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Showing posts from February, 2017

Above Ground on the London Underground-Day 62: From the Tate to the Tate

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Westminster Reflections by Sarah Fosse  

SarahFosse.com

If it's Friday we must be back in London.Every Friday I take a virtual walking tour ‘above ground’ on the London Underground. Using my Tube guide & my fitbit® device, my goal is to walk 10,000 steps a day roughly following along the Underground route, reporting back here on Fridays with my findings We've just finished following the Central Line, took a detour to the Tate Britain. Next we'll hop on the District Line. Here are the previous days. This is Day 62.



Before we leave the Tate Britain, where we visited the Hockney exhibit last week, make sure you spend some time with the Turners. The museum is known for its large collection and for me, having seen Timothy Spall in the film Mr. Turner, I really would love to see some original pieces up close.




 Tate Boat via Sea Fever Blog
Next, we’re going for a boat ride. I’ve always wanted to go for a ride on the Thames, the Tate Boat makes it simple. We catch a boat from the T…

There's No Place Like Home

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For six years in the nineties we lived in a little house on a hill on the west side of Los Angeles. We always bragged that while the house might be small, we had a million dollar view. On a clear day we could see the Hollywood sign from our backyard. 

The house was something of a gift. We inherited the place when the current tenants, our good friends Mike and Judy, found a house they wanted to buy and recommended us to the landlord. When they moved out, we moved in. We signed the lease that dropped us within the boundary lines for our school of choice, just days before the deadline to register for a coveted kindergarden spot in the fall.

Our son spent his entire elementary school life in that little old house, going from kindergarden through fifth grade in the same house, going to the same school, with the same friends.

I call it a little house because it was. Just 1050 square feet. Two bedrooms, one matchbox sized bathroom, a kitchen so tiny that there was little more to it than the sto…

Above Ground on the London Underground—Day 61: David Hockney at the Tate Britain

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If it's Friday we must be back in London.Every Friday I take a virtual walking tour ‘above ground’ on the London Underground. Using my Tube guide & my fitbit® device, my goal is to walk 10,000 steps a day roughly following along the Underground route, reporting back here on Fridays with my findings We're currently following the Central Line. Here are the previous days. This is Day 61.
If it’s Friday, I’m usually taking an imaginary walk in London. Today I have to veer off course. 

Run, don’t walk—or take a train if you must, the Central Line is quite handy—to the Tate Britain where the museum is hosting an exhibit by Los Angeles’s favorite non-American artist David Hockney. We love the acclaimed British artist here in sunny L.A., in part because he loves us back, reflecting our city’s allure with paintings of sparkling pools filled with beautiful boys, the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills, California houses perched on hillsides, filled with light and color.





Hockney, who t…

Dreaming of France: What's on your Must See list?

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Promenade des Anglais, Nice by Gabriel Deschamps
Except for Fridays, when I post my virtual walk of London, I usually post memoir here. Today is different. Hoping to make some new memories, memories I’d like to write about, my husband and I are back to thinking seriously about taking a trip abroad this year. London, Paris, the south of France, Rome and Venice are all being talked about. 

I was born in London but haven’t been back since the 80’s. Since I write a post every Friday about London, I’d say it’s time I got back, wouldn’t you agree? My husband, a massive Sherlock Holmes fan, has never been, and is dying to see Baker Street and many of the locations he knows so well from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. So that’s a must.

Paris. Mais oui! To go walking along the Seine together, browsing the kiosks, the used booksellers, the art, to pick out a print to bring home, a souvenir to frame and hang in just the right place. To visit Montmarte, the Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame, the Left Bank, t…

Above Ground on the London Underground—Day 60: Epping Forest

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If it's Friday we must be back in London.Every Friday I take a virtual walking tour ‘above ground’ on the London Underground. Using my Tube guide & my fitbit® device, my goal is to walk 10,000 steps a day roughly following along the Underground route, reporting back here on Fridays with my findings We're currently following the Central Line. Here are the previous days. This is Day 60.
Last week, just as I was feeling weary of following the Central line, up popped Leytonstone, and the happy discovery of it being the birthplace of the great Alfred Hitchcock. 
Today I’m once again feeling the neverendingness of the Central Line—THE longest tube line in the London Underground System, the line covers 49 miles—as I  look at the map and trace its pathway going out and out and out into the countryside. Skipping ahead, I find the end of the line: Epping, the last and 46th station. And while Epping feels like it’s forever and away from London, it’s actually just shy of 4 miles northea…

That Thing We Did: We’re ready for our close-up, Mr. Hanks

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My boy and me on the set of That Thing You Do with Tom Everett Scott, 1995





“What size?” the wardrobe assistant asked, rifling through a garment rack full of pointy white cotton bras and silky slips, a measuring tape hanging from her neck. I was suddenly acutely aware of the line of women behind me, waiting to pick up their own period-perfect brassieres for the filming of Tom Hank’s directorial debut, That Thing You Do. I briefly debated tying that tape tightly around the wardrobe woman’s neck.

“34?” It came out as barely a squeak. Even with the additional plumpness that comes with motherhood, my breasts would never be called knockers.

She gave me a quick glance, and without asking my cup size, handed me something white and institutional looking — they were all white and institutional looking—the kind of serviceable bra I would have worn myself when I was a teenager in the sixties. 

“I don’t want to wear someone else’s bra. Can’t we just wear our own stuff?” a young brunette behind me in l…