Our penultimate day in London happened to coincide this year with Chinese New Year's Day which ushers in the Year of the Dog. (If you happen to own a Pekinese this is your year). Chinatown is only a couple of blocks away from our apartment so it was easy for us to mingle with the approximately 200,000 people from other parts of the city who descend on Soho for this event every year (and also easy to escape).

      We will celebrate the new year quietly tomorrow night with a last dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant, Y Ming, where the crispy duck is without equal in London.  Early Tuesday morning we head for Heathrow for our flight to Rome and then catch a train to Naples where we catch another train for Sorrento. Tuesday will be a long day but it will be worth it to see the sun again and to bask in temperatures which might reach 60 if we are lucky.  Weatherwise London has been the pits.

     The management of the Antiche Dura hotel in Sorrento has promised high speed wireless internet in our room which is like going to heaven after enduring five weeks of frustrating dial-up connections.  Stay tuned for lots of pictures from Sorrento, Pompeii, Herculaneum, Amalfi, the Isle of  Capri and other attractions of the Neapolitan Riviera as they call it in the travel brochures.

      It was exceedingly cold again today---ideal weather for our annual visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington.  "Queen Victoria's Attic" as it is known to the locals is one of the world's greatest repositories of stuff and always fun to wander around in no matter how many times you have been there.

     As everyone probably knows  the big news in London for the past couple of days has been the plight of  a bottle-nosed whale that somehow got confused and swam up the Thames to the heart of  downtown London.  After running aground several times in the shallow river rescuers tried to carry it back to the sea on a barge but it died en route.  The saga of the unfortunate cetacean was the front-page story in every newspaper (including the Guardian) this morning and it was truly heart-rending.

     A Guardian reporter heard a mother explain to her child that the whale had been separated from its pod.  Later the mother was overheard explaining that it wasn't the whale's iPod that was missing but rather its family and friends. 

       When not whale-watching Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. have continued to soak up culture for the past few days.  On Thursday afternoon they watched a magnificent performance of  Robert Bolt's prize-winning play "A Man for All Seasons" at the Royal Haymarket theatre.  It has supplanted Shaw's "You Never Can Tell" as their top-rated play of this season.  It doesn't have a happy ending (Sir Thomas More gets his head chopped off  for standing up to King Henry VIII) but it surely was inspiring.  

     Rain prevented a trip to the Bermondsey fleamarket on Friday but they did catch a noontime jazz session at a nearby pub.  This weekly event draws an enthusiastic crowd of superannuated traditional jazz lovers but the music, unfortunately, just isn't very good. New Orleans has spoiled us.

     Saturday was sunny and bright all day long (or more accurately all day short) so we strolled over to the Wallace Collection to view a special show of memorabilia from the life of  the English writer Anthony Powell, author of the twelve-volume saga known collectively as "A Dance to the Music of  Time".  Neither Uncle Jack nor Mrs. U.J. has read any of his books but they are now inspired to read them all.

      The Wallace is Uncle Jack's favorite small museum in London and not just because of its fabulous collection of  Bouchard nudes.  It never ceases to amuse him that paintings like these (which make Playboy centerfolds look timid) were proudly displayed in the living rooms of proper English families in the 19th century but would be considered pornographic in some circles today.

     This morning they plowed through a few sections of the Sunday Observer before heading for the British Museum to look at Roman antiquities in preparation for their first visit to Rome next month.  After two hours of browsing he can say with complete certainty that they are not yet ready for Rome.

      It was sunny again all day today.  Londoners were wandering around in a daze and so were we.    

    Uncle Jack is sorry that he and Mrs. U.J. cannot afford to fly back from Rome to vote for repeal of the County sand tax but he did take time to write a letter to the local papers which he hopes will get published before the referendum takes place in February.

     Your comments are welcome as always.

To the Editor:

Inasmuch as the League of Women Voters is unlikely to weigh in on the forthcoming sales tax referendum I would like to try to fill the information gap by providing my own Voters’ Guide for Dare county citizens who may not have yet made up their minds on this issue.

      It has been another gloomy, drizzly week in London so far but fortunately there are plenty of interesting things to see and do to take a happy tourist's mind off the weather.

     After doing a heavy shop on Tuesday morning (veggies and fruit from the Berwick street market, beer and wine from the Tesco,  fish from the Chinese fishmonger who is sandwiched between two theaters on Shaftesbury avenue, and bread from Paul in Covent Garden) we took in a free noontime concert at St.-Martin-in-the-Fields church.  The excellent pianist was a young lady from Greece named Evi Giamopoulou who played some Debussy and Liszt and a rousing "Ionian Suite" by a countryman named Xadjidakis (whose name gave Uncle Jack's spellchecker fits for a moment).

      Unaccustomed to being in church Uncle Jack mistook the kneeler in front of him for a footrest and accidentally knocked it over just as the pianist was ready to begin her first number.  It sounded like a bomb going off in the hushed room but she recovered quickly which is more than Uncle Jack can say for himself. St. Martin's is a hotbed of musical activity all week long with many free daytime performances and several evening concerts at very reasonable prices.  Sir Neville Marriner's ghost can be seen hanging about from time to time.

      Earlier today (Wednesday) we strolled down to Somerset House on the Thames near Waterloo Bridge to peruse three special exhibits that are now showing in the Hermitage Gallery rooms.  One was a collection of 18th and 19th watercolors by the likes of Gainsborough, Edward Lear, William Cruickshanks and J.M.W. Turner, mostly of English pastoral scenes.  Lovely.  (One of the major benefactors of the Hermitage Gallery is a Russian oil billionaire named Khodorkovsky who recently went to prison accused by President Putin stealing the people's money.  No such claims have been made about the English National Lottery which does the same thing in effect)

     In another room 36 recent watercolors by the contemporary English artist David Hockney of bucolic scenes in his native Yorkshire provided an interesting contrast, not only with the work of the earlier artists but also with his own previous work which is very modern and often enigmatic.

     Also included in the modest price of admission was a collection of astonishing work by Italian artisans, mostly 18th century, who made elaborate pictures of all kinds out of colored stones.  They have to be seen to be believed but even after he has seen them Uncle Jack is mystified as to how they could have been made.

       Returning home from Somerset House late this afternoon they paused for refreshment in their favorite London pub, the Nags Head in Covent Garden near the Royal Opera.  It was starting to fill up with the thirsty after-work crowd when they arrived but a comfortable booth was still available in which they could sip a couple of half-pints of the dark stuff before resuming their uphill trek to Soho Square.

       With less than two weeks remaining in London their thoughts have begun to turn toward Rome which is terra incognita for both of them.  If any readers have suggestions about the best area to stay in, restaurants, etc. we would be most grateful to receive them.  Thanks. 

   Saturday and Sunday were uncommonly nice days in London (meaning it didn't rain) so Uncle Jack, Mrs. U.J. and Emily made the most of them.  After a visit to the National Gallery on Saturday morning they looked in at the Russian Festival in Trafalgar Square but did not stick around because it looked more like a beer blast in the making than an authentic cultural event.  (The rector of St. Martin-in-the-Fields church which adjoins the Square complained that it would turn the area around the church into a public urinal after dark but his pleas went unheeded by the Westminster Council).

     While in the Square they saw for the first time the extremely controversial sculpture which now occupies the previously empty "4th plinth".  (The other three support statues of various English notables).  It is called "Alison Lapper Pregnant" and the story of how it came to be there is fascinating.  Uncle Jack does not have room here to explain but if you would like to learn more he suggests that you Google "Alison Lapper Pregnant".

     Mrs. U.J. snagged three half-price, front-row tickets to a matinee performance of George Bernard Shaw's "You Never Can Tell" at the Garrick Saturday. It turned out to be the most completely satisfying of all the plays we have seen so far. We laughed ourselves silly.

       Mrs. U.J. and Emily went shopping on Regent Street on Sunday while Uncle Jack plowed through the Sunday Observer which presents at least as big a challenge as the Sunday New York Times. There is much political turmoil here at the moment with both the Tories and the Liberal Democrats selecting new leaders who will try to mount a challenge to Tony Blair's Labor Party when he decides to step down, possibly during the coming year.  A piece by an Observer writer on New Orleans in the aftermath of Katrina was as perceptive as anything Uncle Jack has read on the subject in any American publication.

        Emily reluctantly headed for Heathrow this morning while he and Mrs. U.J. took a big red bus to the Tate Modern Gallery across the river from St. Paul's Cathedral. The Tate Modern is London's major repository of contemporary "art" and is always a source of amusement and bewilderment for them.  The special show at the moment is of the work of the strange late 19th century French artist Henri Rousseau whose forte was large paintings of  jungle scenes even though he never left Paris. The paintings are rather wacky but much more appealing and accessible than most of the alleged art in the Tate Modern.

     Rain returned to London today but from what he has been reading on the OBX message board he should not complain.  There is no snow,  the temperature is in the high 40's and the wind is not blowing out of the north at 30 knots.  Not bad at all.

    Recent activities include a visit to the Tate Britain yesterday afternoon,  a play by Luigi Pirandello at the ancient Playhouse Theatre last night, a concert at the Royal Academy of Music this afternoon and a sumptuous dinner at Y Ming,  an excellent Chinese restaurant in Soho tonight.  Tomorrow the National Gallery and a Russian Festival in Trafalgar Square.  Never a dull moment in London Town, even when the rockfish aren't running.

     Uncle Jack is pleased to report that it stopped raining at about 10:30 this morning and the sun came out and stayed out until it set at about 4:30, the longest period of  decent weather we have enjoyed in the past two weeks.

     It would have been a nice afternoon to go for a walk in one of London's many lovely parks but having had no warning of clement weather they spent it instead in the darkened confines of the Gielgud Theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue watching a delightful revival of  Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" (known as "Ten Little Indians" in the days before political correctness took hold).

      The play has absolutely no redeeming social value but it was the most completely enjoyable one we have seen in the past two weeks.  The acting, the plot, and the stagecraft rivalled the Theater of Dare in their perfection.  Another of  Agatha Christie's creations, "The Mousetrap",  has been running in London for over 50 years and Uncle Jack would not be surprised if this one did, too.

       Uncle Jack's only begotten daughter, Emily, arrived yesterday after a gruelling flight from San Francisco. She had recovered from jet lag enough to mush throught the rain with us last night to the White Hart pub to hear the marvelous jazz clarinetist Wally Fawkes again but alas it was not to be.  Since last Tuesday night the heavy hand of the Westminster bureaucracy had intervened and forbade the White Hart from offering live music until such time as they have procured a license to do so. Inasmuch as there is no profit in providing a venue for traditional jazz Uncle Jack would guess that they will forget about it. Sad but true.

      After that disappointment they trudged through the rain to a lovely old pub in the neighborhood called the Fitzroy, hoping to down a pint or two in congenial surroundings.  Alas the place was packed with young people, most of them smokers and none of them bookish from the looks of  their tattoos and piercings. So much for a night on the town in Soho.

      Tomorrow, weather permitting or not,  they are off by big red bus to the Tate Gallery for a show of London paintings by Degas, Toulouse Lautrec and Sickert, followed by dinner at their favorite Chinese restaurant in all the world---Y Ming on Greek Street in Soho.

     Pictures at 11.

     Uncle Jack has been reminded of the post office motto this week as he and Mrs. U.J. have continued their headlong pursuit of  culture through rain and sleet and dark of night. There is so much to see and do in London that they cannot let themselves be intimidated by the weather.

      They did get to the Donmar theater on Thursday night to see Ibsen's mordant play "The Wild Duck" performed by a stellar cast.  According to the program notes Ibsen thought of this play as a "tragicomedy" but it was hard for Uncle Jack to discern anything remotely resembling humor in it.  It ends with the suicide of an adorable 14-year-old girl whom the audience comes to love dearly in the course of the evening.  Being a Swede himself, Uncle Jack has always thought Norwegians were a little strange and this confirms it.

     Yesterday they mushed through the mist to make their first visit of this trip to the National Portrait Gallery down Charing Cross Road near Leicester Square. Thanks to the generosity of  National Lottery losers the Portrait Gallery, like all of  Britain's great museums and galleries, is free to the public.

     They took in a couple of the special shows that are running right now but will save the rest for next week when Uncle Jack's only begotten daughter Emily will be visiting. He has always wanted to see an original Van Gogh self portrait and this is his chance.

      This morning they once again defied the elements and made the ten-minute trek to another of the neighborhood treasures, the British Museum,  where they spent two hours perusing the paintings, drawings and etchings of  one Samuel Palmer, a great (so they say) 19th century British artist whose special interest was bucolic landscapes full of  sheep and shepherds. Something tells him that Uncle Jack is going to enjoy the Rubens show at the National Gallery a lot more .

     Stay tuned.  He is going to try to take a few clandestine photos of some of the lusher Rubens nudes which he will be happy to share with his art-loving readers.

     Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. have been so busy pursuing culture while trying to stay warm at the same time that he has neglected his weblog for the past few days.  The sun is out this morning for the first time since they arrived over a week ago so they may be able to get in some recreational walking today.

     Fortunately the theaters and pubs (most of them anyway) have central heating so they have not been deprived of cultural pursuits. Yesterday afternoon, for example, they enjoyed a matinee performance of  a revival of  John Osborne's great play from the 1950's called "Epitaph for George Dillon" which deals with the timeless problem of the  artist's struggle to be true to his artistic vision while trying to make a living.  No happy ending but beautifully acted by a wonderful cast.  Woody Harrelson would have been totally out of his depth in this one.

     They spent Tuesday night in a pub called the White Hart on Drury Lane listening to and talking with two marvelous jazz musicians named Doug Murray and Wally Fawkes.  Doug is in his seventies and plays the piano (he was a trombonist until a smoking-induced bout with cancer of the larynx left him with a hole in the throat through which he now talks with the aid of an electronic voice-box).  Wally is one of  the U.K.'s best jazz clarinetists whose illustrious career in jazz is preserved in the 90+ recordings on which he can be heard playing with every great British group of the past 60 years.

      Wally is 81 but still plays with the energy and creativity of a man half his age and he doesn't look a day over 70.  Uncle Jack has been a fan of  Wally Fawkes since he first bought one of his disks 25 years ago and it was a real thrill to finally meet and hear him in person.

      What Uncle Jack didn't know is that Wally is even more famous in Britain as a cartoonist than as a musician. His work has appeared in major publications over here for decades under his nickname "Trog".  Failing eyesight forced him to give up his cartooning a couple of years ago but as he said, he never learned to read music so it hasn't interfered with his ability to make music.

     Wally and Doug will be back at the White Hart next Tuesday night augmented by another famous English jazz man, trumpeter John Chilton who has been playing alongside Wally for the past 50 years or so.  John Chilton is also a very well-known writer on jazz who has produced definitive biographies of several titans like Sidney Bechet, Louis Armstrong and Roy Eldridge.  Needless to say Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J. will be there.

      Tonight they are off to the Donmar Warehouse theater to see the widely acclaimed revival of  Ibsen's "The Wild Duck" which has been completely sold out for its entire run.  Intrepid Mrs. U.J. got to the box office this morning just minutes after somebody returned two tickets for tonight's performance.  Miracles like that are enough to make a person forget the inclement weather.

     Almost.

The new year in London got off to a great start today as it always does with the annual New Year's Day parade,  a three-hour extravaganza that brings thousands of spectators to lower Regent Street and Piccadilly.  Fortunately the rain held off for the whole duration and a good time was held by all---including Uncle Jack and Mrs. Uncle Jack who took enough pictures to fill up the Elph's entire memory.

      He will send some more of them the next time he gets access to a broadband connection. The three pictures below took an eternity to upload and he no longer has the patience required to deal with dial-up speeds.

     An amazing number of  American high school and college marching bands took part in the parade.  Apparently the band booster clubs spend the entire year raising funds for this trip to London.  Uncle Jack shudders to think about the logistics involved and the responsibilities borne by the chaperones.  One excellent band came from Appalachian State University in Boone and another from Bristol, Virginia high school.

     Last night's gala New Years concert at Wigmore Hall was a delight.  The King's Consort choir sang the Brahms New Liebesleder Waltzes as well as some songs by Edward Elgar and a mass by Thomas Tallis.  We got home in plenty of time to watch the fireworks over the Thames at midnight.

     A very Happy New Year to all from Uncle Jack and Mrs. U.J.