August 27, 2003

My London

So here I am in London. It's been over a year since I was last here, but I've spent a great deal of time here over the years. The little corner of London where I've always stayed (and where I am now) is in Camden between Russell Square and King's Cross. Like everywhere in London, and much of the rest of Britain, it is quaint and picturesque, except where it is squalid. You could put a photo of the facade of our building on a postcard, and write "look Ma, old world charm" on it with no trace of sarcasm. But Cambria House across the street is now bombed out, burned out and boarded up. And right across the street from our flat and the grand, leafy park (formerly a churchyard which still contains the graves of various 17th century luminaries) is the concrete, vaguely totalitarian Brunswick Center, the ugliest building I have ever seen in a lifetime of shying away from hideous architecture. It's like a little piece of the Soviet Union, ca. 1968, preserved forever in the heart of London's picturesque and historic Bloomsbury locale.

Not much has changed around here in the last couple of years. The old camera store has become a Middle Eastern restaurant. Different storefronts at the Brunswick Center have been boarded up, while other previously boarded-up ones have been re-inhabited by new fly-by-night, likely doomed business ventures. I miss the Char Bar ("You've Had Your Tea! Why Not Have it at HOME!") which offered "beigells" on their menu.

The saddest thing is that Britain's most determined, most single-minded, though perhaps not its most gifted, satirist appears to have finally thrown in the towel.

Here's what I'm talking about: the British Museum is constantly under construction. Along one of the iron fences on one side of its grounds, there is a plywood, construction-site structure, essentially a false wall. It was intended to be temporary, no doubt, but it has now been there for at least eight years. I doubt they have any plans to take it down. They have painted it green, and seem to spend a bit of money "keeping it up."

Part of the green plywood beautification program is a printed poster that reads "Bill posters will be prosecuted." The first time I noticed it (and here's where the determined satirist comes in) someone had written "BILL POSTERS IS INNOCENT" underneath the text. On my way back home, the poster had been removed and replaced with a new one. The next morning, the graffito was back; the next afternoon, the poster had once again been replaced. And thus began a pas-de-deux that lasted several years. Society's rebel never tired of the joke (which is pretty good, as such things go, but in which those of us with less focus might have lost interest after the first couple of years); and the authorities were similarly tireless and determined in their remedial maintenance. At some point, they started putting the poster in a frame with a plexiglass face. The BILL POSTERS IS INNOCENT guy wrote his signature phrase in sharpie, or sometimes scratched it into the plastic with a key. Whatever method he chose, the authorities would simply replace the glass, time and time again. The materials and methods changed over time, but not the essential process. A tale old as time, really. I always admired what I imagined to be this fellow's selfless dedication to keeping his joke alive, through the greatest adversity, when lesser men would long ago have abandoned the project. They don't often make them like that.

That was then, however, and this is now, and the BILL POSTERS IS INNOCENT guy appears no longer to be in action. It's sad. The authorities won this one, comrades, I'm afraid.

(And, I need hardly add, the wall is usually covered from top to bottom with posted bills. Of course it is.)

Posted by Dr. Frank at August 27, 2003 11:51 AM | TrackBack
Comments

That's quite a tale. Why don't you continue the good work of the satirist during your stay? If he sees another has appreciated his hard work his life may be completed. I think you've also described England perfectly- "quaint and picturesque, except where it is squalid"

Posted by: Georgina at August 27, 2003 07:31 PM

Could it have been a tradition upheld by a long string of people who would take over for each other as they got sick of keeping it up, or moved away, got arrested, etc.?

Though... in the interest of cool, semi-inexplicable things one observes in the world around them, it *would* be a lot neater if it was indeed the work of a single, dedicated individual.

My favorite grafitti is the kind that unintentionally invites add-ons by others. Once, at eye level over a public bathroom urinal, I saw: (Guy A)- "I'm eight inches long." (Guy B, who knows how much later)- "That's amazing! How big is your dick?"

I've been tempted to reproduce that little conversation somewhere else, using two different handwriting styles and all, but I've never done it. *I* would know that it wasn't really two people. Also, I've never had more than one pen with me while in a public bathroom.

Anyhow. Enjoy your time in Ye Olde London-Towne, Dr. Frank!

Posted by: geoff at August 27, 2003 07:48 PM

In case you need a visual, some Dutch fellow provides it:
http://www.xs4all.nl/~bslikker/images/grafitti.gif

And a odd (mostly unsuccessful) attempt to expand the humor:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/alabaster/A572203

Posted by: Dave Bug at August 27, 2003 07:52 PM

Thats hilarious. I can't belive for 7 years they never just thought of having a bobby (thats what they call them over there, right?) stay up one night and wait for the vandal, rather than spend all that money on all the trips to kinkos or hardware stores to replace the sign.

Posted by: Mike at August 28, 2003 02:12 AM