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A guest post by LH Member Valerie Colin-Russ.

London’s oldest lion statues are not native Londoners but took up residence here many years ago.  The very oldest pair, five thousand years old, were two of three brought to London at the end of the nineteenth century by the eminent Egyptologist, Sir Flinders Petrie.  Both unfortunately broke into fragments on the journey and remained in the crates in which they arrived until archaeologists reconstituted them between 1980 and 1982, since when they have found a home in University College.  The third lion was smaller and arrived intact and was used as a model for the others’ reconstruction.  This smaller one now lives in the Ashmolean at Oxford.

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London’s oldest lion, one of two held in University College London.

Various London museums are home to several other ancient foreign lions (who have not been shattered and reconstructed) who are now long-established London residents.   For instance in the British museum can be found several such, including two beautiful Egyptian ones, made of  red granite, dating from 1400 BC, an Assyrian lion dating from 860 BC  and one from Halikarnassos from the fourth century BC.  One from Knidos (the date is disputed between the fourth and second centuries BC) stands in the museum’s Great Court.

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Halikarnassos Lion in the British Museum.

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Egyptian Lion, British Museum.

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Assyrian Lion, British Museum.

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Knidos lion in the Great Court of the British Museum.

The oldest native London lion dates from Roman London and was found in Camomile Street  in a bastion of the City wall but probably came from a Roman cemetery nearby and was  then reused as building material in the construction of the wall.  This lion has an animal in its mouth and is thought to represent the all-devouring jaws of death.  He dates from the fourth or fifth century AD and now lives in the Museum of London.

The oldest London lions still in their original position, although inevitably considerably weathered, are the pair on the York Watergate dating from 1626.  The gate is all that remains of York House, the home of the Duke of Buckingham, and once led from his garden to the river when the Thames was much wider before the construction of the Embankment.  One other seventeenth century lion survives in much better condition, standing guard (with a companion unicorn) at the beginning of Palace Avenue, the road leading from Kensington Road to Kensington Palace while a rather grumpy-looking pair sit atop the Lion Gate at Hampton Court and date from about 1700.

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York Watergate near Victoria Embankment.

However, the heyday of London’s lions was from the beginning of the nineteenth century until the start of the second world war; it was essentially in the days of Empire that the London lion really flourished!


DSC00653_250These facts have been extracted from a book by one of our members, Valerie Colin-Russ,  which was published in 2012 by Frances Lincoln Ltd called “London Pride”; she had tracked down over 10,000 lion statues in Greater London. All images in the above article are by Valerie Colin-Russ.

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… is what I might have called this superb exhibition.

This coming Monday is the anniversary of the execution of Charles I in 1649 on a scaffold outside his beloved Banqueting House, the ceiling of which he commissioned Rubens to decorate with a paean to his father, James I, strongly emphasising the divine right of kings. One of Rubens’s preparatory sketches for this work is featured at the new exhibition at the Royal Academy: Charles I: King and Collector. It opens on Saturday and runs until 15 April.

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Apart from literature and to a lesser extent architecture and fashion, England lagged horribly behind Europe when it came to the visual arts, in the case of Italy by over a century. We were bumpkins. Sure, we had an appreciation for a fine portrait and used some of Europe’s top practitioners to produce that genre, but that was pretty much it. Owing to the English Reformation, religious art never took off, in fact most had been ravaged. As to myth and allegory, beloved by Renaissance princes across the continent… here we had tumbleweed.

Charles set out to change all that. Having been exposed to the collection of Philip IV of Spain on a visit in 1623 the then Prince of Wales was hooked. The Spanish king gave him century-old portrait of his ancestor the Emperor Charles V by Titian – a spectacular gift. This painting features in the exhibition, next to the famous Velázquez portrait of Philip. Charles immediately became a serious collector, determined to have a collection the equal of any European prince. Among his many acquisitions he scooped up almost the entire collection of the once mighty Gonzaga family of Mantua, notably the output of Andrea Mantegna, here represented by all nine monumental paintings of the Triumphs of Caesar from Hampton Court Palace.

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Andrea Mantegna (1430 – 1506). The Triumph of Caesar, Vase Bearers.

Naturally, Anthony Van Dyke looms large. The famous triple portrait, a guide for Bernini to fashion the king’s portrait bust; the two monumental equestrian portraits, so powerful; the artist’s self-portrait, glancing over his shoulder, anxiously it seems. All are here.

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Anthony Van Dyk (1599 – 1641). Charles I in Three Positions.

Then there are here assembled many dozens more of the king’s fancies by the leading European painters – mainly contemporary but going back 150 years – Correggio, Bronzino, Bassano, Tintoretto, Vernonese, Holbein, Durer. Galleries – notably El Prado and the Louvre, but many others – have joined the Royal Collection to bring together the best assemblage of Charles’s collection since that cold, fateful January day in 1649.

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Titian (1490 -1586). The Supper at Emmaus.

Virtually all artistic talent at Charles’s disposal was foreign, apart from Londoner William Dobson, here represented by a marvellous portrait of Charles II when prince of Wales. I always look out for Dobson, the first great English painter, who died in poverty an alcoholic, aged just 36.

For the historian, what happened next is fascinating. As we know, virtually the entire collection was sold off over the next three years or so by the commonwealth: it needed money, not fripperies. Thanks to the catalogue of the first Surveyor of the King’s Pictures, Abraham van der Doort, we know where all these pieces were kept down to the very room. Mostly it was the now long-lost Palace of Whitehall, but also Hampton Court Palace, the Queen’s House, Denmark House etc. We also know what each piece fetched at the various commonwealth sales. Each label in the exhibition carries this information. Hence we see, for example, that a piece by Correggio featuring Venus, Mercury and Cupid fetched £800, whereas another – hung here next to it – of Mars, Venus and Cupid by Veronese commanded just £11! Poor old Veronese. A religious painting from the Circle of Raphael also fetched £800 whereas a gorgeous picture by Titian – many times bigger – could only draw £150. These were substantial amounts of money at that time, of course, but the interest lies, I think, in the relative perceived merits of art at the time, by artist and no doubt also by subject.

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Correggio (1489 -1534). Venus with Mercury and Cupid.

After the Restoration, Charles II had to build from scratch the Royal Collection, including the crown jewels. How he did this is featured in a companion exhibition to this one: Charles II: Art and Power at the Queen’s Gallery.  Do go to both. They are sumptuous and wonderfully curated.


This exhibition and RA250 is supported by BNY Mellon.

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in our time

I am a massive fan of Melvyn Bragg’s In Our Time, BBC Radio 4 most Thursdays at 9am. There are various ways you can search it, but as a service to our readers, here is a list of the London-related ones.

Aphra Behn
Annie Besant
Athelstan

Thomas Becket
Bedlam
The Black Death
The Bluestockings
The Book of Common Prayer
Boudica
Robert Boyle
Brunel
Fanny Burney

Caxton and the Printing Press
Chaucer

Mrs Dalloway
The Death of Elizabeth I
Dickens
The Domesday Book

The East India Company
Englishness
The Enlightenment in Britain

Michael Faraday
The [Great] Fire of London
Foxe’s Book of Martyrs

The Gin Craze
The Great Exhibition of 1851

William Hazlitt
Octavia Hill
Holbein at the Tudor Court
Robert Hooke

[Samuel] Johnson

London

Marlowe
Milton

The Novel

Titus Oates and His ‘Popish Plot’

The Peasants’ Revolt
Pocahontas
[Alexander] Pope
The Putney Debates

The Restoration
The Royal Society

The Scriblerus Club
Seventeenth Century Print Culture
The  South Sea Bubble
Suffragism

The Trial of Charles I
The Tudor State

Utilitarianism

Oscar Wilde
Mary Wollstonecraft


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Today marks the anniversary of William Blake‘s 260th birthday. He was born in Soho, died near the Strand and is buried in Bunhill Fields. Apart from a few years in Sussex, he lived his entire life in London, the city he loved and loathed.

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William Blake, 1807, by Thomas Phillips. National Portrait Gallery, London.

He was, as we know, an illustrator, engraver, writer, printer, bookmaker, poet and mystic. My plan today was simply to mark this anniversary with a Tweet and an entry in our new Facebook group space. But the response has been so instantly positive and some of the things I’ve found on the internet so interesting, I felt it best to dump some links here for you to enjoy and remember today this great Londoner, who I feel remains somewhat under-appreciated in his native city.

LINKS
First, of course, Wikipedia.
Then, check out the Blake Society, who have an interesting page of all the places Blake lived (none in London has survived).
The Tate has a very good page on significant London sites and, by the way, a room dedicated to him at Tate Britain, do remember to check it out. William Blake’s London.
A very good friend of London Historians, the singer Kirsten Morrison, has some lovely Blake pieces on YouTube here and here.
finally…  Patti Smith!

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A guest post by Roger Williams, LH Member.

1. Exterior

Sandycombe Lodge, the country house that JMW Turner built in 1813 in Twickenham behind Marble Hill, is now open to the public for the first time. It had been bought in a run-down state in 1947 by Professor Harold Livermore, an Hispanic scholar, and his wife Ann, who wrote about Spanish music, and they immediately began trying to restore what had been a small wartime factory. On his death in 2010, Professor Leverhulme bequeathed their house to the nation. Now, after a £2.4 million conservation effort, it has been brought back to what is believed to be as near as can be to Turner’s original home. This involved knocking down extensions, removing external white rendering and uncovering the initial decoration, including marbling on the stairway. The house was designed by Turner, but if some of the detailing echoes Sir John Soane’s house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, it is because the two were friends and contemporaries, Turner being appointed the Royal Academy’s Professor of Perspective just a year after Soane was made Professor of Architecture.

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On first sight it is an unprepossessing, late-Georgian villa, with just two first-floor bedrooms. The larger one is at the back, facing Marble Hill House and the Thames, and although the view is now constricted by subsequent developments, a telescope has been installed (above) through which visitors can spy a re-created picture of the view Turner saw in his day.

3.Kitchen

In the basement is the kitchen and range (above), the domaine of Turner’s ‘Old Dad’ who looked after the house and garden until he was 80. His father had been a barber and wig-maker in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, where Turner was born on St George’s Day, 1775, and had tirelessly promoted and helped his only child. Turner’s mother had died in Bethlem Hospital nine years before Sandycombe Lodge was built, and William Sr continued to help in the running of Turner’s Gallery in Marylebone, hitching lifts into town for the 10-mile journey.

4.Eel pots

Nothing in the house is labelled, and visitors, in limited numbers, are shown around by knowledgeable guides such as Ken Osbourne, pictured here in the kitchen with fishing rod and eel trap. These and the late-Georgian items of furniture, such as the ‘Turkey’ rugs, have been hunted down by Catherine Parry-Wingfield, Chair of the Turner’s House Trust, who has been instrumental in creating the house-museum.

5. Turnerships

Prints on the walls include some from Turner’s teaching manual, the Liber Studorium, from Professor Livermore’s own collection, but there are no original artworks. Turner bequeathed his drawings and paintings to the nation, and these are now in changing displays in Richard Sterling’s 1986 Clore Wing of Tate Britain, while the Royal Academy has his fishing rods and paint boxes. Security issues mean these cannot be loaned, although, Parry-Wingfield is hopeful that this may one day happen.

The Tate also has custody of the model boats Turner owned and used as aids to his paintings. The Trust commissioned variations of two of them from model maker Kevin Thatcher to go on display in the sitting room . Many of these were originally made by French prisoners during the Napoleonic wars.

Turner was a keen fishermen, but the enormous pond he created, apparently almost the size of a football pitch and stocked with fish, has long since disappeared beneath urban housing. He sometimes went fishing with his friend Soane, both self-made men, both at times socially uneasy and irascible. But Turner enjoyed gatherings, too, and a cunning key in the door of a longcase clock in the dining room starts a recording of an account of a picnic enjoyed by Turner and his friends on Ham Common on the opposite side of the river.

Turner was also instrumental in starting the Royal Academy Dining Club’s annual river jaunts which began at Eel Pie House in Twickenham, not far from Sandycombe Lodge in 1818. Five years later Turner proposed they went to the Crown and Sceptre in Greenwich, which was famous for its whitebait dinners. The RA Dining Club’s annual Whitebait Dinner has continued ever since, now taking place during the Summer Exhibition under the enthusiastic eye of the RA’s current CEO, Charles Saumarez Smith, whose recent blog gives a report of this year’s outings and the riverside architecture seen en-route to Greenwich.

For details and opening hours, see http://turnershouse.org


Roger Williams’ latest book is Whitebait and the Thames Fisheries.

 

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by Dr Helen Szamuely

This article was first published in London Historians Members’ Newsletter of April 2015.

The cavalier way in which TfL seems to have treated the Paolozzi mosaics in Tottenham Court Road station until someone noticed and called them to account is indicative of the low esteem that art form is held by many in this country. The spectacular mosaic floors in the National Gallery’s main entrance that combine traditional skill with modern themes are rarely glanced at by the many thousands of visitors who walk on them. On two of the mosaics, Cricket in The Pleasures of Life sequence in the East Vestibule and Exploring in The Labours of Life opposite it, the National Gallery has placed a large urn each, thus making it impossible to see them and drawing attention away from the work.

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Passing unnoticed. Anrep underfoot at the National Gallery, London.

In 2004 the National Gallery did publish a booklet by Lois Oliver, entitled Boris Anrep – The National Gallery Mosaics but that is now hard to find. Yet the spectacular work that should be seen by every visitor who happens to go in the main entrance is little known and its creator, the Russian artist Boris Anrep (1883 – 1969) even less so, though he is responsible for a number of other mosaics in London.

There is the Blake room in the Tate Gallery, the entrance to the Bank of England, the Blessed Sacrament Chapel in Westminster Cathedral and a number of works in the Greek Orthodox Saint Sophia Cathedral in Moscow Road, Bayswater. There is also a mosaic in the Notre Dame de France church in Leicester Place but that, curiously enough, was covered up by a screen decorated by Jean Cocteau four years after its creation.

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A phoenix in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, Westminster Cathedral.

Boris Anrep, who came from a Swedish-Lithuanian-Russian family, was born in 1883 in St Petersburg. His father was an eminent professor of forensic medicine and, later, a deputy in the Third Duma. His two sons were called after the first Russian saints, Boris and Gleb with the latter becoming a well known physiologist, a professor at Cambridge and in Cairo. Boris attended a school in Kharkov (now Kharkiv in Ukraine) and spent a year in Great Missenden in 1899 to learn English. He was intended for the law and became a student at the prestigious School of Jurisprudence at St Petersburg but around 1908 decided that the life of the poet and artist was preferable. By this stage he had become acquainted with a number of artists in Russia and decided to study in the West in Paris, at the Académie Julian, where he made friends with Henry Lamb and Augustus John, who introduced him to the rest of Bloomsbury Group. This connection became very important in Anrep’s social and artistic life. In 1910 – 11 Anrep and his wife Yuniya lived in Edinburgh where he continued to study art and began to complicate his life maritally and sexually.

In 1911 Helen Maitland, a close friend of Dorelia John and an ex-girlfriend of Henry Lamb became his mistress and the three of them lived mostly in Paris. Helen was to be the mother Anrep’s children, Anastasia and Igor, but did not marry Boris till 1918 when he finally divorced Yuniya. By this time he had acquired another mistress, Maroussia Volkova, his sister-in-law’s sister, and the domestic triangle repeated itself, this time in England. Astonishingly, it was not in Bloomsbury but in Hampstead that the Anrep menage settled but in 1926 Helen left Boris for Roger Fry and the former, after displaying rather strong signs of jealousy, departed for Paris with Maroussia and acquired another mistress, the artist Jeanne Beynal.

Anrep was responsible for the Russian section in the 1912 Second Post-Impressionist Exhibition but had, by then, decided that his interest lay in mosaics, particularly in bringing together the more traditional ideas and forms with more modern contents. In 1914 he created mosaics for the Crypt in Westminster Cathedral but his work was interrupted by the First World War during which he served with the Russian Imperial Guard in Galicia and had an affair with the great Russian poet Anna Akhmatova.

He returned to England in 1917 to be Military Secretary to the Russian Government Committee, went back once more in the autumn and left Russia for good as the Bolsheviks came to power.

In the next few years he created mosaics for private homes, mostly those of his friends and a few other clients. He started his habit of including portraits of people he knew into those mosaics, merging traditional patterns with ideas of the jazz age. In 1923 he was commissioned (his friend Maynard Keynes was helpful in getting him work) to create the floor of the Blake Room in the Tate Gallery and he used it to illustrate The Proverbs of Hell from The Marriage of Heaven of Hell. Although he now lived and worked in Paris, his major works were for England (and Scotland though, as a Russian, he might not have considered the difference important).

In 1927 he began the mosaics for the Bank of England, a huge labour that was interrupted by the Second World War and was not completed fully till 1946. In 1928 he created mosaics for the Greek Orthodox Church in Bayswater and the first of the floors for the National Gallery, The Labours of Life in the West Vestibule. Though the idea is a traditional one, the images are idiosyncratic and of the period. It is a pity Exploring, in which a zebra is being filmed, is now obscured by that urn. Science is once again relevant as it depicts a student looking at the diplodocus carnegii at the Natural History Museum.

The following year Anrep decorated the East Vestibule with The Pleasures of Life, an imaginative and non-judgemental view of various jolly events. Critics noted the presence of girls in short skirts and with bobbed hair.

The third floor, on the Half-Way Landing (all three were paid for almost entirely by Samuel Courtauld) was finished in 1933 and consists of a The Awakening of the Muses, with Apollo, Bacchus and eight of the Nine Muses represented by recognisable people, mostly from among Anrep’s friends in the Bloomsbury Group. He also added Greta Garbo as Melpomene (Muse of Tragedy) and an imaginary woman as Calliope (Muse of Heroic Poetry).

Boris and Maroussia escaped from Paris in 1940 and for the rest of the war they lived in Hampstead (with Boris, inevitably, starting another liaison with Maud Russell who was to pay for the last floor in the National Gallery) and he, apart from working on his mosaics, also transcribed Russian broadcasts. After the war he went back to Paris where he lived till 1965 with Maroussia dying in 1956. His last years were spent in Hyde Park Gardens with Maud Russell.

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Modern Virtues, featuring Churchill. National Gallery, London.

Anrep continued to work until almost his death and, unlike many other mosaicists, he created his own work, choosing the materials, making the designs, laying down the mosaics. In 1952 he finished the last of the National Gallery floors in the North Vestibule, The Modern Virtues, which includes people he knew in England and in Russia as well as public figures. Here we can find Margot Fonteyn, Loretta Young, Anna Akhmatova, Winston Churchill, Bertrand Russell, T. S. Eliot and others representing slightly unexpected virtues as well as a picture of a Christmas Pudding and of the artist’s last resting place.

There were private commissions but the last great work, completed when Anrep was nearly eighty, was the very fine Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament in Westminster Cathedral which went back in style to the pre-Byzantine Roman mosaics, with little gold and far from the expected monumental sightless figures. They are full of colour, light and rhythm – another union between traditional and modern in subject and pattern.

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Snapshot of Boris Anrep, 1920, by Bloomsbury hostess Lady Ottoline Morrell. © National Portrait Gallery, London.

Boris Anrep died in 1969. He had been a huge, in every sense of the word, figure on the English artistic scene, a man loved and admired by various friends and pupils. A keen tennis player who competed in the men’s doubles at Wimbledon in 1920, an excellent cook, a generous host and guest, one who could stand up to Augustus John in fisticuffs and who, quite astonishingly, excited the love of Lytton Strachey (One wonders what Boris made of that). He also left a mark in the history of public art of this country, which makes it rather sad that so little attention is paid to him. The only biography is by Annabel Farjeon (another writing Farjeon) who had married his son Igor. The manuscript is in the possession of the Anrep descendants but has never been published in English. It was translated into Russian and published in St Petersburg in 2003. Perhaps, it is time for a British publisher to have a look at it.

 


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A selection of Boris Anrep mosaics in our Flickr gallery. 

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curiocity

This delightful recent book by Henry Eliot and Matt Lloyd-Rose defies genre. One could call it a trivia book but that would do it a severe disservice. It is that, in its way, but it is so much more. I suppose we might call it a miscellany. Hand on heart, the delay of this review is simply owing to the difficulty I’ve had to define or describe it.

First of all, it is a lovely object. Large, but not coffee-table large, it is neither hard back or soft cover. It is dressed rather in crimson cloth-covered boards which are ever so slightly flexible. It is jam-packed with illustrations and entirely unblighted by photographs. Colourful and beautifully laid out, using Johnston Sans (“London’s typeface”, celebrating its 100th anniversary this year) and Caslon – both London typefaces of impeccable pedigree. Much credit to the designers and illustrators. Oh, and it smells nice too!

So what’s it about? Those of you familiar with the Curiocity maps (“London Unfolded”) which have been published by Eliot over the past five years or so won’t be surprised that the book is underpinned by a series of unusual illustrated maps of London.

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Crowdformations.

The authors have arranged their material in chapters alphabetically but intelligently avoided allowing this to be a burden (D = Dust; J = Juvenalia). Each chapter has a two-page hand-drawn map or topographical illustration, beautifully made and full of visual puns. One is reminded of MacDonald Gill‘s interwar theatre and tube posters (“Wonderground” etc.). Hanging from these chapter titles, like beautiful mobiles, there are sections which contain typically three to six morsels of quirky and interesting information. Think QI, but more interesting than that; think Steve Wright’s factoids, but more meaty than that; think Quote…Unquote, but more engaging than that. And all about London. How to describe? Picking something out as a bit of a Blake fan, for example, we have STRAND > GORGONOOZA (Blake’s Spiritual Fourfold London, this is the Map for the chapter)> St James’s Piccadilly > info how Blake was baptised in the eponymous church in the Grinling Gibbons font. The whole is wrapped up with a Philip Pullman quote about Blake. Multiply this by dozens of similarly structured sections and you have a delicious tome of rare worth.

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The Thames Archipelago.

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Sleepeasy … Speakeasy.

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Memento Mori … Memorials.

I adore this intelligent, thoughtful book, Curiocity. It has character; it has a sense of humour; it is conversational and sensational. Definitely one of my all-time favourite books about London and most certainly shortlisted for our Book of the Year. Be you the giver or recipient, it’s a Christmas present guaranteed to delight.


Curocity: In Pursuit of London (452pp) is published by Particular Books (Penguin / Random House) with a cover price of £30 but available for less. Worth every penny either way.

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