Common People

I met my parents at breakfast this morning to discover that they had already settled right in. Kamal had been summoned from the front desk to help my dad with the coffee machine, my mother sitting up in bed against the pillows, like a queen. Andrew had walked them down the street to get them started in the right direction for their morning walk. My dad tells me that Kamal had quite as much trouble with the machine as he did, and that Andrew adjusted the route he took them on to walk down a particular street my mother wanted to see. I don’t know Kamal or Andrew yet, but clearly my parents are feeling right at home. I’ve included a photo of the Porcupine pub - the site I collected them from yesterday after the police assist. 

They headed off to the War Rooms after breakfast. I took a little stroll, skirting the rough sleepers at St Martin’s church to listen to the choir practicing inside, and avoiding a crazy ranting man at Seven Dials to explore Neal’s Yard. The streets are quiet in the early morning , a nice change from the chaos that come later on. 

We went full tourist today, regrouping mid morning for the hop on hop off bus. The early part of the tour route showcases a city of domes and carved stonework juxtaposed with curved steel and glass towers. A Christopher Wren church sits in the shadow of a shiny tower and it all works splendidly. We hopped off at St Paul’s, which I have never been to. On Sunday, entry is free rather than $58. Score. There was a church service on, complete with a choir and musicians, so while the areas we could look at were restricted, the soundtrack was magnificent. 

The hop-on hop-off bus is usually a great way to see a city, but the commentary was dreadful - dull, and always a beat late or early, referencing things before we'd reached them or after we'd passed.  The bus turned out to be a better way to get to the tourist attractions than a way to see the city. The stops take forever while hot, sweaty tourists climb on and off asking the driver various navigational questions, and the traffic made the whole thing sloooow. We should have ditched the bus, but our disinterest peaked at the furthest point from our hotel, so we persevered for the full loop. By this time it was 2pm and we were all hungry. We settled on Five Guys -  pleb comfort food, served in an air conditioned space. 

After lunch we walked in the sweltering heat to Sir John Soane’s museum. I’ve been there before a few times but really wanted to show my parents. It’s a fascinating collection, treasures crammed into every corner, nook and cranny. Since this was my third visit, I didn’t need to look at the specifics and spent time thinking about the contrast between modern wealth, which buys space and emptiness, and this older, more atmospheric approach. Minimalism v Atmosphere. 

Our evening moved from aristocratic eccentricity to cheerful chaos at Lina Stores for dinner - a tiny restaurant, downstairs from a deli in Soho. We shared a fantastic Frittura di Verdure: floured and fried zucchini and lemon slices with roast garlic and aioli. So good. We each chose a different pasta, small, perfectly sized servings of house made pasta with delicious sauces. 

Our tourist day today has left me thinking about the coexistence of the ordinary and grandeur: queueing for burgers beneath domes and pediments, a choir singing over the top of the homeless. London is an intriguing mix of the magnificent with the everyday, everyday people with extraordinary backdrop.  

Come together

My parents were due to arrive at the hotel very early this morning, but the transport gods had other ideas in store for them. A late plane, a broken train, a replacement bus and some intrepid decision making left them somewhere between Heathrow and Central London at 11am. At 1 pm they were getting assistance from two police officers while standing outside “the Porcupine”. Luckily my mother took a photo of the moment for posterity. Also the “Derry girls”who helped them in their wanderings.

Pinpointing their location, I collected them for a personal escort to the hotel. It was already mid afternoon and our morning plans were out the window. Once they had showered and changed we revised plans and headed out for a late lunch at the Seven Stars, a pub owned by a friend of their friend. Cam and I sorted lunch and drinks while they had a good old chat with the proprietor, about various mutual acquaintances and places. We walked by the London  School of Economics - could be a future education option for me. 

Dinner options were challenging, as the Pride parade is on in London tonight. The streets are crammed with people in some pretty spectacular outfits - sequins, platform boots, glitter and very fancy wigs. People are spilling out of restaurants and pubs and I wouldn’t want to be a taxi driver trying to drive down the pedestrian filled roads. We scored a walk in at Dishoom, my favourite Indian restaurant. I know my parents are not huge fans of Indian food but I was thinking this might be a hit and it was. We had a delicious meal, albeit with an ambient noise level well above the possibility of any conversation. One of those meals where everyone yells across the table and the other person nods sagely as if they actually heard you. I scored a free dessert to share (4 spoons) as I told them I was celebrating my graduation. Team Starrett has a long history of sourcing free celebration items, so I’m pleased to have honoured the tradition. We emerged back into the streets, London still buzzing at full volume, which was actually quieter than the restaurant. 

We finished the day with a quiet drink in the hotel’s courtyard bar. This was not the smooth, carefully planned first day I had imagined but it didn’t really matter. We are here, together , and tomorrow London awaits. 

Here Comes the Son

I said goodbye to the club and the hundreds of elephants and lugged my bags through London this morning, transferring to a hotel in Covent Garden for the next four days. After a few weeks on my own, I’m ready for the family to arrive. Campbell is the first, arriving  after lunch from his San Francisco/World Cup excursion. 

On the way to the new hotel  I passed an IKEA in a very non-IKEA building. 

My room was ready when I reached the hotel, however it was right on the street, and the (open) blinds are sealed between two panels of glass and don’t move. Despite being in the theatre district, I’m not keen to star in my own solo play for passing pedestrians, so I’ve requested a room change. That leaves me a bit aimless, as my original plan had been to have some chill time in the room. Instead I wandered about, checking out the new location, paying a hefty 7 pounds for a coffee. Photos of items of interest below: collagen protein ice blocks (!), Chinatown lanterns, and a floral display for the ballet. 

It’s funny how,  now that someone else is arriving, my focus has completely shifted into organising mode. With hours, I had sorted dinner bookings, worked out Tube routes and looked at transport costs to Oxford. Clearly this is a role everyone else assumes I will be taking care of too, as Cam collected his bags at Heathrow and the following text conversation occurred: 

We had pre-booked an early dinner at BRAT, a Michelin starred restaurant in Shoreditch recommended by Cam’s chef friends. Side note: I draw no parallels between the name of the restaurant and my favourite middle son. Brat is the traditional Northumbrian word for turbot which is the restaurant's flagship dish. It’s one of the places where cooking over fire is the main game, and the restaurant has a faint smoky smell that made me hungry. We shared a flatbread with wild garlic and spenwood (I had to google it), followed by Jersey beef fillet, smoked potatoes, and wood roasted greens. The service was friendly, the food was excellent, Cam’s a great conversationalist and I must say, my heart was full. 

Outside of the restaurant was an architecture practice, with very cool metal signage on the front, listing the projects of the firm and the relevant years, dating back to the 1100’s! I struggled to photograph it properly due to the sun and the angle, but Cam came to my aid with a few taps so hopefully you can read it. We hustled back to the hotel to change into our Aussie soccer supporter gear (supplied by Cam) and went to the local pub to watch the Australia v Egypt game. We had imagined at least a small pocket of noisy Aussies at the pub but it was a fairly quiet crowd, with only a scattering of people watching the game. Despite the result it was fun to watch the game with Campbell, who provided a running commentary of gameplay and player history for both teams with an astonishing level of detail. It’s been a long day, but a lovely one, shifting focus from my solo adventure into the family chapter. 

Club Crawl

After dinner last night, Lily and I went on an excursion to tour the Pall Mall clubs. Fancy frontages, no signage and an air of exclusion, the private clubs were founded in the 1700’s and still flourish in London today. In once sense they are a remnant of a past age, but they have provided a real connection point for me in this current age. The two I have used for accommodation this trip are in Mayfair, and are socially a tier down from the L shaped strip of clubs in Pall Mall.  Exiting the tube, we walked past Whites (Tories) , Brooks (Whigs) and the Carton Club (Conservatives). They are all super elite clubs (Whites is still men only) and I am unlikely ever to see inside. Accessible to me however was the Travellers Club, founded for globe-trotting gentlemen. 

My letter of introduction got us through the dragon at the door, very stuffy till he decided I was a legit reciprocal member, and then nicer. We had planned to go for a drink here, but it was pretty dead, all the better for getting a couple of sneaky photos. The building is palatial, and somewhat of a rabbit warren. There are still a few men’s only rooms in this club, and I don’t like the vibe. The garden looks a bit sad in the photo, it’s nicer in real life. 

We carried on to the Reform Club next door, again passing through the hallowed gates with my letter of introduction. Of the five clubs I’ve visited so far, this was the most beautiful and also quite friendly. We did a whistle stop tour of the different rooms and then settled down in the bar for a cocktail. The waiter came over to chat about the soccer, the weather and the cocktail list. 

By the time we finished our drinks and walked back to Mayfair. it was nearly 11pm. Consequently, today has been a lazy day with just a short wander through Marylebone High Street. The flower shops are lovely so I’ve included a photo. There is also a lot of fake greenery on the tops of the shops. It looks charming. Note the street name for those in the know (it might not be clear enough to see). 

I had a little afternoon doze, till it was time to carry on with my club crawl. I had signed up to a Champagne and Sparkling tasting event at the Reform Club. Apparently England has a growing reputation for sparkling wine on the world stage(who knew!). When I arrived at the club with about an hour to kill, the monthly members social meet up was on (although they call it “Les Conviviales”), so they matched me up at a table with another lady to chat providing nuts and chips to snack on. She was nice although clearly in a different social set than me - her house has 120 solar panels as they need to heat the pool and the pool house and run the car cocoons (yes that’s the word she used) for the climate controlled car collection. 

The tasting was in a private room with a big u- shaped table all set out with glassware and a happy, friendly lot of people.  It was a comparison of four styles from an English vineyard (Rathfinny) alongside the same style in a traditional Champagne. It was lots of fun. The Rathfinny guy talked too much, and my group would have rather talked to each other, but we were fairly well behaved. In my opinion, the English stuff didn’t really compare with the champagne, but to be fair he had put up some pretty stiff traditionals against his offerings (Billicart Salmon Rose..) so I don’t want to be too harsh. There were a few paltry water crackers on a plate and I was hoping that indicated that cheese would be served, but alas, I had to buy a chicken sandwich from Pret on the way home. The experiences I have had at the clubs this week have been a source of connection and social engagement and I feel really fortunate to have had access. 

Food Glorious Food

 I spent  this morning at the Jamie Oliver cooking school, attending a Mexican Street Food cooking class. The class kitchen was a lovely space to cook in with good knives and pans.  I was paired up with a young French girl, Jean, who was gentle, positive and very easy to work with, although not experienced at all with cooking. I winced inwardly a few times but win a private prize for making no helpful suggestions to improve her rudimentary cooking skills. 

We made smoky chipotle chicken, pico de gallo, guacamole, roasted corn salsa and handmade tortillas. Mexican wouldn’t be my first cuisine choice for a class but that was today’s course schedule and what we made was delicious. The course guide promised a glass of bubbles that never appeared, but I didn’t realise till I was finished eating. Damn. 

I handed back my apron and took a meandering path the West End for a theatre production of Oliver. On the way I walked past the strangely named “Haunch of Venison yard”. Apparently the street (more of a lane) is named after the pub that used to be there in the seventeen hundreds. I also walked past a street full of pastry shops, most of them sporting Wimbledon themed cakes (see what I did there). A tummy full of tacos didn’t stop me having a little snack before the show.

Oliver was fantastic - great sets, good voices and a chorus of kids with loads of energy. When you know all the songs it’s hard not to sing along, but I held myself back. I’m wondering what part of your brain decides to hold on to the words to showtunes - it has to be 40 years since I saw the movie. I held on to my handbag very tightly walking home through dusk in Soho because you’ve got to pick a pocket or twoooo. 

Returning the favour of a “meal at my club”, I invited my new aquaintance Lily to dinner at the Oriental. We ordered a range of curries, which were delicious but probably gets me to my quota of Indian meals this week. More about last night in the next post. 

It’s been a day of eating, fortunately countered by all the walking. The blog title above was the winner, but the very close second was “Spice Girls”. So tempting , but it didn’t link Oliver with the other activities and I didn’t have a photo of either of the girls , so Food Glorious Food won the day. 

Orient-ation

I packed up my suitcases this morning ready to change my accommodation. I’m moving to the Oriental Club for the next three nights, trading the cosy faded grandeur of the University Women’s Club, to something a little fancier. It’s still located in Mayfair but in an area that has a bit more life around it. I chose to walk between the clubs but regretted that decision fairly promptly. Manoeuvring two cases while using google maps to guide my path was a challenge. Here’s the exterior of the club:

The Oriental Club was founded in 1824 as a gentlemen’s social venue for those who had lived or worked in India. I started off with a good wander around the club, checking out all the spaces. It’s big - two bars, a large dining  room, a few drawing rooms and a billiards room. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to take photos here, so have sneakily snapped a few, manoeuvring my phone in my handbag so the camera is like a periscope. I feel like I’m in a spy movie and wish I had saved the spy lamppost story for today’s post. 

Venturing outside, I explored a bit of the surrounding area, which is very much a shopping district as compared to the residential area of my last accommodation Grays Antique Market was a good place to wander, although I have no requirement for a tiara or a giant silver epergne. It’s a complete maze in there and I definitely I missed some stalls and looked at others three times without realising. I think I’m tired! It’s a beautiful sunny day and there are crowds of people, and the chaos that goes with that. I was intrigued by an interesting section in Super Dry, a whole floor of second-hand vintage Ralph Lauren clothes, saved from landfill. Hundreds and hundreds of items for sale, all in colour and style groups, for example “blue vests”, or “green shirts”. 

Returning to the club, I took advantage of the lovely afternoon and headed to the outdoor terrace for a glass of wine. The terrace was full but inside in the Calcutta Lighthorse Bar was nice too. 

I’m struggling a bit today. Partially tiredness but also that disorientation that comes from new surroundings, new rules, the loss of the familiar. I was comfortable in my little safe haven at the UWC. I knew the people and the streets and how it all worked. I’m now in an unfamiliar environment, on my own, and feeling vulnerable. I’m an experienced traveller and I KNOW that I’ll settle in by tommorrow, but today…. today I’m fragile. 

I never know whether to include this stuff in the blog- it’s quite personal. I don’t want to make people uncomfortable or for them to be sorry for me. I much prefer to write about the interesting or amusing aspects of my travels. I’ve left it in to acknowledge that even I - extroverted, confident, experienced - have moments of uncertainty and doubt. 

I opted for an early dinner, in the Calcutta Lighthorse bar again as the restaurant was booked out for a function. The function crowd is currently having drinks on the terrace with an excellent Saxophonist playing. I’m having a daiquiri to lean into the summer vibe. The bar menu is mostly Indian menu, with a smattering of English items like potted shrimp and roast beef. I went for the “Vada Pav Burger”. A crispy, spicy Indian potato patty. It was good. 

The real win today is that my room has aircon, so I’m looking forward to a better night’s sleep tonight.

Cool Britannia

The weather has finally cooled down a little, which is a huge relief. I had a very light breakfast to leave room to try the pastries at the global winner of the  “top new bakery” category. Rich but delicious. 

I spent the morning in the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery, wandering, but with a particular focus on the Tudors and the Regency period. All the famous, recognisable portraits of the kings and queens are here, far more interesting in person than viewed digitally. When the brushstrokes catch the light right in front of you, it becomes easier to remember that the person in the portrait once posed for it, saw it, liked it, owned it. 

I skipped the traditional “masters” section of the gallery as I had been here before, many years ago with Jason and the boys. Sometimes those memories are lovely and sometimes they are tough. While I was perusing the museum gift shop I found myself gravitating to all the books Jase would have been buying with a bit of a lump in my throat. 

The galley buildings themselves are spectacular too. Britain does such an excellent job of collecting and displaying history. They create elaborate spaces that allow you to step into the story. I know that it’s a curated story, and that the curation may sometimes be controversial, but I think we can accept that fact while still allowing ourselves to step into the story. These spaces invite visitors to to appreciate a remarkable continuity of memory and identity. Walking back out into the busy streets afterwards, modern London seemed layered on top of everything I’d just seen, rather than separate from it.

After all the English culture, I was ready for lunch. If England does any food particularly well, it’s Indian, so I took myself off to Benares, a Michelin-starred Indian restaurant. It was fantastic. Just fantastic. There were three “street food” options, beautifully presented, followed by a tasting plate for the main course. It LOOKED like the food we get at home from the local Raj’s corner, but it was on another level altogether. 

The other wonderful thing that London does is support the arts. I hadn’t been organised enough to book tickets to any shows in advance but during dinner last night with a dear school friend and his son, we booked tickets for tonight to see The Devil Wears Prada musical. There were so many shows to choose from, many running for multiple years, still playing to full houses. The show was great fun, with excellent costumes and a live orchestra. The theatre was packed. Soho was still a hive of activity at 10pm when the show finished, and we had a very late after-show dinner before the boys walked me back to my club. 

Fun fact, there is a lamp post outside my club that was used by the KGB during the Cold War as a drop site. Agents would leave their documents behind a small door at the rear of the post, marking the base with chalk to indicate there was a message waiting. The British only found out about it in 1985. 

From the conversations I’ve had here, my sense is that many people in the UK are feeling the weight of economic and social pressures. As a visitor, what stands out to me is the extraordinary depth cultural history woven through the galleries, theatres, streets and traditions. I suspect that continuity will ultimately help to stabilise and strengthen the national sense of identity.