London Lives

The snow is back, announced the radio this morning. I was expecting a fine dusting, or nothing at all. In fact, a fair amount had accumulated overnight. Nothing on the scale of last week’s snow (and just as we were getting used to walking around safely), but a decent amount of fluffy stuff to trudge through. I took this photo (left) outside Euston station. The snowy branches make striking patterns.

Further on (right), Bloomsbury was dusted with a decent coating of snow, lending it a silent air, as in this picture looking towards Gordon Square.

Tavistock Square (left) with the statue of Gandhi visible beyond.

Russell Square with frosted trees (below).

I’ve been cooking and eating splendid soups all week. Tonight: leek, potato and pepper with a smigeon of chilli.

To a Friday rendezvous at my friend’s local in east London, catching up on the week’s gossip over gin and tonics. Friday after-work pubbage is a rarity these days; I’m more likely to be cooking something or eating out. Anyway, good to see some regulars, catch up on my friend’s news and chat to one of her friends too.

There had always been a plan to fit food into the agenda and it was never going to be difficult to persuade her into the the local Indian for a sit-in and natter. We had prawn biriyani, side dishes, and Goan haddock with pilau rice. They have quite an extensive fish menu which we’ve promised ourselves we’ll work through. Biriyani always sounds bland, but I think it’s a very delicately spiced dish, that matched the chilli and lime of the fish. All very lush and for once we didn’t over-order. All of it was eaten.

A quick swish around the supermarket was needed (alcohol, milk, breakfast things). Then we linked arms and trundled home among the blustery streets. We’d been warned about fairly wild weather this weekend and it was starting with bits of squally rain and serious winds. Near the Tube station, a man who’d been walking ahead of us suddenly turned and handed us pieces of paper. We muttered thanks and each of us knew they must be religious tracts. Upon inspection, we were right. “What’s Your Burden?” it asked.

Wandering to my friend’s house, the wind was gearing up. Under the street lights there were piles of enormous leaves, blown flat to the path by the wind and  kept there by numerous sheets of earlier rain. We stood for a while under the light, watching a beautiful tree as it writhed in the wind.

At her house, we sipped Amaretto liqueurs and played with her beautiful cat Phoebe. She is quite adorable. Caught up with music on Later with Jools Holland. He always has someone interesting: Steve Martin playing the banjo (Steve Martin – who knew?) and a great band called Delphic. I must look them up on iTunes.

Overnight, I was snuggled asleep in the living room, but the cat-flap was swinging so much that Phoebe kept cantering to the kitchen to check no other creature was invading her territory. The wind and rain were ferocious.

I got my hair done today and had to venture out among all the wind. The hair is great, veh slinky. I am very pleased with it. I bought nice shopping on the way home with a view to battening down the hatches this evening.

Salmon and mash planned  for dinner. Tomorrow I am supposed to be shopping for a proper winter coat. Weather permitting.

Salmon chowder followed by Autumn fruit crumble

I seem to have made enough of the chowder to last tonight, tomorrow night and Sunday. Salmon fillets, Maris Piper potatoes, leeks, spring onions, vegetable stock, crème fraîche and a few chilli flakes. Very, very lush and warming.

The fruit crumble was from chopped Bramley apples and frozen berries, with crushed Amaretti biscuits in the crumble, with Green and Black’s vanilla ice cream. It smelt gorgeous  while it was cooking.

All of this came together in about an hour. The kitchen looked like a bomb-site just after the cooking: I think I’d used every possible implement, plate and bowl. Thankfully a few bowls of washing up sorted that out.

I sorted out some lovely flowers I’d bought and put them in the living room and bathroom. Then I hung up some washing (including about 8000 pieces of underwear. How does that happen? I did a load of washing last Saturday).

London Lives has been living a Rock.And.Roll lifestyle this Friday evening, clearly.

ON EDIT: I’ve remembered that while I was cooking there was a fabulous firework display in the parkland at the back of the house. Or, it was in someone’s back garden near the parkland. If so, someone has spent serious money on that display.

In Clapham yesterday, I wandered further up towards Battersea Rise than I had been before. There are a number of little bars and shops to be explored at a later date. The sun has swung lower, shooting out from the side streets as I pass.

I picked up a British cookbook for my father and I’m really thrilled with it. The Hairy Bikers’ book looked great, but this caught my eye. It has loads of classic meat, fish and puddings in it that he’ll love to make. Both of us have really caught the cooking bug over the last few years. I made a lovely kedgeree for a friend on Saturday. She asked for seconds, which is very flattering. We had Prosecco, wine and some Amaretto later on.

I saw my first poppy on the Tube this evening. Too early, I think.

I have booked the restaurant where I’ll celebrate my 40th birthday next month. That means it’s real now.

The local cat that was lost has been found. Hoorah! There were notices on lamp posts with a photograph and her owner posted on a local blog asking everyone to look out for her. Now, she has posted to say that all is well. Those notices on lamp posts make me feel sad. I am a wuss.

Very lazy day, watching back things I’d recorded over the last few weeks. This included The Pumpkin Eaters, starring Anne Bancroft. Wonderful study of a marriage and people’s motivations. Peter Finch was excellent; James Mason was suddenly and splendidly menacing. I think Anne Bancroft is beautiful and I find it difficult to take my eyes off her when she’s on screen. I know she’s no longer with us, but I use “is” because she’s still alive via her films.

For dinner I made spaghetti with prawns, chilli, garlic and rocket. Lush.

Well, we were Extremely Well Behaved yesterday morning. After a Saturday evening of Prosecco, wine and excellent home-cooked (by me!) food, we ambled to the British Museum for a few hours of culture.

There was no particular plan as we walked in the morning sunshine. A gorgeous day as we slipped along Sicilian Avenue and towards the Museum. We spent some time in the Mexico rooms and then quite a while in the in the China, India and SE Asia galleries. I’m certain I’ve not been to these before. Fabulous Buddhas, beautiful snuff boxes, wonderful Shivas and mandalas. We mooched around the shop and made plans to come and see the Aztec exhibition.

To Lamb’s Conduit Street, one of my favourite streets in London. This excellent short film at Monocle gives a very nice flavour of the street. The street cuts across Great Ormond Street, with its famous children’s hospital. The other end of GOS is short and shady with a calm and silent row of Georgian houses. In Lamb’s Conduit Street, we spent a nice afternoon in one of our favourite Italians in town. Sea bass and lovely vegetables for me, lobster and spaghetti for my pal.

On our way back to the Tube, we stopped at a mosaic shop in a side road, because they have eccentric designs in the windows. This time, there was a mosaic of Vladimir Putin in the window. Very strange.

In a street near my home, someone has pinned a notice to the rose bush in their front garden: “DON’T take these roses. They are cursed! You will have ten years bad sex if you do.” Heh. People are hilarious. Someone was coming out of the house as I was reading the notice, which was a tad unfortunate. She looked slightly awkward, which made me think she hadn’t written the notice. Funny, though.

The Harringay Food Festival was excellent, a really splendid local event. There was plenty of baklava and great food to try and buy (and ‘traditional’ things such as apple and cinnamon cake and some jams and marmalades). One stall, amusingly, was piled up with cans of Stella Artois. There were also community stalls and the Met were handing out goodie bags.

Outside the Yasir Halim patisserie, a klezmer band was playing and girls from the local shops were out dancing. Some of the men joined in and were moving round in larger circles. The crowd was enormous and a community police officer was pulling people in from the crowd. I stood for ages watching this.

Great pictures capture the mood of the festival here. The men on the penny farthings were ace! Local sources are saying 10,000 people turned up. Brilliant!

Later I went to east London to meet a friend and see Dorian Gray at the cinema. We had pizza beforehand and then took some wine in to the film with us. Excellently done (you can’t beat Oscar Wilde for a great line) and a good cast. Interesting to see Colin Firth as a baddie. I’ve always loved the story and how Dorian sells his soul even if you don’t quite see the deal being struck. I am also intrigued by the idea of a devil existing quite ordinarily in human form and moving among its peers (and equally the idea of angels in the same guise, particularly guardian angels).

The painting of the portrait itself was sensuous as the paints were squeezed onto the palette and applied to the canvas. Dorian was appropriately beautiful. As the painting festered in the attic, there were interesting nods elsewhere to the passage of time: from Hansom cabs to the motor car; swords to guns; portraiture to photography; the appearance of the Suffragette. And at the end, as I hoped, the picture reverted to its beautiful former image.

The National Theatre is broadcasting All’s Well that Ends Well to the cinema, so we’ve booked to see that, which should be excellent.

Organised by Hornsey Historical Society, this walk was advertised as part of the Harringay Food Festival. I walked to Green Lanes, along the Victorian streets, with their diamond-patterned paths and jumbly parked cars. My route took me past a local hotel (with its hilariously bad reviews).

About 40 people were on the walk, more than I had anticipated. This, and its location, led to moments of unintended hilarity. The organisers’ megaphone kept cutting out, leading to polite calls of “We can’t hear you!” from the back. The megaphone also whistled at inappropriate moments. Green Lanes is such a busy thoroughfare, that 40 people in a crowd are bound to have a problem making their way along the streets.

We learnt about Benjamin Disraeli and some aspects of the architecture along that section of the Harringay Ladder. Cars boomed out music and beeped their horns as they passed. There was a slight element of the school trip about proceedings as we were encouraged to walk carefully and allow others to pass. At one point, we were in an alleyway, looking up at a wrought iron fire escape high up in care-worn buildings off Green Lanes. A  man came out of a nearby door and asked: “Have they told you about the rats? We’ve lived here since the fifties and the rats are terrible!!” This was an hilarious interlude as he went on to complain about parking and general access to the flats.

Later in the walk, we went into the Ladder itself and along part of Haringey Passage. In these roads there were some Board Schools (originating before the 1902 Education Act, when local councils became responsible for organising education within local regions) and still in use as schools. I love these buildings; there’s a gorgeous one near to where I live.

So, the Food Festival is tomorrow. I will wander along and have a look. The booklet lists lots of food stalls and community stalls. Should be good fun.

At Euston Station, a woman was singing an operatic version of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ on the main concourse. There were people with collecting buckets. It was unexpected and oddly beautiful. An emotive song, it seemed poignant for it to be sung in Euston, when so many of its trains head to Liverpool.

The tube was hot and packed, unusual for a Friday evening. People are usually stopping at pubs and restaurants to meet friends, giving the Friday journey home more of a loose and staggered feel. Not tonight, though.

At King’s Cross, a very tall woman (easily 6′ 2″, possibly more) got on. She wore a long thick plait and had an intense look. I remembered that she was behind me in the queue in Waitrose yesterday. I am still, after a number of years of living in London now, intrigued when I see regular ‘faces’ on the Tube, particularly if they have popped up in a different context before.

Okay, I am now busily eating some more kedgeree, which I’ve just made. There are mounds left to eat over the weekend. There is a loaf baking in the oven. My attic kitchen may be small, but I am producing good things in it.

It has been raining since before lunchtime now. At that point it was that small fine rain that you know will soak you to the skin, even with an umbrella. I am still in linen trousers and Birkenstocks and will move on to Suitable Autumn Clothing when I’m good and ready (although the increasing chill will no doubt force my hand over the coming weeks).

So I couldn’t go out at all to buy the goat’s cheese I needed to complete my lunch (having brought in all the rest, too). I spent the afternoon archiving some old documents. There is something so pleasing about throwing papers into the Confidential bin to be taken away for shredding. And after a brief respite, the rain tipped down for the better part of the afternoon.

A gap in said rain afforded a chance to escape home. At the other end of the Tube, it was tipping down heavily again, so I needed to dash for the bus to my house when I usually walk. Bus not too crowded, windows steamed up from breath and the rain, the crying child behind me audible despite my iPod.

The walk to King’s Cross and then from the bus stop at the other end left me somewhat sodden and looking for good food: mini roast potatoes with paprika and rosemary, baked salmon, the leeks left over from yesterday added to the roasting pan with the potatoes. Absolutely lush. And with some very nice Gavi di Gavi to drink too.

‘Patchy Rain’, said the weather woman with wonderful understatement as she described today’s weather. Patchy rain? It’s been enormous and has covered most of my day.

OBITS
It’s probably silly to reminisce about people who’ve died that you don’t ‘know’. The thing is, we do ‘know’ them and they’ve been in our lives longer and to an extent that we don’t always imagine.

Awww. Today we lost two lovelies:

Patrick Swayze (1952 – 2009). A woman at work reflected that she could probably quote Dirty Dancing word-for-word from start to finish.

And Keith Floyd (1943 -  2009),  whose shambolic style masked a great cook and splendid personality. It’s a cliché to say we won’t see his like on TV again, but we won’t.

Farewell both.