After breakfast, we walked to Ealing Common station. Back on the Piccadilly Line, this time to Leicester Square. It’s daft, I know, but I did feel at home hearing all the familiar tube stops being listed: Hammersmith, Earl’s Court, South Kensington, Knightsbridge. Each comes with its own memories. Unfortunately, the crowded train was very familiar from years ago too.
While in transit, we received the latest photo from Australia. Keiran is celebrating six months on planet Earth, his ½th birthday, so to speak.
So, why Leicester Square? It’s the closest stop to Liesel’s favourite clothing shop, Gudrun Sjödén. She and Mom spent a long time in the shop, browsing, trying on and eventually buying some lovely garments. Meanwhile, I went for a wander around the Seven Dials area.
Mainly, I was looking for a nice, little, independent coffee shop. I sat outside, and on the next table were a group of Americans. How did I know they were Americans? I just knew, mainly the assault on my lugholes. And it was confirmed when it started to rain, very lightly. They grabbed their stuff and scuttled inside. Yes, I can recommend Monmouth Coffee Company, in Monmouth Street, if you’re in the area. I enjoyed a few minutes quiet outside, letting my ears recover, before finding my way to Forbidden Planet, a very popular science fiction and fantasy book shop.
I did not however succumb to temptation and buy an ice cream here.
The assistant in the Gudrun Sjödén shop greeted me like an old friend. She gave me a seat and a glass of water while I waited for Liesel and Leslie to finish.
We walked to the Strand and caught a bus to St Paul’s. My old farts’ bus pass won’t scan on London buses so I have to show it to the driver every time. Then they press a button on the machine.
It started raining, lightly, as we walked over the Millennium Bridge but I did enjoy being able to scrape my shoes along the ribbed extruded aluminium panels that make up the surface, made smoother and more slippery after 26 years of heavy pedestrian traffic. Younger folks were brave enough to run and skid on the surface. Liesel looked at me in a manner that said ‘Don’t you dare’.
The queue at the main entrance to Tate Modern was quite long, outside, in the rain, so we walked round and went in via the Turbine Room entrance. Our bags were cursorily checked and we went into the café. It was heaving and too many tables were occupied by people ‘working’ on their laptops. As we left the café, our bags were searched again. We realised that we could have entered the café from outside through its own door. So much for security. We don’t mind having our bags checked, they’re trying to keep us safe after all. But at the same checkpoint, don’t have one member of staff telling us to stay put while a colleague is beckoning us over to her little desk. Grrr.
We decided to slum it and have lunch in the restaurant several floors up. Our view of St Paul’s was only partially obscured by raindrops on the window.
We were here at the modern art gallery to visit Tracey Emin: A Second Life. I tried to buy three tickets online. It said I had to create an account. Reluctantly, I do so. I buy three tickets. Go to check out. There are 6 tickets. Go back to remove 3 tickets. Pull some hair out. Give up. Hashtag enshittification. So I went to the ticket office and bought 3 tickets from a human. Easy.
I’m not sure what we were expecting really, just an exhibition of Tracey’s artworks, including a couple of really famous pieces. We weren’t expecting to learn so much about her personal problems and health issues. In the end, I just wanted to give her a hug, she’s had it pretty tough at times.
Liesel and I often looked at each other in disbelief, feeling a lot of sympathy for Tracey. Perversely, I’m not sure she would necessarily feel that sympathy was justified.
Afterwards, we walked along a damp South Bank to Waterloo Station. And it’s reassuring to see some things don’t change. The booksellers are still out in force underneath Waterloo Bridge.
And I did have a chortle to myself when I noticed the Southbank Centre are celebrating 50 years of skating in the undercroft, under the Royal Festival Hall.
It wasn’t that long ago that the management here wanted to shift the skaters a few hundred yards along the river so the space here could be ‘redeveloped’. Public opinion won, on this occasion, hooray.
As planned, we met Helen and Steve from Chessington under the clock at Waterloo Station and we walked over to Tas, the Mediterranean Turkish restaurant on The Cut, opposite the Young Vic. A very pleasant meal was enjoyed by all and we witnessed a couple of brief downpours, watching several people fighting umbrellas or running for cover.
We returned home to our stables and slept very well.
Meanwhile, Jyoti and Rupert had arrived in Rome and already walked several tens of thousands of steps in a very busy city.
After breakfast, we returned to central London. We parted company at South Kensington. Liesel and Leslie went on to enjoy coffee and cake in the crypt of St Martin’s. They then wandered over to Chinatown, not sure how much food was consumed there.
I spent much of the rest of the day revisiting my old haunts in Kensington and Notting Hill. There are many more shops at High Street Kensington Station than there used to be. That’s progress, I suppose. My first port of call was Kensington Central Library.
A couple of hours writing and reminiscing followed. I’m pretty sure the place has seen some changes in the half century or more since I visited, as a student. But the WiFi is much more reliable now than it was in 1975.
Sarah and I spent a lot of time in and around Holland Park for a few years, so, feeling a little nostalgic, I had to pay a visit today.
I’m not sure whether we ever entered the Park through this ornate gate, but as you can see, it was locked today.
It was good to that artists are still inspired by Holland House. None of them wanted me to pose in front of the building, though.
Lunch was taken at the café along with visitors from all around the world.
The drizzle was half-hearted and it didn’t deter me from walking over to Campden Hill Road, the location of my first accommodation away from the parents. Freedom. Queen Mary Hall, my halls of residence, has now been converted to luxury apartments of course. Top floor, second window from the left, that was room 118 which I shared with my old mate Nick, who died far too young.
I walked along Campden Hill Road to Notting Hill Gate, a path trodden many times, on a visit to the chippie or on to Portobello Road market. I didn’t get that far today. But I was pleased to see The Gate cinema is still going. We spent one night there watching a film marathon… but for the life of me, I can’t remember what the movies were!
I spotted this sign on a lamppost, some very sad news.
When I turned round, I noticed that he had been found in the east Asian inspired restaurant.
Along the road, there is some wonderful street art.
This mural, featuring colourful figures with fragmented faces was created by artist Barney McMahon in 1997 to brighten a previously dingy alleyway.
And if that’s not enough art in a public space, I thought this mosaic was pretty impressive too. Just a few yards away from the mural, this is one of eight glass mosaic panels titled ‘Jumbie Jubilation’ located on the façade of the Ruby Zoe Hotel. It was designed by British-Trinidadian artist Zak Ové and created by mosaic artist Oliver Budd. It depicts a character from traditional Trinidadian Carnival masquerade costumes, celebrating ancestral African folklore.
When I lived in Kensington Palace Gardens (great address, dingy bedsit), I utilised a laundrette on Notting Hill Gate. It was and remained 20p a load for much longer than its nearby competitors. Sadly, I coudn’t find it today. But that’s OK, I didn’t bring any laundry with me anyway.
I strolled back up Campden Hill Road to The Windsor Castle. This pub was frequented a few times by we students from Queen Elizabeth College.
So it was good to return, again, after over fifty years! And yes, the prices have gone up a bit. I suppose it’s a traditional English pub, with wood panelling, bare brick fireplaces and small doors. I found the hidden garden but in the end, we sat inside.
Yes, it was a very pleasant afternoon chatting with Ade and Gideon, who I’ve not seen since we moved to Manchester. Sadly, the group was incomplete. Dear old Ken died suddenly a couple of months ago, so we drank to his memory. I invited both to get in touch the next time they’re up north for work, or anything.
I staggered to Notting Hill Gate station, well, not literally, but I had consumed more beer in one go than I have for years.
To Euston station where I met Liesel and Leslie. We were there to meet WI friend Jean. Unfortunately, her train was an hour late arriving, so it was quite late by the time returned to Ealing.
Yes, I realised later, I don’t have a photo of Ade and Gid and if I have one featuring dear departed Ken, it will be from over twenty years ago. I wish I were a bit more diligent in taking photos of people. I didn’t even shoot Helen and Steve. But I wanted some pics of the area because the ones I had from when I was living here, as a student, and later on, well, sadly they are no longer available.
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