I've always found leaving the house to be a bit more of a gamble in our capital than in, say, my native Bedfordshire. You can never be sure of TFLs honesty in their proffering of a 'good service', it can be difficult to predict the proximity to which you'll experience the National Gallery's latest (portraits by John Singer Sargent, by the way although I've not yet had the chance to go) & then there's the universal likelihood of having to retreat indoors for fear of frozen fingers or soggy sandwiches. I must admit that I was a little suspect of the sunshine that cast its shadows over my morning cuppa this Sunday (how apt) just gone but I decided that I would take the chance & make some plans. Y'see, I managed about a week of wellness between colds & after failed attempts at 'recuperation' (read: incubation) I thought it worth trying to exorcise my demons in the fresh air (or at least attempt to pass them onto all of the small children swarming around this particular destination)
I must admit that although I knew of the Horniman Museum & Gardens as a fabled place tucked up away in Forest Hill just south of the New Cross that I, however reluctantly, called home for a year but had somehow never made the trip. It was Dulcie of Human Sea's blog post that recalled it to mind & I thought that it would be the perfect place to venture on my own & finally make a round trip to Goldsmiths Library (even?) more educational than usual. So it was onto the overground just after noon that I made my way on Sunday, bundled up in a chunky cable knit & with scarf wound around my coat, Paris Review slung into a tote bag for good measure. The bracing walk from the station proved fruitful as I inevitably couldn't resist a peek into the Sue Ryder en route & emerged with a thick, jersey ASOS dress with low back that I'm looking forward to layering with stripes. As I shudder at the thought of bralettes under my blanket at home with hot tea within reach, it's worth mentioning that this particular Sunday was so blissfully warm & bright that I had dug my hands out of my pockets & filled one with my hat by the time I reached the museum, convinced of the benefits of some south-of-the-river air.
The Horniman was exactly as I had hoped: old-fashioned, quaint, wondrous & a touch spooky. I spent the best part of an hour wandering slowly from case to case from familiar monkey skeletons to elephant skulls to the ribcages of birds. There were kangaroos, alligators, monkeys, armadillos (not holiday ones, to my knowledge), turtles, ostriches & vultures with the models quite difficult to tell apart from the real ones, only obvious in case of scale. I felt most attracted to the birds although I am quite frightened of them, to tell the truth & spent an eerie five minutes resolutely staring into the face of a particularly keen-eyed vulture. Their feet were almost as big as mine. I've always had something of a fascination with taxidermy (i.e never able to resist peering through the grates of 'Get Stuffed' at the top of Essex Road) & the ability to study such a number of creatures at such close range meant that my curiosity was certainly satisfied. It was at this point that I suspected my snottiness might be holding sway after all & decided on retiring to a bench with a cup of coffee & a pear packed by way of a picnic. As the name might suggest, Forest Hill provides you with a view of whole swathes of London including the Shard from bottom to top. Truth be told, I was happy to sit in the sun & contentedly consider whether to take off my coat. Oh happy day indeed.
I won't take my current bobble hat-tedness as a signal of failure. I'll just look forward to even more sunny days like these, even if part of them are spent in the shade of that infamous stuffed walrus.
Have you visited the Horniman?
Speak soon - O.
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