It’s been almost exactly one year since the last sustained piece of nice weather in the UK. I remember the day well; it was my birthday and we all went for a picnic in Ilkley. This year, a fortnight ago, a handful of us went to Bradford to catch the Cartier-Bresson exhibition and eat cake. Then on the Sunday we caught a GNER National Express East Coast train to London. We dashed south through the eastern counties on what seemed to be a train which was fitted out in comfy 70’s beige.
Once at King’s Cross, we walked the short distance to the newly refurbished St Pancras International (passing platform 9¾ on the way). The newly refurbished station smelled of concrete dust. Resisting the urge to jump on a train to the continent, we used our shiny and new Oyster Cards to catch a southbound Thameslink service under London to Loughborough Junction, where we were met by Sarah who walked us the five minutes to the Brixton / Herne Hill flat she shares with Tom. Here I was welcomed by birthday balloons and a welcoming cup of tea.
We planned to keep busy each day, and here is a kind of diary-within-a-diary summary of our short break.
Sunday
We decided upon a lazy Sunday. In the afternoon, we (minus Tom) headed over to Dulwich Village. This is a well middle-class enclave full of yummy-mummy’s pushing 4x4 buggies and shouting kids on strange yellow bikes. But the place itself felt like somewhere straight out of the Cotswolds, and was generally very agreeable. Sarah explained that London is full of neighbouring suburbs that are vastly different in class or ethnic make-up, and I think this is one of the reasons why London to me is so exciting and interesting and unpredictable.
Back at the flat, we learned that Loughborough Junction Station is the only one in the UK from which it is possible to see six railway bridges all carrying different lines – it really is a mini spaghetti junction of the rail network. Then we got on to the serious subject of the new Mayor of London. None of us could really believe that Boris Johnson had managed to beat Ken Livingstone, and neither Sarah nor Tom knew anyone who voted for the former. All agreed that this was a disastrous move and that we were sad about it.
Monday
After a lovely breakfast of poached eggs and bacon, plus some really sweet cherry tomatoes and home-baked bread, we all went to the London Transport Museum.
Tom helpfully pointed out that the advertised entry fee is £10, but £2 of this is secretly a voluntary donation (which we all decline to give on the basis of the museum’s presumption). Here, we were pleasantly diverted for a couple of hours, before finding a kerb in ever-busy Covent Garden on which to sit and eat our home-made left-over chicken and stuffing sandwiches on home-made rolls.
After lunch, we split up and Gemma and I headed over to the shops around Neal’s Yard (which by chance features in the Palin Diary that I am currently reading – he and a couple of other Pythons bought 2 Neal’s Yard as a studio in 1975). A short hop on the tube took us to Embankment. We walked across the river to the Royal Festival Hall, where we took a polite look at a small organic food market and had an ice cream, before deciding that we were sufficiently hot and tired enough to return to base. Diner and a pint at the local pub saw the evening out, and we fell gratefully into bed.
Tuesday
First day back at work for our hosts. Tom started a new job today and was happy that his commute time was quartered from 2 hours to 30 minutes. We too had a reasonable early start, for we had an appointment with Parliament.
Anyone can pay to take a tour during the summer recess, but did you know that you can book a free tour any time of the year simply by writing to your MP. I did, and despite the best efforts of the District / Circle Lines we arrived promptly at the Wonkaesque time of 9.44am, as instructed on our Commons-headed invitation. The tour group was larger than I expected, and there were many groups being shown round this morning. Our guide was a kindly but extremely posy little lady called Malka, and she whisked us efficiently round the Houses Lords and Commons, the Queen’s robing room, the shelf of Hansard’s and other choice parts of The Palace of Westminster that you don’t normally get to see. I was happy to be taking a peek inside one of my top-ten favourite buildings, and it was strange to find myself standing where a few hours later Gordon Brown would be leaning against his dispatch box.
After dispatching a parliamentary muffin in the cafe, we headed back to the flat (after having a quick look round Brixton High Street). Newly enfreshened, we got to Regent Street a little ahead of schedule and called in for a few minutes at Hamleys, where a salesman asked me how old my child was. ‘It’s not born yet’, was my true yet satisfying sale-killing response Actually, I just remembered that I haven't posted here about our exciting news - this will be done in a few weeks after the twenty-week scan.
Just down a side street we found the Mason’s Arms, where we met up with Dan and Camille for a night of comedy. I am sorry to say I did not note the names of the fist six stand-ups (all bar one were pretty funny, notably the slightly overweight stockbroker who made good use of a bar-chart to help illustrate his points about Internet dating). The headliner was Richard Herring, who I thought would be on longer than his allotted 20 minutes; still, he was very funny and, following a bold statement about his knowledge of the Guinness Book of Records, coaxed Dan into confusedly asking him if he knew the name of the man ‘who ate the Eiffel Tower'. We all laughed.
Wednesday
So far we had gotten to wherever we were going using the Victoria Line from Brixton. This morning, we decided to travel overground, and caught the 345 Bus all the way to South Kensington. The 50 minute journey gave us time to eat our lunch as we weaved through the increasingly posh houses and shops of Battersea and Chelsea. We were soon at the Victoria and Albert and the Natural History Museums. Both collections are housed in amazing buildings, and, unbelievably, both are free. In the V&A, we took in the 20th Century rooms, and I saw the photography room and the current Chinese Design Now exhibition (while Gemma lay in the sun outside). Then we popped next door, where we had time to see the Dinosaurs and the Mammals, rooms full of massive skeletons of the extinct and even massiver actual specimens of Elephants and Whales. It was literally awesome, and I can only imagine what the pre-mass-media-and-Internet public made of these collections. You could definitely visit for days on end and not see everything.
We did not have days, for we had to get to the West End for a show. Avenue Q was my choice, and despite the front-row seats being stupidly close to the high stage and causing a little neck ache, we both enjoyed this funny, simple, adult-orientated puppet-based musical.
Thursday
To St. Paul’s Cathedral today, via train. I got confused by the discrepancy between the name of the nearest station in the A to Z (Ludgate Hill) and on the network map (Thameslink), so we got out at Barbican, and soon discovered that the two stations were one and the same. Ah London, you mysterious deceiver!
The steps of St. Paul’s were full of lunching office workers. We weaved deftly through the melee, and into the cool environs of the cathedral. Starting in the crypt, and momentarily eavesdropping on a guided tour, we worked our way up the 259 steps to the Whispering Gallery. Up here in the dome space, many tourists talked into the walls in the hope of experiencing the phenomenon of having their friends hearing that whisper on the opposite wall. It sounded to me like a whole lot of European snakes. I carried on to the Golden Gallery, a further 271 steps which take you 280ft out into the London skyline. Despite my healthy natural fear of heights, I loved it out here in the sun, with just a few fit brave tourists for company. I had been looking for an alternative to the Eye for getting a first class view of the capital, and I have to say this was it. Until I get a new copy of Photoshop, I can't stitch together the snaps of the wonderful 365º view, so you'll just have to make do with North, South, East and West instead (and in that order).
Back on the ground, we lunched at Leon’s, before hopping on a tour bus. We usually take a guided tour in an open-top bus; it’s so touristy and tacky but you do get to see all the ‘sights’ whilst taking the weight off your feet. Due to toilet commitments, we experienced commentary in both an Australian and a Russian accent. We hopped off at Shaftesbury Avenue, and after a light dinner took our seats in the Lyric Theatre for Gemma’s choice of show, which was Cabaret. This production starred Alastair McGowan. Gemma did not like the show much (she claims to have seen better versions at her university in Newcastle), whilst I pretty much hated it. The story was slight yet very depressing and dark, the music and dancing corresponded exactly with the sort that I dislike, and the seats were uncomfortable. I was glad to eventually leave and head south on a variety of tube trains and buses.
Friday
A train and a tube took us to Tower Hill, where we boarded a big white boat which took us to Greenwich. A young crew member provided some genuinely interesting commentary as we headed east through the former dockland (now, inevitably, the river here is lined with endless soulless apartments). But I was excited to be showing Gemma one of the lovelier parts of the capital. The boat docked and we split from the real tourists by ducking into the market, before having lunch at an empty Spanish restaurant (weird prawns and patatas bravas for Gemma, tiny fishcakes for me). Afterwards we strolled up to the Royal Observatory, where we straddled the meridian and marvelled at the camera obscurer, before heading back down for an ice cream.
An alarmingly wobbly DLR train conveyed us back to town, and we decided that the above constituted enough for this week thank you very much. Back at Sarah and Tom’s flat, we had a bath (I enjoyed shedding a weeks worth of factor 50) and read the Guardian, before our hosts returned from post-work drinks to cook up a vegetable lasagna and discuss our week (for we saw nothing of them during over the previous few days – they always left for work before we woke, and we usually returned after their bedtime).
Saturday
I was sad to be leaving friends and also to be leaving London this morning. We got to Kings Cross in ample time to catch the 12.10 north. As we accelerated through Hertfordshire, I reflected on why I like, indeed love London so much. I find the place mysterious and confusing, exotic yet familiar. There is literally a limitless amount of amazing things to see and do, much of it, if not free, then at least reasonably priced. It’s so big, but very easy to get around. Its size works to pull entertains and comedians and musicians into the large arenas and small rooms above pubs and even the streets.
I reckon that if I put my mind to it, I could learn more of the city’s geography and cultures and customs, but I actually enjoy not knowing – it keeps the mystery going for me.
