London Lives

The day dawned in an unpromising fashion then the weather became unexpectedly lovely as it went on. At about 10am, I spotted a fox asleep on the wall of next-door’s garden. He was well camouflaged and snoozing peacefully. I’ve spotted him in the undergrowth at the end of the row of gardens and also sleeping in our own garden. The slinky tabby cat from next door-but-one sometimes sits on the same wall, peering intently into the undergrowth. Now I know what he’s looking for.

I went to Chiswick today. It’s a fairly long ride out west, but the weather was lovely: a beautiful autumn day with a gorgeous sky and shimmery sparkles glinting from anything shiny at street level. The bus noodled gradually, heading out along Marylebone Road. I could write oodles on this blog about Marylebone, but that will come.  There was a wedding taking place at the old Marylebone Town Hall. Always lovely to see happy people and beautiful coloured clothes spilling out onto the pavements as you slide by on the bus. There’s a sense of sharing that snippet as you pass by.

Sweeping across Edgware Road, the bus went on to Paddington and Notting Hill.  There is a road just past Notting Hill Gate called ‘Palace Gardens Terrace’ which I think is a wonderful road name. Palace Gardens Terrace. Lovely.

On Chiswick High Road,  the park at Turnham Green was bright and green and clipped, the church at its centre looking solid and wonderful. Cyclists swooned past, giving off gentle smells of fabric conditioner. I was looking for a shop called Dada, which sells books, CDs and DVDs. Last time I was here, I picked up a CD of Nat King Cole (like having velvet gently fed into your ears) and DVDs about Joe Strummer and the Old Grey Whistle Test. This time I picked up a Julie London CD and a DVD of Leonard Rossiter which I’m planning to give to my father for his birthday. He’ll love it. I think I’ll get him a Hairy Bikers cookbook as well.

When I was a child and living in the Midlands, my parents used to bring us to London to visit various relatives and friends. We came to Chiswick on those visits, to see a friend and former neighbour of my parents. She had a fabulous three-storey house and her husband had a bedroom on the middle floor (they were a couple that had separated but never divorced). Their children had other bedrooms on the various floors. One of the things that intrigued me about this house as a child was that the bathroom was on a ‘middle’ floor. You climbed two flights of stairs to get from the ground to the first floor and this bathroom was reached on a level between the first and second flights. Big chequerboard tiles and you had to stand on tiptoes to reach the long handle to the pull-flush, with the cistern high up near the ceiling.

I remember us visiting in October 1981 and we had an ‘early’ Christmas dinner, because we wouldn’t see them at Christmas. The IRA had left a bomb in a Wimpy bar in Oxford Street and it killed the bomb disposal expert. It was all over the news. I remember it on the TV just before it was switched off as we ate our dinner.

Some years later (1993, I reckon, the year after I’d moved to London), my mother and I travelled to see her friend and we spent a lovely afternoon in her garden, eating food and chatting over old things. Her husband had passed on, and she has since. At some point, I will walk back along that street in Chiswick and look up at the house where my parents’ friend lived and at the neighbouring house where my parents lived as younger people.

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.

This is just out by Michael Mansfield QC and I badly want a copy. I think he’s a very interesting character and he’s doing talks and signings all over the place at the moment.