Train to Tate Modern

Mohan Samat, In the Beginning there was a Man, a Woman, and a Benevolent Ghost 1980

Yesterday I was up at the crack of dawn before actually as the sunrise was officially 6.50am.

I skulked about, trying desperately to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb my fellow borders and exited the building for my one mile walk to Colchester Town train station.The morning was cool, not definitely cold but chilled enough to let me clearly understand that I was no longer in the Far East.

I was on time for the train, and the train (at 6.49am) was on time for me. It was a happy meeting.

After a brief interlude, changing trains at Colchester rail station and encountering far more people than I have since I really don’t know when, we (the collective we) were trundling along to London and my intrepid day out with my young (occasional) companion.

Around 7.56am, the Greater Anglia ‘fast’ train sidled into London Liverpool Street Station.

Anticipating a dearth of available breakfasting establishments (a knowledge gleaned from several similar visits) I had brought with me a plastic bottle of Volvic water and two practically past their sell-by date bananas, to keep my energy levels up. At Liverpool Street Station, I had the distinct privilege of sitting on one of the ultra modern benches constructed with oak and beech, designed by Johan Berhin, apparently.

Then, after my brief banana interlude, there was a short ‘Underground’ journey (via the Circle Line) to Blackfriars, so named for the Blackfriars who were, unsurprisingly, Friars who wore black ‘cappas’ (capes). The Friars had first come to London in 1221 and established their first London monastery on the outskirts of the City. The name Black Friars started being used around 1317.

There was a fifteen minute (ish) walk from Blackfriars to the South Bank of the River Thames and towards Tate Modern, formerly the Bankside Power Station (built in 1891 and decommissioned in 1981) I ‘swam’ against the hurried tide, idly lumbering along the streets in distinct opposition to the work-a-day crowd who obviously didn’t have William Henry Davies’ poem ‘Leisure’ in mind, but I did.

I was early.

I mooched about photographing this and that around the Tate Modern building. I was struck by Emily Young’s collection of statuary until, that is, my little beady eyes witnessed ‘Gail’s’ emporium at Neo Bankside. It was not only open but an eatery stuffed to the brim with ‘Continental’ breads and pastries (‘God’ bless Gail Mejia for this idea). At which point I immediately likened myself to Oscar Wilde, who was wont to utter phrases such as “I can resist anything except temptation”. So I didn’t bother resisting and, instead, ordered a Flat White coffee and a rather plumptious ‘pain au chocolat’.

The day had started well and was due to get even more 'interesting'.

We, my occasional companion and I, had been somewhat mystified by the timed ticketing system at Tate Modern. We had assumed that we could obtain entry tickets at the Museum itself, that is actual, physical tickets, the sort you might want to use later as book marks and remember the day you got them and who you were with. But no.

No physical tickets.

Instead, a pole which held a small board. Upon the board a notice asking those who approached to scan the QR (Quick Response) code to gain free tickets for entry into Tate Modern. The completed code and request then being read by the sentry. There is the thought that the tickets being free, and the entry being free, why the need to seek out the pole, its board, and notice in the first place.

We entered.

Somehow, four hours drifted by, and we were still not finished with the ground floor of the first of two buildings and sixteen floors. We had been beguiled by Picasso, Braque, Leonara Carrington et al. We marvelled at Zao Wou-Ki, Mohan Samant, Max Ernst, and were nearly sent doolally by optical illusions bending our minds.

I had to blinker my eyes on exiting past the art book shop, lest I fall prey to my addiction for books about art. And we were off. Out. Ready to attack lunch.

I had seen Lin's Chinese restaurant as I had walked alone towards Bank Side and later suggested to my occasional companion that we eat there. Thankfully, the food was authentically Chinese and delicious.

Then, it was time for my rush towards Liverpool Street Station and back to my Abbeyfield Monk's Hole.

It was a glorious day that simply rushed by.