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Published: March 17th 2007
Fun in the Sun
The warm weather makes us go crazyToday was a beautiful day. The sun shined as though it was happy to finally be warming the earth properly, the sky was a rich bright blue and the breeze was perfectly cool. I spent the day with my two wonderful friends Meags and George, having lunch with Meags and then meeting up with George to follow Meags while she did her washing. We went with a squishy cricket ball and threw the ball around in Earlham Park, doing cartwheels with no shoes on, laughing, rolling around in the grass. It was the sort of day where the sun makes you feel alive, as though you are a reptile relying on the warmth it provides. It made me appreciate the change in seasons that happens in England a lot more as I could see the effect sunshine and warm days has on people from cold climates. After going back to Meags place for a cuppa we went back out onto the common in front of their flats to sit and watch her flatties play soccer as the sun went down and resumed our handstands and rolling in the grass. I was very itchy and our feet were filthy but it felt
great and it was worth it. I don’t think I have laughed so much in a very long time and as the sun set and sent beautiful colours through the sky over the Ziggurats I sat chatting to two people who I have experienced so much with but have only known for two months and whom I know I will always share an affinity with. They are wonderful women.
London town was on the agenda this last weekend and it was to London that we travelled by bus from Norwich, leaving on Friday morning. Having booked our accommodation online we had been told we had access to a pick up service from Victoria station which inevitably turned out to be booked until 6pm so we spent the day wandering around the city.
We travelled on the Bakerloo line (a lovely shade on brown on the tube map) out into the burbs of zone two where we alighted at Kensal Green. Crossing the road from the station we found our hostel, a charming multi story building with a decaying façade and shoddy windows complete with Brazilian backpackers hanging out and hassling passers by. But the stay was cheap(ish) at
£14 per night so we strode into the building and informed the man behind the desk (Jesus) that we were checking in. On getting a vacant and surly response and after being confused over money issues we walked rather hesitantly up the stairs with graffiti murals of Bjork and Bob Marley to reach our room on the first floor. On opening the room we were a little bit shocked. The bunks were precariously welded together, the mould smell and peeling paint was vivid and the shower was a peculiar enclosed cube in the corner of the room. The beds had also been slept in and despite the promise of clean sheets were still used from the night before. After getting the upset out of our systems we resolved to get our stuff together, go back into town and on the way talk to Surly Jesus about our dirty linen. He assured us it would be changed by the time we got back. We came to the resolve that we were Posh Packers.
So we got back onto the tube and headed into the city where we got off at Piccadilly Circus to wander around. At one stop a pair
The hostel....
I think Meags face tells it all of musicians got off the train and stood waiting for another and I told the girls about a similar incident in Paris where musicians got onto the train and entertained the passengers. Sure enough the two men got into our carriage and played great Irish music, making jokes in the interlude and keeping everyone happy. One of those moments you have when travelling that you can’t help but smile about. It was certainly a change in my mind from worrying about terrorism whenever I boarded a train or bus, thinking whether it would be my lost moment alive. Not paranoid in the circumstance I don’t think.
On getting off at Piccadilly Circus we wandered into Leicester Square where advertising for the stage shows was everywhere and after weaving our way through the crowds and the streets we found a pub Meags had talked about, Waxy O’Conner’s where we spent a while having a drink before going back onto the street. On our ambling journey we came across the National Portrait Gallery which was free to view so decided to enter. It was a beautiful collection of royal and aristocratic portrait paintings illuminating people, fashion, cultures and relationships. There were
beautiful portraits of Elizabeth I that I had studied in school which were far more beautiful then any photocopy version I saw. The vivid colours and majesty of the subjects got me thinking about the impact they must have had on the contemporary society. Elsewhere were portraits of figures I had not heard of and George and I discussed from portrait to portrait whether we would have liked to know them, if we would have liked to make them laugh or what sort of trouble was making them look so happy. A beautiful operatic voice resonated around the rooms and walking closer to the sound we found a piano and singer practicing amongst the gallery portraits and patrons for a show later in the night. Walking downstairs we got to view the more modern portraits of less noble births but by no means less significant.
On deciding it was time to make our way to meet Meags’ friend Lou at Liverpool station we proceeded out onto the street and began the walk at dusk around the London streets. On going around the corner from the gallery we were presented with a beautiful sight of golden lights, blue illumination and
magnificent statues. Nelson was perched atop his column and we wandered around this beautiful square with jaws open, quietly soaking in the beauty and atmosphere. It was only when we came across a plaque that we found out it was Trafalgar Square, the sight of national celebrations and monuments to the British people. It was a lovely place to sit and absorb and as George and I sat underneath Nelson we looked directly in front of us down to Big Ben, lit up for the night and to the right a magnificent set of gates leading towards Buckingham palace. It was an amazing spot to sit and ponder. But we left this place and strode purposefully towards our meeting place, passing the Savoy hotel, the Australian Consulate, Law Court buildings, St Paul’s Cathedral, the site of the original Bethlehem Hospital and numerous other monuments of age and significance that we didn’t recognise or that I have forgotten. Upon reaching Liverpool Street early we went to a pub and had a drink to wait for Lou rather then wait on the cold, busy, noisy street. When we met with Lou we made our through the streets to Brick Lane, Curry Destination
No. 1 in England. We were assailed by touts selling the best deal for their Indian restaurants as soon as we turned into the street. The interaction was basically consistent:
“Ladies, you looking for dinner? We give you twenty percent off and two bottles of wine” Upon which another tout would approach and say “Oh we will give you twenty five percent off.”
It was very peculiar and as a result of attrition we ended up choosing a place that turned out to be rather dingy but the food was pretty good.
We caught the tube back to Kensal Green, tired from a day of travel and finding ourselves in one of the world’s major cities. Our beds were made as promised on return and we ended up passing out with tiredness at 1am, alarms set for 7:30 the next morning.
The next morning was bright, a bit harsh as it was rather early, but promising to be a nice day. After getting ready we walked downstairs for a breaky which was an experience and set out into town. Getting of the train at Embankment down by the river near Cleopatra’s Needle we waited for a Hop-on Hop-off
Bethlehem Hospital
Where the phrase "Bedlam" was coined. One of the first Mental institutions in Europe bus to come along as we didn’t have much time in London and wanted something economical to take us around the city. The full lap of the bus took us all through the city, past Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park, over to the other side of the Thames were we got off at Waterloo to catch the ferry up to Greenwich. It was a relief to get off the bus as our guide was a hideous man who dramatised everything and I felt that if he talked about another lot of souls perishing that I would be forced to perish myself.
By the time we got there the ferry had already left so we decided to walk back into the city to get some lunch. Walking past Embankment again we fumbled along the streets trying to find Temple Church, scene of many rumours, movies and books such as Indiana Jones and DaVinci Code. Walking through Temple itself was amazing, a gated community full of very wealthy residents with very expensive cars. It was a bizarre quiet space in the midst of London and I would hate to think how much the property was worth in that place. Temple Church
itself was stunning, with much of it rebuilt after the Blitz in World War II. The stained glass was beautiful, clear, bright pieces of coloured glass assembled in the shapes of brave knights and biblical characters full of glory. The age of the knights tombs here was quiet startling, one I remember being from 1200. It was a beautiful piece of inspirational religious architecture and I sat down a bit overawed by it all, taking in the bold words of the Ten Commandments behind the alter and surveying the simplicity of the place.
After the church we were half starved, as the girls say “Could have eaten a horse and chased the jockey” so we put the brakes on sight seeing and focused on finding lunch. What we found was wonderful, an old restored pub in an obscure spot at a cross roads called the Black Friar that served the most enormous pies I have ever seen. I ordered at cottage pie and when it was brought to me I was challenged by the waiter who said “Hardly anyone ever finishes this”. Needless to say, I proved myself worthy.
Feeling absolutely stuffed to the brims we decided to leave
and waddle our way over to the Tate gallery on the other side of the river. George had been itching to fulfil her one goal in coming to England, sliding down the slippery dip at the Tate Modern Gallery, a piece of interactive art. It was a beautiful day to be wandering around the city and everyone was sprawled out on the grass, people with families sitting eating ice-creams and hoards of savages lined up for the London Eye. I thanked our luck at coming to London at the end of winter and not in Summer, the crowds were a bit much for me and what can I say, I’m my fathers daughter in that respect.
The Tate Modern gallery is a huge imposing structure, previously a power station but heritage listed so it couldn’t be knocked down. It evoked images of Brave New World, the Nuremburg Rally and Soviet era architecture as the photo demonstrates. A wonderful feature of British monuments and galleries is that they are made completely accessible to children and family groups which always makes the atmosphere so much more exciting. The hike up to the top on the gallery to get on the very
biggest slide was a long one (as you can imagine climbing to the top floor of a power station would be) and upon reaching it we were greeted with a relatively short line. However, we were told that we would have to go back down to the ground floor to get free tickets which were allocated to control the crowd numbers and to “make the system fairer”. So after George had a chat to an employee we decided to go back later that night when the crowds had died down and we had the place to ourselves.
Right next to the Tate Modern is Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre which I was very excited about. I was rather disappointed to find out however that the current construction was built only eight years ago so that all I’m going to say about that. We followed the crowds through meandering backstreets by the river, coming across old pubs and more amusements for families in an area that must have been a seedy and dangerous place as most waterfront communities tended to have been. We had abandoned the Big Red Bus as the routes were rubbish and it was a lovely day to be
walking and before we knew it we came across the Tower Bridge and the Tower of London. Before getting there we nearly tripped over an enormous glossy black egg, this modern art is a public safety hazard.
It was getting to late afternoon and we were all a bit tired so we hurried across the Tower Bridge so we wouldn’t miss the last entries into the Tower of London for the day. Upon getting there however we discovered that the last tour had already departed so we rather begrudgingly decided to come back the next day after the markets in order to get our moneys worth. Catching the ferry back to Embankment we were entertained by a jovial old man that made hilarious jokes that most of the passengers didn’t understand on account of them being American. Not really, I just enjoy taking digs at Americans.
So finding ourselves back at Embankment again we got onto our wonderful Big Red Bus and enjoyed the one minute ride into Trafalgar Square where we got off to walk down a huge avenue to Buckingham Palace. The sun was setting around now and magnificent colours of pink, blue and orange decorated
the clouds. The daffodils were covering the ground in the park and huge Union Jacks hung down the streets leading the monument to Queen Victoria and the Palace. The palace itself is a rather unimpressive structure, a bland façade preceded by an open plain square and shut behind gilt and black metal gates. The guards don’t really do anything very exciting but march around occasionally when they are getting tired. I asked Meags what she thought the guards think about all day; she replied that they must be thinking about the Queen, thinking “Oh god, I can’t wait till I can see the Queen again.”
We sat outside the tradesman’s entrance to the Palace waiting for a bus remarking how this entrance was much prettier then the front one and how exciting it would be if the Queen just walked out. I would have been very excited. Finally a bus came along as we were beginning to freeze to our bones. Dusk is such a cold time as you lose the beautiful heat of the afternoon to the clear sky and the sun slips away, withdrawing any hope of natural warmth. We ended up at a tube station and
caught the tube back over to the Tate for the slippery dip. We emerged from the tube station a little dazed (we had been walking all day and were rather disoriented after much crossing over rivers and revisiting of sights) and when we asked for directions were told to follow the bright orange lamp posts. Very noticeable once they are pointed out.
So finally George got to live out her dream and you should have seen the joy on her face. It was a very exciting slippery dip, even if we did only get the chance to go on the smaller one and it jolted any of the weariness of our day out of us. After we had had our fun we trudged back to the station, our weariness returned and got off at Piccadilly Circus in an attempt to find China town. It was the most miserable China town I have ever seen but we finally settled on a place after perusing the menus and evaluating budgets.
It was an amazing dinner.
We topped off dinner in the only pub we found that wasn’t full and got last drinks just before closing time. Weary, we got the last
tube back to the burbs and crashed in bed ready for another big day.
Sunday was another glorious day, the morning starting with a bit of rain but clearing to sunshine and clear skies. I watched the traffic below for a little while, looking at the people walking their dogs amongst the daffodils in the park and was once again thankful that it was warming up to spring. We headed down for breakfast where we saw a rather interesting cereal creation, Cornflakes in apple juice with lumps of Nutella. Not sure if that’s going to catch on.
After that disturbing incident we headed in on the tube to Camden only to find that the Camden line from Kensal Green was cut, as were both the City Circle lines. So having read about other markets within the city we travelled to Piccadilly, catching a red bus up to Liverpool Street to check out Petticoat Lane. If anyway has ever harboured a burning desire to go to Petticoat Lane then I’m telling you it isn’t worth it. That is unless you want Soviet style leather bomber jackets or genuine designer goods. We were heartbroken as we walked through the lanes
of mass produced rubbish, one stall after the other replicating exactly what we had found previously. We found some scarves to buy and at the end of the street, some very cheap grapes. Walking as a silent bunch we scuffed our way to try to find a bus to Camden in the hope of finding more appealing fair in the trendy suburb.
Instead found the most incredible undercover market, selling a plethora of glorious food and wonderful clothes. We were so excited we rushed through the stalls, pointing at things, giggling, salivating and generally making fools of ourselves. These were the Spital Field Markets we had stumbled across, right near Liverpool Station and in the area Jack the Ripper began his murders. After buying nothing but a few pieces of fudge and my lunch, we sat over with the other crowds of people in front of the church eating our pies in silence, a combination of contentment at our find and our lunch and our tired bones. After Meags and George left to go the loo in a pub across the road they returned very animated, Meags grabbing her camera and running off down the street to take photos
of street signs and murder scenes. It turned out that the pub was one that the prostitutes hung around during the Jack the Ripper murders and it was at the back of the church we were sitting in front of that a dismembered body of one of the poor girls was found. We went into the pub for a Coke and to absorb the scenery and much like George was with the slide at the Tate Modern, Meags was taking photos of every detail and pondering different facts of the establishment. After Addie came back from buying her earring in the market we decided to head off down to the Tower, walking down as the buses and trains were so infrequent or not running.
We hopped onto a tour of this amazing establishment and were taken through the old squares and alleys that housed so much misery and pain in its lifetime. It was heart rending to see the place where poor Jane Grey was killed, only an eighteen year old girl who had earlier in the day witnessed her husband being dragged up to the execution hill and also seen the building of her own gallows taking place
below her. It was another one of those instances where you find it hard to believe how we could have developed as a society from such cruelty. We got to see the Crown jewels after being escorted through a snaking line past videos of Queen Elizabeth II and various posters where Meags and I affirmed our status as affirmed royalists. It was the atmosphere I swear.
Emerging from the vault, feeling a little like a canned good, we wandered over the cobblestones until George erupted, upset at the whole bloody history of the place and our shared culture in general. It was a fairly sobering reminder that all of this interesting history and the beautiful jewels were taken at a price, the most prominent being the colonialism of African and Asian nations. It takes the shine out of the Koh-i-Noor diamond when one considers issues such as that.
To cheer ourselves up we got some ice cream and after eating it stood freezing in the growing shadows of the high rise buildings whilst waiting for buses that kept passing us, filled to capacity. We succumbed and caught a taxi to Victoria Street where we were catching our bus
home from our enormous weekend. We got our last glimpse of London for the time being by being sped through the streets in a cab which was a nice change from walking and from the Big Red Bus.
When the bus turned up we all slumped into our seats and vegetated for the three hour trip home to Norwich.
Today was the last day of term and most people are going home for the month long Spring break. I am planning on getting two major essays done in the first two weeks, and then Stu is coming over in the middle of the second week so we can traipse around England and Scotland for two weeks, then hang out in Norwich together. The mood is festive as everyone packs their bags up and says goodbye for now and at 1am as I write this, bedroom doors are open to accommodate chats and share music. Long live the holidays.
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Grahame
non-member comment
Entertaining as ever
Thanks Em, They are worth waiting for. love Dad