Why the Police Should Never Stop a Muslim MA Researcher.

This MA thesis on walking the streets of the city in the 18th century has taken me to the most interesting of places-the London Metropolitan Archives, Westminster Archive Centre, The British Library, as well as nearly every museum in the city. I have also come into contact with the most esteemed of academics, experts in their fields, and voices of authority on such things as urban anthropology, and antiquarianism. I had, however, never imagined I would during my research come into contact with the highest of authorities-the Metropolitan Police, when I submitted my proposal, but that is exactly what happened last week, when the officers who stopped me learnt why they should never stop an academic Muslim researcher.

The sun was shining, and it was another day in the city for me. I had just collected images of London’s streets (from the 18th century) from the London Metropolitan Archive Centre, and was marvelling at how the city had over the course of two centuries, changed significantly, as well as remaining very much the same. My excitement was such that I decided I would take my own pictures of the city’s streets, and compare them in my thesis, undertaking a bit of original research, and field work. Walking jollily along Newgate street, I found the Bank of England, of which I had an 18th century engraving. I decided, therefore I would take a picture of the Bank in the exact same view as that of the engraving. Of course, this was not easy, as the traffic in Bank is incredibly congested. I therefore took quite a few pictures, and finally got the angle right. Though I did not shout it aloud, the word ‘yippee’, did spring to mind. I turned around, a significantly big smile on my face, to find two very (and I mean very) grim-faced police officers standing there. It was here the dialogue began.

“Excuse me sir, but just what are you doing?” His tone was harsh, and rather accusational-he seemed to have already decided what I was doing, and was just asking me in order that I say something contrary to what was in his mind, in order that he may then tell me what I was doing. I was taken aback, as you would, and my smile faded. “officers…I’m just taking pictures of the Bank of England…for my MA thesis on the streets of the city. His response was quick and sharp: ‘the street, are you having a laugh? Your MA is on the streets of the city? What sort of thesis focuses on the streets?

‘Erm…mine?’

‘Really, and what is so interesting about the street that you’re taking pictures of buildings and the current streets of our city in broad daylight?’

It was at this point I realised what I was being accused of, what was understandable; a bearded individual snapping the city needed to be questioned in light of recent events. I understood, and appreciated that. This wasn’t the “crime” the officer had committed. Oh no. He had asked an MA student, in the middle of August (when I had completed so much of my research) about what he was researching. This just should not be done, for the person asking is just asking to get an earful about all the things the student has researched. It is sort of an unwritten rule among researchers; even us MA students do not ask each other about what the other is researching, as its just asking for trouble. I therefore smiled once again, took a deep breath, and began:

‘Well, its interesting you ask. In 1666 London, the old medieval city, burnt to the ground with the Great Fire of London, regarded by many social historians as the moment in history which caused London in its current metropolitan state, to come into existence (pause for effect). Following the fire, city developers and officials decided that rather than rebuild London as the town that it was, they would re-imagine London as a city. The planning therefore began, with the consultation of such people like Christopher Wren, and John Nash. By the…’

He tried to cut in: ‘sir, that’s fine, we don’t need to’-

-‘hey, you’ve got me started, I have to finish…

‘So, where was I? Ah yes, by the eighteenth-century, London had become what we now understand to be an urban metropolis, and this development spilt onto the streets of the city themselves. The streets during the period not only became wider, but with the passing of the 1762 Paving Act by Parliament, lead to the pavements in London coming into existence. These pavements were designated to the pedestrian, as London became in the period a pedestrian’s city. As the century progressed, the gentlemen of the upper, and upper-middle classes began to walk the streets, and literature aimed to educate these gentlemen of the ways of the street. These walking gentry….

He and his collegue had to stand there listening to the entire narration of my thesis. At the end, I breathed, smiled, and having shown him my QM ID card, asked, ‘so, is there anything else?’

‘No sir, you’re good to go…’ They seemed confused and bewildered; much like a first year undergrad who just sat through his first year lecture. I therefore said, ‘and look, now you’re more educated with respect to the streets of the city than you were before you stopped me, as they say, you learn a new things every day officers, cheerio.’ I went on my way. That’ll teach them not to ever again stop a Muslim academic in the city!

Delivering My First Paper at Literary London 2009

It is said that, ‘when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life’, and feel I must state that I am exhausted after the two-day conference, therefore curtailing Dr Johnson’s statement about the city’s appeal. Yesterday I delivered my first academic paper on eighteenth-century London literature. It was to a floor of academics, proffessors, and PhD students from all across the world (literally) who had come to the Literary London conference held this year at Queen Mary University in order to deliver their own papers, and to hear others.

Of course, I was the only MA student who was at the conference, so I felt incredibly overwhelmed, and out of my depth to start with. On the first half of the first day, therefore, I only observed, and didn’t ask any questions. As Thursday progressed, however, I came to realise that as these lecturers and professors were just as enthusiastic, and just as excited about London as I was, and discussing my ideas with them not only gave me new ideas, but caused me to realise that age-old realisation that every academic comes to at an early part of their career: I was not alone in my field. I therefore began to engage with them more, and I must say, I really enjoyed it. It was so fun, and engaging. All of the lectures were like the best lectures you would have attended during your undergraduate years. Truly inspiring, and I extrapolated lots and lots of ideas for my work-there is a lot of eighteenth-century material I had not known about prior to the past two days. Was so refreshing to hear about London in such diverse, and new ways. Very refreshing.

As much as the conference was enjoyable, having heard a number of speakers deliver their respective papers, I must admit that as Friday drew near, I began to dread giving my own paper more and more. I fully prepared myself, preparing a slide-show, and a handout. Having prepared myself, I went into the Arts lecture theatre to deliver my paper. It went very well, Proffessor Markman Ellis stayed to hear my deliverance, which was very nice of him-considering that he had already read my paper twice! Having Markman there made it all the more exciting to be delivering a paper in such a monumental lecture theatre, commanding a space which had been inhabited by the likes of Anne Janowitz, David Colclough, and other such QM lecturers and professors. The slide worked well, as did the handout, and the questions I was asked in the Q and A session which followed were even more enjoyable to answer.

It was truly a monumental occasion. I had delivered a paper at the Royal Shakespeare Company on teaching Shakespeare prior to this, but I do not really consider that as having ‘delivered a paper’, because though it was on teaching, and was delivered to a floor of Shakespeare academics, it was not on the literature I wish to further research: 18th century London literature. I hope that regardless of where the ever-flowing tide of life takes me in the next two, or three years, it returns me to the shores of Queen Mary. Its where I feel I belong, where I wish to grow old and retire. As much as I love this city, QM is my ‘London’ in reference to Dr Johnson’s aforementioned statement regarding the city.

Gentlemen

I just discovered that 'gentry', is actually a shorter word for 'gentlemen'! Yes, it is not as if I discovered electricity, or Penecillin, but back off, I am a literature student! We don't save lives, we culture people, for without culture, there is no life.

The Perfumer's Touch!

It is said that if a person comes near a coal-man, the likelihood of going away with one’s clothes sullied in some way, was quite high, and that if a person goes near a perfumer, he would most probably come away with some sense of fragrance on him. This truly seems to be the case-even if one does have ideas of insubordination in mind.

I had met a lecturer for coffee in the British Library the other day (well, Expresso to be more precise), and decided I should take a walk in the city. I therefore walked to Oxford Street, to remind myself about the act around which my dissertation evolves; that of walking the street. During my walk, I heard a street-merchant selling his product at the top of his voice. In the eighteenth-century, such a phenomenon would not have seemed strange, nor would it have seemed to peculiar in the market stalls of London. It did, however, seem bizaare that the man was using such a method of advertising his goods in Oxford Street; bearing in mind that he was in the most famous high-street in London, I wondered why he felt the need to, and therefore took a closer look. He was a perfumer. Well, not just any perfumer, he was a prominent employee of The Perfume Shop in Oxford street, which was holding a ‘one day promotion.’ Being an avid fan of The Real Hustle, I thought to myself, ‘we are living in an economic crisis, how could The Perfume Shop, of all places, have a “one day spectacular?” Something was not right, and I therefore took it upon myself to warn the people not to fall for the scam which was about to ensue.

I quickly realised that anything I would have uttered was drowned out by the huge megaphone in the man’s hand, through which he was yelling, ‘£30 for 6 top quality perfumes! Only £30 for 6 top quality perfumes! That is £6 each, ladies and gents!’ The had gathered a small crowd, with 10 people waving £30 in the air. The con was, to all intents and purposes, most definitely on. Each of these people were given a bag, and told they would now receive their goods. So far, I remained a ‘man of the crowd’, to borrow a phrase from one of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales. I did not engage, and remained an intrigued spectator. I watched as the employee began to tell these 10 people how they had ‘bagged the deal of the century’, and would receive 6 perfumes for the price of just one of them: £30. He then bought out these ‘top quality perfumes’. Now, I grew up with aftershave, and can distinguish my Kourus, from my Calvin Klein. Its one of those things, and felt it my duty to finally engage in the spectacle occurring in front of me, rather than just remain a ‘spectator’. Making my silent apologies to Joseph Addison and Richard Steele (composers of 18th-Century periodicals The Spectator), I turned to the last of the 10 customers who had decided to part with £30. He was a young man, who thought (like the other 9 ‘marks’), he was getting a great ‘deal’. He told he so. I began to destroy the myth the employee of The Perfume Shop had created, telling him, ‘you know, these perfume bottles contain 5% perfume, and 95% water.’ Understandably, he did not believe me, and I did not expect him to. At this point, the shop’s employee with the megaphone picked up the first of the 6 perfumes and said, ‘Obsessive for men, I am giving you, for £6 each! Here you all go!’ He put one in each of the 10 people’s bags. I picked up a sample of this ‘Obsessive’. I took the hand of the man I had been talking to, and said, ‘here, smell that’, spraying a bit on his hand. He smelt it. ‘it smells brilliant.’ I instructed him further, ‘wait for two minutes, smell it again.’ He did: ‘the smell is gone.’ By this time, the man with the megaphone was telling everyone about ‘Beauty for women! £6 each, everyone gets one!’ He put one of these into the bag of each of the 10 people. I picked up the sample of this, and sprayed a bit on the man’s other hand: ‘here, wait two minutes and smell your hand again.’ He did: ‘its…gone…I think you were right.’ We did the same for each of the 6 perfumes, as each of the 10 people were handed out bottles containing what was clearly water, for the most part. The man grabbed everyone’s money (including the £30 the man I was talking to was holding), and yelled, ‘ok, sale over! Goodbye everyone!’

Then he looked at me, and pointed his finger. ‘You sir, don’t go ANYWHERE, we have something EXTRA-SPECIAL planned for you!!’ I seriously gulped. The employee had an entourage of two bulgy men, and thought, my game was up. He had obviously seen me informing the man of the ‘scam’, spraying the perfumes one-by-one on his hand, showing him how they contained water. Why had I been so self-righteous?’, I asked myself. I had not even been able to save these people from a scam, and now I was about to get a serious ass-kicking, from a very well-fragranced man, and his entourage! I thought, ‘ah well, at least I’ll go home bleeding, but smelling nice.’ The employee came towards me. I gulped once again. This is it, this is the end, I told myself. The employee, strangely, stuck out his hand. I hesitantly shook it-maybe this is how well-fragranced men begin fights, I told myself, but then he said, ‘thank you SO much for being our official sampler, I watched you spraying each of our 6 fragrances on that man’s hand with such enthusiasm, you really helped me make the sale today, your spraying attracted even more attention, we sold more than the 10 bags!’ Oh dear. ‘Here, this is especially for you.’ He gave me my gift: two batter-operated romantic candles, and these two desk-photo-holders for a husband and wife. Thanks so much again my man, you really helped today!’

I decided to cut my losses, and head off: ‘no problem’, I said backing off, ‘…anytime.’ I then got the next bus home, while trying to make sense of what had happened. He must have seen me talking to the man, spraying each of the 6 perfumes on his hand with enthusiasm and consistency, and talking some more, but had not heard what I had said due to his big megaphone! He thought I was helping to advertise his products when really, I had opposite intentions in mind! What this little adventure reminded me of, was the sheer importance of being able to hear and understand the spoken words of others. Had he so much as heard an inkling of what I had said, he would have most definitely wanted to give me a well-fragranced beating! Hearing, and understanding the English language, never seemed more important.

Trapped In The Toilet At King's

I got trapped in a toilet yesterday. It was at King's, the Waterloo campus. As an ex-student, I showed an old ID, and I ran into the building, because I desperately needed the loo, and couldn’t see one for miles. I ran straight up the stairs, and into the toilet.

Now, King’s have a strange thing about placing the ladies toilet on the first floor, and directly above it, the men’s toilets. Same place, but the floor above. I had forgotten this. I found myself in the cubicle, minding my own business, but wondering why the tissue had a nice little mirror next to it, and why it was so scarily clean. King’s must have got better cleaners, I told myself. Then all of a sudden, I heard a soundd I could never have imagined I would hear in the place I was-well, the place I thought I was (the men’s toilets). I head the odd sound of not one, but two women giggling and coming in, and starting to talk all sorts of things. I don't think I checked the sign on the door, due to my desperation, and had run into the ladies! Now I was truly in a predicament: I didn’t want to stay, like some kind of man-spy, but I couldn't leave, as the two women would think I was some sort of strange man-spy who had perhaps watched Mel Gibson’s What Women Want a few too many times, and decided he wanted to know what women talk about in loos! So, I had to wait.



Ten minutes later, and these women are still talking. I won’t divulge the content of their conversation, but I must admit I found it strange that in the same breath, they were able to talk about their boyfriends, their exes, and, strangely, even their cats!

After about twelve minutes, they finally left, the circle came to a close: they left, giggling again, and I ran out of that toilet, faster than I had run in!

The Cavalry Has Arrived

After meeting my College Proffessor for afternoon coffee at the British Library the other day, I decided to take a ramble through Kensington Gardens. Of course, this involved actually walking to Queensway from Kings Cross, which took a few hours, but I was adamant (for reasons I cannot actually recall!) to walk through Kensington Gardens that day, so I made the trek.

By the time I got there, I was absolutely knackered, and secretly hoped someone would give me a lift in their car as they saw me trudging through the streets of Queensway, or that someone would let me have their bicycle out of pity. It was at this point I heard a slow march behind me. I thought to myself, 'who on earth would be marching in this scorching heat?' Then I turned, and it was truly a magnificent sight. At least 50 soldiers were marching right behind me, all monotonously, step after step, putting my little preamble to shame. I asked one of them. 'are you guys Territorial Army, Royal Marines, or the Commandos?'

He answered in a very manly voice: '...no....we're the Cavalry!'

The cavalry!! I couldn't match them for physical strenth, no matter how much I tensed my shoulders. These guys were made of pure British beef, so I thought I would provide them with a comment on the act of marching, for reflection. I said, 'yes, it is indeed a fine thing, walking, isn't it? It is such an interesting endeavour, as humans, we even invent other ways in which to do it, like marching.' The soldier gave me a 'one more word and I'll thump the life out of you' look, and said, 'yeah, whatever you say.'; Charming, but then, we never associated any charm with the cavalry!

Gauntlets

I desperately, desperately want a certain pair of gauntlets!!