Yesterday we spent a day in London at one of our favourite venues, the Imperial War Museum. This splendid museum, stuffed with warplanes, tanks, cannons, uniforms, firearms and all the hideous panoply of war is located - very appropriately - in what was the former Bethlem Royal Hospital building, built about two hundred years ago. The hospital was the first to specialise in the mentally ill, and gave rise to the expression 'bedlam' describing chaos or madness. I rest my case!
The museum was closed for six months in 2014 to allow a £40 million renovation to proceed, including the creation of new galleries to tell the story of the First World War, which began 100 years ago.
Outside the entrance is a massive pair of 15 inch naval guns, each weighing about 100 tons and capable of firing a 2,000-pound shell more than 16 miles. The guns were originally mounted on battleships and were last fired in anger during the Second World War; one of them pounded enemy shore batteries near Normandy Beach on D-Day, 1944.
Inside, and the first disappointment. After renovations, the once-splendid atrium has been reduced in size and the side walls seem to be hemming in the various planes and rockets hanging from the roof. The immediate impression is of a cramped space stuffed with inappropriately large objects.
Lurking in a corner was a Russian T34 tank, a simple but revolutionary design, with allegedly the best balance of firepower, mobility (32mph!), protection and ruggedness of any tank in the Second World War. Easy to manufacture, they were knocked out in their tens of thousands and are still being used in certain African countries.
I was fascinated by the crudeness of the steel detailing. It almost seems like a piece of clay from the junior school modelling class - still bearing the imprint of the clumsy tool marks!
Fortunately, the new First World War display galleries are well laid out and well illustrated. They are so popular that entry is by timed ticket; we had to wait from 2.00pm to 3.45pm before we could enter.
On the second and third floors there is a new layout and the number of items on display seems to have been significantly reduced. (Younger son asked if the museum had sold off much of its collection - good question!). There are no longer, for example, displays of post-1945 conflicts such as the Mau Mau rebellion (I remember the incredible display of home-made weapons, including 'zip' guns fashioned from car aerials, rubber tubing and cartridges).
Worse, the displays are now arranged in thematic zones, the parameters of which are not always clear. No longer can you go up to an object, read the description and move on. Now you must search for the information board, locate your item's illustration on the board and read the accompanying description. I searched for ages but could not find the description label of what looked like a metal operating theatre table from the Falklands Conflict.
The only saving grace is that the art gallery, medals room and the Holocaust exhibition have escaped the renovation vandals.
On leaving soon after 6.00pm I thought we could pop into the nearby St. George's R C Cathedral and say a prayer for all the fallen. Alas, it was shut. (Fortunately God is not confined to buildings or at the mercy of planners and designers).
Instead, we went to lunch in a small Taiwanese restaurant in Chinatown. This was elder son's pilgrimage. He wanted to sample - deep breath - typhoon shelter crab; xiao long bao; braised pig's trotter; crispy shredded turnip puff; Taiwanese oyster omelette and Taiwanese pork buns.
And that's what we got - except for the crab; they had run out of crabs...but, assessing his seriousness, they relented, offered to go and buy one from a nearby shop and then cook it specially for him. Now, that's service!
While the others waited, younger son and I headed off to Foyle's Bookshop, London's largest and most famous independent bookshop. It too has been remodelled a few months ago, moving into a new building (the former Central Saint Martin's Art School) just a few doors away from their old building. It's huge, eight levels, 37,000 square feet and holding more than 200,000 titles, reportedly the largest bookshop in the UK. (The only competitor that I can think of - Waterstones Piccadilly - has 150,000 titles in stock).
I bought a book on poetry and we returned to the restaurant to find a contented elder son and his mum surrounded by the debris of their crab dish; pieces of shell, empty claws, small chunks of garlic, chillies, bits of spring onions, and well-used crab crackers and metal picks.
Then it was out into the cool night of Gerrard Street to admire the lights and lantern decorations for Mid-Autumn Festival.
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