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mondo culture-o
The City With A Million Eyes by Gillian G. Gaar 
Time for you to indulge me yet again while I tell you of my latest travels. This time it was sunny England... yes, sunny, much more so than Seattle; I even got a slight tan.
There are more surveillance cameras in England than in any other country in the world, apparently. Yet (Seattle City Council please take note) this didn't make me feel safer; it made me feel creepy. The knowledge that my behavior was being continually observed, except in my hotel room (and maybe even there), was unnerving.
If you're not doing anything wrong, the argument goes, what's the problem? They're all there "for your protection," or so they claim. But the fact that I need to be watched makes me feel that I am doing something wrong; it's like being accused of ill intent before a crime has even been committed.
It became particularly surreal when I visited the Diana, Princess Of Wales Memorial Playground in Kensington Park. It's an enclosed space in the park, staffed by various employees. And you know there's CCTV (closed circuit television) in operation somewhere. Yet you're not allowed to go in the park as an adult if you don't have a child. But since both staff and cameras are watching you, why should that be necessary?
But my visit to the UK was not to ponder on the continual erasure of our civil liberties. I was there to see Paul McCartney give a concert in his hometown of Liverpool. The show also featured the Zutons and Kaiser Chiefs to make it a more well-rounded Liverpudlian celebration, but it was clear everyone was really there to see Paul. Terrific show too. The big hits ("Yesterday," "Hey Jude"), but a few surprises, like opening with "Hippy Hippy Shake" and a medley of "A Day In The Life" and "Give Peace A Chance" (now more than ever!) during the encore. A big fireworks display brought the festivities to an end.
The stadium was apparently designed (for UK-style football) by a bureaucratic sadist, however. Perhaps to cut down on hooliganism, the seat rows were so close together you couldn't sit with your legs in front of you; they had to be turned to the sides, thus prohibiting any kind of movement that was comfortable. Footage of the show revealed that even special guests seemed to be crammed into these nasty little seats; there was Yoko Ono in a nifty top hat side by side with Olivia Harrison. I met up with Yoko for a brief chat a few days before, due to our previous association (she wrote the preface for my first book, She's A Rebel). She's very small and looks fabulous. I hope I look that way when I'm 75. I asked about her own work. She's been doing more art stuff lately, she said, no music, though there are some new remixes of "Give Peace A Dance" available as downloads.
It was of course the wrong time to be in the UK, due to the lousy exchange rate (roughly two dollars to the pound); but, as I was there for Paul's show there wasn't much to be done about it. Here's a tip: Take full advantage of any friendships you may have in the host country. I made appointments with various book editors I've worked with, and thus got one good meal a day every day I was in London.
My writing efforts paid off in other ways too. As the result of interviewing Tony Palmer about his excellent 16-part documentary about the history of popular music, All You Need Is Love (just out on DVD), he invited me to call on him while in London, and I ended up spending an evening with him drinking champagne at the Garrick Club. It's a gentleman's club that "ladies" are not allowed to join, though they can pass through the hallowed doors as guests. It's a tonier version of The Rainier Club in our own city, and rather more exclusive (current waiting time for new members is eight years). I sat under a portrait of a "Foote" painted by one "J. Reynolds" (that would be Joshua Reynolds, of course).
Nor did I have to eat at a McDonald's once; sandwiches in the local convenience store were actually cheaper. Many of London's best attractions are free; the British Museum, the Tate galleries, and as a longtime film buff, I have to admit I still get a thrill at seeing Big Ben after all those years of seeing establishing shots of it in films.
But the best was saved for last, an evening with the ever-exquisite artiste Danielle Dax.
She plied me with much food and drink, and I left laden with gifts. We celebrated by dancing
around the room to Peggy Lee's "Manana," proving in oh-so-many ways that the best things in life truly are free.
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