We spent last weekend with Steven and Sherry in London, arriving late morning on Saturday after dropping off dogs with Dave at “Best Buddies”, and an uneventful journey down (apart from a brief urgent deviation for fuel – apparently when Chantal says “I don’t mind going in my car” she means “my fuel tank is empty and we should go in yours”). We left the car outside Ian and Rachel’s flat, with enough time for a very brief chat with Rachel and Dan before catching the train to Stevens.
Steven came to meet us as we walked from the station – Sherry was still doing what women have to do between getting up and achieving what they consider to be an acceptable standard of respectability. She appeared shortly after we got to the flat. Well actually not that shortly, but the wait was worth it, obviously. Sherry then looked outside, made a meteorological forecast, and disappeared again having re-assessed the suitability of her chosen attire. As I recall this process was repeated once more before we were able to head out onto the streets of London.
Steven had booked a Thames cruise and so we headed for London Bridge, boarding a City Cruises boat after queuing, while being entertained by a wedding party boarding another, presumably privately chartered, boat. We just missed the first boat to depart after we joined the queue, which had the advantage that we ended up at the front of the queue for the next departure and so were able to find seats on the open top deck.
The boat sailed east to Greenwich, a trip that took a couple of hours including stops. There was no professional or recorded commentary but the crew provided their own excellent commentary, noting the sites, including less obvious ones, with a bit of history and even the odd social comment on the apparent insatiable demand for yet more luxury apartments. One of the crew pointed out that he was fortunate in passing similar pieces of art to those at Tate Modern as he walked through the estate where he lives – piles of bricks, bits of car, and dubious wall art. You get a flavour of the nature of this amusing commentary. We were fortunate in seeing Tower Bridge open as a sailing ship passed beneath just as our boat was mooring at one of the riverside piers.
Conveniently we arrived at Greenwich just as we were ready for a meal. We haven’t been to Greenwich since the Cutty Sark was re-opened following the 2007 fire. I was disappointed to find that the previously open water front now has a chain-restaurant development, and was even more disappointed when I was outvoted and we ended up in Nandos – Steven and Sherry are Nandos enthusiasts, and Chantal has never enjoyed the experience, and wanted to do so. I have only been to Nandos once. Simon once took me to one in Leicester. The table was sticky, the service slow, they had run out of Pepsi and the other soft drinks were flat. Apart from that it was a perfect gastronomic experience.
At least the Greenwich restaurant was spotless, the service good, and we were able to sit in the sunshine on the rooftop terrace with a river view on one side, and the Cutty Sark on the other and had quite a pleasant meal, despite the beer option being restricted to Portuguese lager. Afterwards we browsed the various “market stalls” on the dock, many selling snack foods from a variety of countries, and I enjoyed some small Dutch pancakes.
We came across London’s last original “Pie and Mash” shop, with the optional accompaniment of draught London Pride ale. It was just 2 minutes from Nandos. I grumbled at length to anyone who would listen…….
It was getting cold, and so we decided to head back to Steven’s flat, arriving part way through the final of Britain’s got Talent. I have never watched this contest, and I suppose that a final is as good an introduction as one will get. I was actually quite impressed by the acts, particularly the winning act, a group of Hungarian “shadow performers. Afterwards we played “Apples” while enjoying a beer or two – an excellent game. It must be. I won.
On Sunday, at our request, we headed for the Star Café, a few minutes’ walk from the flat, for breakfast. This small local café offers a choice of 14 cooked breakfasts, of which 8 could each be described as a “full English breakfast”. I naturally opted for the Mega Breakfast, and only just managed to finish it.
On the previous day we had spotted marquees in a large park close to the flat, and so went to investigate. It was a Turkish Festival, organised by the Turkish community, and we wandered around the craft stalls, and chatted to women preparing food.
Afterwards we walked around the park, stopping to feed grass to Canadian goose goslings
and to talk to a couple who were constructing a floating raft of marsh plants.
We returned to the Festival because Chantal wanted to watch the traditional Turkish oil wrestling. I never knew that she had an interest in blokes smothered in olive oil. She was disappointed when we discovered that the wrestling had been cancelled – the wrestlers hadn’t been able to obtain a visa in time. Instead we watched a Turkish marching band (although the amount of marching was somewhat limited, perhaps just as well, given the advanced age of the musicians).
, and I bought a traditionally prepared flatbread with lamb and spices, which I accompanied with a couple of drinks of dubious Iranian yoghurt served from a distinctly non refrigerated wooden barrel.
And then it time to head back north, catching a train, and then bus due to engineering works (which caused Chantal have a small panic in a “are-you-sure this-is-the-right bus” sort of way), back to Palmers Green to pick up the car, and have a cup of coffee and a proper catch up with Rachel and Dan (Ian was not home) before heading back up the M1.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
