Weekend Travels - London

Weekend Travels – London

You know, wherever you go in the world, you’re guaranteed to be joined by Germans. Obviously I don’t mean in this in a sinister way, I’m probably the most anti-racist person I know. But never the less my aforementioned observation is true. I’ve been in places that could not be further from Deutschland itself only to be greeted by – Germans. But that’s fine. I’m currently surrounded by four, of the female variety. Two on my left and two to my right. Furthermore we all have much in common; firstly and most obviously we’re all human, no sorry – firstly we’re all in the pub, and I should add we’re all making rapid progress with our respective pints of beer. Secondly we’re all quite happy about life, or it seems like it at this moment in time. Maybe that is because we’re in London, in fact being amused to a great degree by a street entertainer in Covent Garden. Wow is he good, I mean he’s been dragging this out now for about half an hour, but he’s amusing us, so who cares. He turned up, no one really cared, and suddenly after a few prolonged periods of swearing at innocent bystanders and making a small group of innocent people emit noise for no reason, a big clump of people we’re awaiting him walking across a suspended rope 12 feet up and then juggling 3 knives that we’re so sharp it made the air molecules wince. Then he gets round to the crunch, you know, the whole reason for his being there – he recommends that locals contribute anything from 50 pence up to £3, and for those less familiar with British Currency and values, £50 will be sufficient.

So there it was, in Covent Garden being entertained from this pub balcony, with four beer swilling German women around me. Ultimately I was just killing time, I had until about half two for amusing myself before meeting my good friend Dave from North London. I’d arrived earlier at London Victoria coach station – after a truly forgettable journey up from Taunton in the South-West of England. I mean not only was it an hour longer than it was supposed to be, making it five in total, but there was people on the coach that, eh, well they really irritated me. When you first get on one of these coaches, the driver, or substitute driver makes a few necessary announcements. Just after the one about not consuming any alcoholic beverages on the coach and as you imagine instantaneously lowering everyone’s morale by at least 50% he continues with some (in my mind) sound advice. “When you finish using the passenger toilet located at the rear of the coach please leave it clean and tidy for the next person and close the door in its entirety when you exit.” Yes did you hear that people – “CLOSE THE DOOR IN ITS ENTIRETY”, by now you may think I’m making a fuss about this, but when you sit at the back of the coach like I seam to do, in a kind of nostalgic remembrance of the school days rebellious style, in one of these coaches with a toilet – you become the ‘Toilet Door Man’ or the ‘Toilet Door Man For Those That Can’t Be Bothered or Lack The Brain Power To Close a Door’. Thing is when not closed properly, it swings open, makes irritating noises and just generally drives me mental. Therefore it’s me that has to close it. Well that’s got that of my chest, sorry about that.

So, now on my way north of Covent Garden in time to meet my friend for three thirty. Now at this stage I must say that I’ve been on many underground systems and city rail networks, but London’s in my opinion is the best. It is also the easiest to get the hang of. I’ve travelled frequently to London in the last five years and feel that I can walk into a tube with a certain degree of nonchalance in knowing exactly where I’m going. But as it is refreshingly simple, this is no boast. In light of this, it’s ironic that where I have to meet my friend is the most poorly serviced of all the London Underground tube stations, for those who want to know, that’s Mill Hill East station. It’s kind of tucked out the way, a bit of a side line off from a main route. Fear not though, if you’re thinking of visiting London as a tourist you’ll have no need to come anywhere near here. So eventually I arrive, meet my friend, pleasantries are exchanged and I am shown to my accommodation where he lives. Then with no time to waste, for it is a weekend and the whole city before us at our disposal, we swiftly get back on the tube into London. Now for those of you that are expecting me to be telling you all about the delights of London’s top attractions please accept my apologies, because I won’t be. This weekend is about going to some of the less obvious and more acutely cultural places. My friend and I are well topped up with visits to the top sites. But what I can dutifully do with a sense of pride is recommend some places for those new to London. Why not try: Soho, Brixton and Hackney all refined tourist spots, best enjoyed at night time. Two things, actually no, three; firstly if you’re not picking up my slightly tangled sense of humour, keep reading. Secondly you may be from London and are amused and thirdly, for you tourists don’t go to those places, seriously. What you will remember London for though is some of its great places to visit, with sincerity: Trafalgar Square, Westminster (Big Ben you know), The London Eye, Queens Walk to Tower Bridge. All these things are great and don’t forget Covent Garden for pleasant but straight talking street performers.

Talking of Covent Garden that’s where we stopped for Dinner. A great place for food, not the cheapest place in the world, but good quality. Our selected place for dining can now begin to be described as somewhere we frequent on visits to London. Café Mode, you’ll never find it, it’s a bit tucked away, far from the main stream eating places in the area. It’s very pleasant. But don’t as I sometimes do, judge this place on its toilet facilities. I don’t normally describe a restaurant by the toilet first, but I know the food’s good. And it’s just a way of communicating to you how cosy this place is. To say the toilet was small is a bit like saying Hitler caused minor difficulties throughout Europe. You’d risk hitting your head on the ceiling even if you were 3 feet tall. So it’s a little cramped you could say. Anyway we eat and enjoyed. Guess the nationality of those that turned up next to us. Yes the beauty of being a writer is that I can leave it to you to work that one out.

My friend and I, had plenty of time to catch up, if we weren’t the only ones having a conversation in the tube, and not exploring some new area, then we were in the pub. He’s a chef you see. That doesn’t automatically mean that the conversation between us is constantly amusing, but it is, for us at least. He was telling me as he swigged his pint of London Pride he’d been invited to a party where there would be people from all different sorts of cultural and international extraction. This for London is normal, it is officially the multi-cultural/race capital of the world with over 350 languages actively spoken there. Thing is he’s supposed to bring a traditional dish of his own country to the party. Sounds fun. He asks: “I mean what the hell is our national dish, or something we (English people) are known for?” “Well”, I began, “How about… Chicken Tikka Massalla (An extremely common dish classed as Indian food, but in fact conceived by an Indian, in London) or how about… a kebab.” This conversation was amusing. Probably because England’s social food scene involves just about everything except food from England. We’re talking Indian, Chinese, Turkish, Thai, Greek, Mexican and Italian to name the most popular. Then it hit me: “Fish & Chips mate, or a ‘full English!’“ A ‘full English’ as my friend and I would have it known is a full, meaning everything, English breakfast. If you are not familiar with this, you are missing out. Anyway my friend was agreeable to this suggestion, and so I downed the final mouthful of my pint happy to have been of some help.

The next day we began proceedings the way things should be done, by law in my opinion. A full English breakfast with coffee. This is important for any big and long day out, especially in London. It’ll keep you going all day, me until lunch, but yes you – all day. On to the tube again, southbound from our outpost to the city. First stop today, the British Museum. Partly because we were due to meet an acquaintance of ours there, who by coincidence was in London, from the South west like me. So we arrived at the Museum, a building towering above you with grandeur. Step inside and, well it gets even better. An airy ceiling high above you filtering bright light into a vast array of reception halls, tour spots and exhibition rooms. Something that struck me about this place was the shear amount of archaeology in there, things from post flood through to Egyptian times and beyond, and the fact that they were here, in the heart of London, England. I mean in truth, why are they here, what gave us, as the British the right to pinch them? Anyway their origins’ loss is our gain. Many things there of which I am extremely appreciative give hard evidence of happenings that many people outside of the museum in the big complicated world aren’t quite sure of. Detail of whole past empires for example. But you should see it for yourself. Then after this short but ever refreshing dose of history we met our friend, and had coffee in a nearby café. That really was all this place could manage I reckon, a coffee. Very unexciting place, but served a purpose.

Now the afternoon, we headed for Camden Town, or as I’ve rather aptly re-named it - pick-pockets central, yes there is a significant amount of theft there. Plenty of dodgy people with what can only be described as a reliable reputation for stealing things. Camden town - is the place for all kinds of street markets and what you could call ‘alternative markets and shops.’ Now living where I do in Somerset, just a mile outside of Glastonbury, I kind of felt not far off from home. Plenty to do here you know – Get a stud put in, get a massive tattoo on your arm, buy a t-shirt that has 50 conveniently memorable uses for the F word written on it, and then if the mood takes you, you can smoke some pot (Marijuana for the uninitiated), resulting in getting stoned. Well, if done properly. At this stage it is in my best interests to inform you, that this ‘stuff’ is not my scene at all, its just I’m used to it back home. However, changing tact a little I do tend to prefer ‘heavier’ sorts of music, just ask Dave. When he comes down where I live, we take it in turns choosing cd’s to listen to while driving a long way. When it comes to my turn the speakers predictably resonate with screaming, thrashes and machine gun chords. Where was I, oh yes, Camden has the occasional heavy metal shop. I was drawn by the music emanating from one. And fancied a look. But a look was enough. The shops of this genre here are ran by people with not just one, or two, or even three studs and rings in there face but rather there is enough metal stapled throughout there whole bodies sufficient if melted to produce a 747. So it is my advice that you keep walking here and you will find, some mellow places, pleasant bookshops, full of gems used and new. Pots of Chinese food are available, plopped into street transit sized trays while you muse, and plenty of cool clothes in area’s too.

Time for a snack to tie us over until the evening meal. We headed for another market to accomplish this. Borough Market in fact. Located on the South Bank of the Thames, near London Bridge tube station. This one is much more tourist friendly, and formal, as opposed to an expansive spectrum of sub-culture establishments. Dave likes it here, they do a good beef baguette – he knows good beef when he sees it. I though, even as I’m the most thorough anti-vegetarian person in the world was feeling like something all the more sugar-filled. So after a short walk, we settled down for a coffee and added to that with a chocolate brownie. To get here we just walked past the Tate Modern. Now for those of you reading this, that don’t know what that is, let me provide a little insight. Basically it is supposed to be a bit of a headquarters for Art, but not just any art – Modern Art. Mmm. And for those that don’t know what modern art is, I suggest you go their, it’ll be around £10 for the equivalent entertainment of a Jim Carrey film. And for those that do know what modern art is, I expect you know to stay well away. So to elaborate my hint, what can you expect on your visit to the Tate Modern? Well for starters a flashy, expensive exhibition house for modern art, such as.... a light bulb mounted on a centre column in the middle of a white, but empty room - there is also other master pieces with even greater attention to detail, such as pile of tired looking panels of wood lying dumped on the floor, probably from a garden shed that was suddenly found to be out of place. And at the top of the building, you’ll be able to enjoy an extravagant drink of your choice, while looking out across London. That is of course if you re-mortgaged your house before you made the trip and have cash in abundance. Or maybe you robbed a bank. These are just a couple of things that will finance a Tate Modern Cappuccino (with extra chocolate – you might as well while you’re there).

So to the evening meal. Joined by more friends of ours from North London. And here is one of the final ‘acutely cultural places’ as I seem to remember putting it. It is ‘Brick Lane’. That is the name of the actual street we’re now stood on. Well I mean now that we’re here. Dave got us here in a manor which can only be described as – ‘dependably eventual’. I must say unequivocally, his directions generally are spot on. So anyway, in any other city I’ve encountered this part of town is usually called, ‘Little India’. Not here, Brick Lane will do, and after seeing it all, in its Indian Restaurant lined glory, I was ready to fully explore and preach the word, the Brick Lane word. It’s true that many Indians live all over Britain, especially in London and definitely a high percentage here. Even under the ‘Brick Lane’ street sign it is also written in the artful design of Hindi. Basically this place has more Indian and Bangladeshi restaurants in it than you could imagine. The streets are lined on either side for about 300 yards with these places. They all have a representative outside trying to entice you in with competitive offers, like: " Sir, please, 10% off here!" or "Excuse me, 15% off please sir, look!" or "Best value in town, plus I give you all free beer!" With a majority of 6 lads over just 2 ladies, it doesn't take an extra degree of intelligence to work out which offer we went for.
But the curry was very good, oh yes. We sat down, ordered while sipping our free beer and when it arrived the Chicken Balti and Mushroom rice was extremely satisfying. Put it this way, the way I eat curry, my plate wasn’t warm for long. After washing it all down with the remainder of free beer, we headed off to one of Dave and mine’s favourite little exclusive spots. St Katharine’s docks. A short walk over Tower Bridge and swing a right. It’s where I’ve got my 50 Million pound Yacht moored. That gets the girls attention for all of 2 seconds by which time the practised seriousness in my face has long evaporated, “Roman Abramovic and Michael Jackson couldn’t afford to leave theirs here you know!….yeah ok keep walking, the pubs dead ahead, oh you have.” So you get the idea, this is an exclusive area. Expensive boats and yachts, flashy London apartments, you know, the kind of place an advert would be filmed where some cool Gent from the city lives and he uses the latest skin hydration cream. Also our little pub the Dickens Inn, which is adjacent to another curry house – yes, I was tempted by it. The only thing which in my view slightly drags the area down is a minor starbucks infection. Do you know what I mean, their everywhere. They say that England is becoming the new America, in terms of, to list a few – obesity, obsession with time savers that waste time, fast food holes and well Starbucks. In New York for example, walk for any great length of time and you will greeted on many blocks by those, mind imprinted green letters –‘Starbucks Coffee’. There are loads of them, hundreds in fact. Perhaps a name change to, I don’t know – ‘SugarShot Lounge’ might change things I little, if not resemble the truth. Don’t get me wrong these places are pretty cool inside, and even this one here in St. Katharine’s looks like a mini dual layered Temple – its just its all bit to common, a bit obvious. I’m far more interested in privately owned local places where their cultural value is incidental as opposed to manufactured, and where the degree of tourists and visitors inside is less than 90%. Back to the now, and we’re all inside the pub helping ourselves to pump controlled facilities, this time paying for the privilege.

Time flies in the pub, good people, good atmosphere and a smooth drink an unbeatable combination. The time goes too quickly, as I sense my weekend away coming to an end. All that’s planned for tomorrow is some relaxing in our North London residencies. Dave and I will probably enjoy a last game of snooker together before I head off to London Victoria coach station again for my latest experience on a national express coach. What a city. I’ve been here quite a lot, but it still retains the same buzz. The same charged expectation on every arrival. That spooling down whine of airplane engines as they get stacked in the Heathrow landing queue. The great sights, the infrastructure at work, a tube system that when you see a tube map just says to you with echoes of that famous advert: “Where would you like to go today?” was that Microsoft? Anyway it’s always a shame to be leaving such a culture factory as this. I’ll be back though – look out Brick Lane!

Forgive me if I seem to be repeating myself here, but there is always someone on the coach that really …. annoys me (did you see that control there! – that t-shirt from Camden could have filled the gap.) This time it seams that people are closing the toilet door. Well done. But instead I’m being bombarded with something a lot more subtle. Some background information for you: Modern mobile phones seem to be fitted gratuitously with every latest gadget under the sun. One of the latest of these in the last few years is Bluetooth. Its some kind of wireless technology your phone or for that matter any new electronic device can communicate with. Soon I envision bluetoothing my kettle downstairs to boil and then the nearest person to make and bring me a coffee. Yes this time I’m being attacked by someone, somewhere on the coach, electronically. It seems they want to firstly connect to me, and secondly send me some dodgy file. I managed to work out who it was, in what I call quite a clever even A-Team like way. Basically every time the person try’s to send you something, your phone asks you to except or deny. Slightly elevating myself and looking toward to windowed glass of the coach, which because of internal lighting was acting like mirror, I clicked ‘deny’ while scanning peoples heads for reflex movements. A girl to my left, three rows up was seen to be the culprit. After seemingly thirty attempts on her part, thirty denials on mine and more importantly thirty uninvited interruptions to my favourite Metallica album, I decided to go on the offensive – and turn the ruddy thing off. Prior to that though, just before I did do that, I scanned for people (a facility within your phone) that have their bluetooth on. It found four people. Two described on-screen as ‘unknown’ in other words people who have this certain capability, but aren’t fully aware of it. One was called ‘derek’ and the other ‘RoOd Gal’ she was the ‘Bluejacker’ as they’re called. So yes I turned mine off leaving 'derek' all on his own to be electronically molested by some Bluetooth crazed girl. Poor Derek. All in all providing an unexpected thrill to the completion of an awesome weekend.