I now have three hands!

Getting around London to see tourist hot spots via a Hop-on, hop-off service; what a way to see the town! Ear-phoned stories along the way, and cheery music, all served up on a double-decker bus from which the views are amazing. They also save a lot of time and money. But don’t bother asking a rival companies staff member where a particular bus stop is as they’ll happily lead you astray, or regale you with tales of why you shouldn’t use that company. I was told the company I had chosen was running late and wouldn’t be useful! With the Hop on hop off the choice of just looking at a site as you drive past, or actually going in to visit makes for a perfectly self-satisfying day.

The queue outside Madame Tussaud’s isn’t caused by hundreds of eager visitors, but rather by security. Apparently folk try to get in with disfiguring items like knives, scissors and matches in order to vandalize a figurine. I fail to see such acts as more than a cowardly protest, regardless of the cause.

Madame Tussaud’s must do a dance between attracting visitors who expect to see everyone from the Royal Family to the latest superstar, and maintaining enough elements of history to be able to tell stories with integrity. Some visitors want the horror of famous murderers, complete with weaponry and lots of blood, or great ventures into space with Star wars, whilst others admire Judi Dench, Helen Mirran, and all the James Bonds.

However, a sobering reminder:

I chose not to go there, but was grateful for the warning.

Around the corner, exhibits more my style; David Attenborough, racing car drivers, and influencers mingled with Winston Churchill and other worthy notables.

The waxwork’s visitors are fun to watch, as they pose with their latest crush. Curators must hold their breath at times, given the antics of excited fans trying to cuddle up to the likes of an unflinching pop star. Sadly, many figurines are not labelled, so you need to be right up with the play to know who you are looking at. I would have liked to read not only who they were, but also what earned them a place in such a remarkable collection.

Then there’s the exhibits which are purely for the adrenaline; the ones that visitors will talk about in a high-pitched voice months later, thus encouraging other folk to visit.

A giant gorilla’s head initially doesn’t inspire more than a quick look, but then it’s eyes move, the mouth opens, and a spine-tingling roar shakes the room, whilst young children escape to the safety of their parents legs.

But of course there are the less threatening. Just who was this… a pied piper, a famous herald, or maybe a court jester?

How the wax replicas are made is showcased in a video; the detail and lengths that the artists go to genuinely honour their subjects, and explains why some works stand out as needing to be touched to make sure the original isn’t playing a practical joke by being there in real life.

Further on, a ‘train’ of London taxi’s offers an amazing ride through the city’s history, with glimpse of history makers, the hardness of early life, the heat of the Great Fire and ensuing reconstruction, and many great advances since. I wish now that I’d gone for a second turn, in order to view in a bit more detail.

But for me the highlight had to be the opportunity to obtain a wax casting of my hand. The young man dipped my lower arm in very cold water, before applying a creamy coat to everywhere in the intended mould area, including under my fingernails. Having studied examples of other visitors results, I formed my hand pose, which was then gently dipped into hot wax. Staying very still was easier than I’d imagined. But suddenly my hand was lifted, only to be plunged into cold water. I could feel the wax setting and gently shrinking off my skin almost immediately.

The young man carefully pried the cast off my hand, and took a few minutes to tidy the edges etc. Several colour options exist, but I had little difficulty making my choice. A quick colour dip and then the staff beautifully boxed up the hand, being well aware it needed to survive a trip across the world.

Whilst all this was going on though, another staff member was talking to the person who was taking me through the stages, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Her lack of discretion and integrity were quite astonishing. I give the young man full credit for not endorsing or encouraging her in any way.

With my ‘hand’ safely held in my hand, I left the razzmatazz, flashing lights and noise of the waxworks show rooms, finding relative peace in the inevitable souvenir shop which heralds the exit of every tourist site. Normally I walk straight through these shameless landfill monstrosities, but on this day my conscience was yelling.

I asked to speak to the manager, who turned out to be a very sincere man with that lovely mix of compassion, business focus and appreciation for the implications of situations. He asked what he could do for me, and was most surprised when I said it was more a case of what I could do for him.

And so it was that I shared with him the tale of the female staff member, and how she was planning on calling in just two days before the Christmas season, for which she was rostered, to say she couldn’t come in due to a family emergency. She had gone ahead and booked tickets and accommodation for her European holiday, despite being required to work as per her contract. Not only was she gleeful about it, but she had trapped her colleague into saying nothing as she made it quite clear that he was the only one who knew. To his credit, the young man had not endorsed her behavior in any way, just carrying on processing my hand, but he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

The manager was grateful for the information; without it he would have had a staffing issue right on one of the busiest times of year for the site. He immediately called in another senior staff member, and organised that the young man would be interviewed, before the manager and side-kick would meet with the offending staff member.

How can a business know when skulduggery is afoot if we, the customer, don’t make them aware, not just when we have a complaint, but in any situation where integrity is at stake?

Madame Tussaud’s is a fabulous tourist attraction, but I do think that the noise and flashing lights etc could be a real issue for folk who are reactive to such assaults on the senses.

The Hop on service came right on time, and so I planned to be out of the city before rush hour. From my front upstairs seat, the sight’s of London rolled on by, with some surprises, including banks I’d not thought of, and Ukranian flags hanging on other countries embassies.

Whole streets of theatres, with every stage show imaginable, or so it seemed. Sunset Boulevard, Harry Potter, Lion King, Merlin Rouge… and so the sparkly proclamations went on, and on! Clearly London is the centre of the English stage universe!

And then there were the famous London black taxi’s, in every street and outside every station, or so it seemed.

And in the strangest oddity, to the outsiders eye, the area known of as London has cities within it. The City of Westminster is the home of politics (and ironically, theatre) whereas in central London lies a square mile known as the City of London, ceremonially governed separately to the rest of the metropolis, and central to banking. The City of London has it’s own Lord Mayor, who’s duties are to promote London both domestically and abroad. The position is filled via annual election, followed by a parade and much pageantry, as has been the case for over two thousand years. It’s walls were originally built by the Romans.

But on the bus, all was not well. My planning had not factored in the chaos caused by a traffic accident. The standstill in a roading network, already under pressure by the opening of Tower Bridge for a passing ship, as well as the increasing overcrowding of Christmas, grew like a fingering monster, spreading from street to street until we all knew it would be hours before the last vehicle would be moving. Some fellow passengers were cheeky enough to leave the bus, walk up to see another site of interest to them and get back to the bus before we moved off! London at it’s not so best. The night drew in, folk got cold, and desperate parents sought morsels from the bottom of bags for hungry off-spring. Most passengers had simply abandoned ship by the time we began moving again. I stayed put, knowing that eventually this bus would get me back to the station I needed.

Any relief at reaching the station soon vanished in dealing with the tempest that train strikes cause. Tensions were more direct than any train line, with high-viz folk struggling to remain focused in the face of abusive commuters. Fancy having to wait an extra half hour to get home! Dreadful. More than dreadful by the sound of some folk. And everyone had an opinion about the strike. The most common seemed to be around the pay rate the train drivers already get. Never mind their work conditions. Train drivers were refusing to do overtime, so it wasn’t even a full strike. When anyone gives up the most lucrative part of their pay packet in order to bargain for better working conditions, maybe there is some truth in their claim?

Arriving ‘home’ very late and tired, there were absolutely no regrets; Madame Tussaud’s, the other sites viewed, and the history uncovered were well worth it. But best of all, I now have three hands!