nice singing and impressive props.
Tomorrow is the show’s official opening. We’re leaving the next day. Just when I was getting used to the place.