This week JaxWorld is going to be a little different. I have had multiple requests for the following two blogs:
BLOG 95: Bored of LONDON? - From March 2010
and
BLOG 187: Q is not a letter - From December 2011
So...even though it is not my way to indulge popular request, I will give in on this occasion... so without further ado....here are they are:
ENJOY!
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Friday, 12 March 2010
BLOG 95: Bored of LONDON?
“When a man is tired of London he is tired of life”.
Dr Samuel Johnson Author, Poet and creator of The Dictionary of the English Language.
The most evocative cities in the world have their names inscribed on perfume bottles: London, Paris, New York, Rome, Tokyo. These are the big five; these are cities where stuff happens, where trends are formed, where everyone longs to be. Between them they are home to some 34 million people and a must see destination to many times that number.
My city is one of those evocative cities. London. This is the city where I was born, where I grew up, where everything that really counts in my life took place, where Jax was formed and where I am happy to be.
The old misquote is that when you are bored of London you are bored of life… and I can see how Samuels Johnsons words became rearranged this way. For London is the antithesis of boredom... Truly one would have to have given up on life to find there is no outlet in this city.
It is because of this that I have found that every time I leave London to reside elsewhere…somehow I am drawn back to base. As Prince wrote in his lyrics for Sinead, ‘nothing compares to you’. I always find that despite the delights that were to be found in the British provinces, the European towns, and the places over the ocean… there is a certain something missing. London has the perfect blend of the old, the new, the sublime, the ridiculous, and a certain unforced quirkiness that makes almost ten million of us say Home.
Where else in the world could you hear angels sing in the morning, have tea in a spectacular mansion surrounded by gardens, park and farm, listen to classical music by candlelight in a crypt, then party on the beach after the sun goes down?
In London this is no biggy – simply pop to Westminster Cathedral at 7am to hear to choristers, then pop on a quick train to Syon Park (one of the last surviving country estates in London) for tea, come back to listen to a bit of the classics at St Martins in the Fields, then roll up your trouser legs to join in the Reclaim the Beach’ parties which take place when the tide goes out on the Thames in front of the Royal Festival Hall.
Not your idea of a cure to boredom? Okay… how about watching the sun come up over the city from a great height, being the driver on the electric trains, then riding a horse through Hyde Park ,watch the Bard on the grass then rest your eyes from all the sights of the day by dining in the dark.
Again, no problem, Greenwich Royal Observatory is where all time is measured from and lies in a huge public park on a hill overlooking the city, (if you are North of the river the less grand Parliament Hill Fields has equally stunning vistas), the DLR train system has no drivers so bag a seat at the front and pretend it’s you, Kensington Stables will rent you a horse and even teach you to ride right in the heart of the west end, the open air theatre at Regents Park put on Shakespearean productions and Dans le Noir gives you great food in pitch darkness to provide a sensory culinary experience.
If that’s all a bit active for you, you can spend a day improving your mind. Of course London had the predictable big museums like the Victoria and Albert, the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum and the National Gallery. But there are quirky ones that just could only be in London and are presented in a purely London vibe.
The Horniman… tucked away in the South London suburbs is one of the best. Skeletons, pickled animals, an aquarium full of mesmerising jellyfish, model insects and Egyptian mummies, and the star attraction – an enormous walrus who definitely was over stuffed before he got there!. Everyone tries to be there at 4pm to see the Apostles clock.
Quirkier still is the Clown Museum where you can get you very own signature clown face (to which no one bats an eye on your journey home!) or Cartoon Museum in Bloomsbury – probably the noisiest museum as it is impossible to observe the exhibits of our nations history in cartoon form without laughing out loud!
Also recording the nations history in print is the National Archive where you can plow your way through 1000 years of official government records (and find out what ‘big brother’ really know about YOU).
Wanna catch up with everything ever published? Then go to the British Library – apart from the fact MY book is in there it also houses the most priciest tomes in history.
You can even have a night at the museum for real… The British Museum does sleepovers if you fancy it! (Actually so does the National History Museum come to think of it!)
Can’t abide the idea of all those animatronics dinosaurs at the National History museum… then the answer is South London again. Crystal Palace Park was the world’s first theme park – built in 1854. It’s full of life size dinosaurs… yep I said 1854 BEFORE anyone even knew what dinosaurs really looked like… so go and enjoy the least accurate theme park in the world!
But if you like a bit more adrenalin in your museum day you can bomb down the river on the Tate-to-Tate catamaran service. The interior and exterior of the boat are decked out in Damien Hirst’s coloured spots and, at the Tate Britain end, it leaves from the striking steel Millbank pier, designed by architects who did the London Eye. And when you get to the Tate Modern press your head against the glass on the 5th floor… and look down… I dare you!
But where London comes into its own is embracing the bizarre. No where does it better. We’ve come a long way since we burnt weirdos... now we celebrate them.
Time was when Soho was a scandalous place full of dodgy people and ladies of the night. Of course thanks to Jacqueline Gold and her Anne Summers chain, sex has gone mainstream and every mall has a shop where bored housewives can spice up their lives. BUT the old Soho is almost still with us and it is now de rigueur to comb its backstreets where you can still find black windows stores with shelves full of battered copies of Spanky magazine, heated only by Calor gas, and with a genuine London villain eyeing you from the counter.
Or thrill your senses with scones, clotted cream, cucumber sandwiches, aromatic infusions, pink bubbles and dollops of saucy cabaret at the bewitching Volupte Lounge, near Chancery Lane in the City.
Or join the alternative city crowd who after a hard week in pin-stripped suits – there is nothing better than slipping into stilettos and suspenders and belting out those show tunes. And that is just the men! The Way Out Club is just one of many trannie bars which are packed to the rafters with men, women…and those who have not yet decided.
Alternatively if you prefer your musicals more traditional…The Prince Charles theatre show the Sound of Music every Friday night… but the whole audience do tend to dress up in costumes inspired by the movie.
If you prefer less of a song and dance about your performances, the Laban Centre in Deptford performs stunning contemporary dance, or Stand through an opera at the Royal Opera House (Un-seated tickets cost £4 to £9 each).
It’s just endless the things this city has to offer! You can Shoot Hoops at St Giles in the Fields Church (basketball seems to be Gods preferred sport), but don’t forget tennis fans there 20 floodlit courts at Battersea. Or maybe you want to take it easy with a glass of wine aboard a 17th century Danish ship at St Katherine’s Dock, or sit down with the Queen Mum’s hat maker for just 35 quid and learn how to make a bonnet, or go up and down the Thames helping the Queen count and mark her swans (I kid you not!).
You can cross the Zebra Crossing outside Abbey Road Studios and pretend to be a Beatle, you can drink in a pub at Eel Pie Island and ponder its place in the history of rock and roll. You can go night fishing on Clapham Common, or walk under the moonlight for charity in the “walk the walk”. You can row across the Serpentine, or get spiritual in the amazingly beautiful Kyoto Gardens in Holland Park. You can walk the grounds of Eltham Palace and pretend to be Henry 8th or stand in the 1930’s living room and ask the ghost of Noel Coward for a martini. If the mood took you there’s nothing to stop you hanging with all the cities ghosts by taking Richard Jones’s Ghost Walks that take you through alleyways and graveyards for the maximum chill factor. You could play farmer on any one of the 17 farms within the city limits. You could simply just stand on the bridge at St James Park and just gawp at the beauty of this town.
All cities have museums, galleries, theatres, bars, clubs and restaurants. But very few allow you to eat your way around the world as enthusiastically and as authentically as London – the city where 44 languages can be heard on any 30 minute walk within its borders.
As a magnet to the world, people are drawn to London from all over. Eventually they assimilate and leave behind their old languages, cultures and even religions… but the one thing they never part with is their food. This is London’s most welcome gift.
You can pretend you are in Tokyo at the Shochu Lounge - Japan’s vodka-like spirit shochu, is doled out in a basement, the wooden vats and rustic bar counters, low tables and plush red seats make for a setting that’s half style bar, half film set for ‘Zatoichi’. Or you can pretend you are in Italy though you’ll actually be in Soho. Where diners and delis smell like heaven should: of wine, bread, olives and meat. Or how about Spain! El Parador in North London is a great place to eat tapas outdoors. You’d never know you were near such busy streets. But British weather isn’t often very Spanish so you could head instead to the gorgeous tapas bar Navarros in the west end. Of course there is always Poland –the real deal can be found at Bar Polski where they churn out bigos, barszcz and kielbasa to soak up the vats of vodka.
You name it you can eat it in London – Caribbean, Chinese, Dutch, Indian, Thai, Swedish, African – I saw a new café only yesterday with a sign saying ‘Authentic Tasmanian Cooking’.
There is always something new in London. There is always something old you haven’t done yet.
This summer I will put a tick to my undone list by going to watch the Great River Race. It’s a million times better than that University boat race everyone else raves about. The Great River Race follows a 22-mile course from Richmond to Greenwich, and features more than 260 ‘traditional’ boats, from Chinese dragon boats to Viking longboats. I’m also going to ride London’s only Steam railway – the one at Kew Gardens. But I think I just may give the free-running courses a miss…can’t see myself jumping like a cat from roof to roof. I might just watch others do it though!
See what I mean… how can anyone say there is nothing to do here?
How can anyone get bored of London? There is so much going on that the only certainty is that one will die without the ‘to do’ list being completed.
I will go better than the great Mr Johnson and you may quote me:
When one is finished with London…one is finished with life.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
BLOG 187: Q is not a letter
"Oh, for the good old days when people would stop Christmas shopping when they ran out of money." ~Author Unknown
I had planned to blog about my birthday as it was a BIG birthday. However my birthday falls in December. Now this is great because it is a festive time of year people are in a party mood and it is a natural time to celebrate. So Yes! My birthday was awesome. Actually seeing that word written down looks pretty poor. Let’s try it again. AweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeSOME! Yep that comes somewhat closer.
I had lunch with my favourite man. (Hot... naughty.. so not what I should be doing with my time), the La perla sale (85% off some of the best underwear a girl could ever dream off), shopping in New Bond Street (Yep thank you Fenwicks for not selling out like Harvey Nicks and Selfridges and remaining bloody amazing.) Followed up with supper with my parents (if you have slightly bonkers ever young parents you will know what I mean). And the gathering of the friends is to come tonight. YES... I can highly recommend having a December birthday.
But no ... you will not be getting a blog about my birthday at all. Well you will a bit as what I’m going to blog about did happen on my birthday... But it is about something that managed to really wind me up. (Which face facts is what the JaxWorld blog is all about.. so no whinging from you! LOL).
Now I get it.
London is the most awesome town on the planet. It has the architecture (if you haven’t noticed... look UP.) It has the best theatre. It has unbelievable hotels. It has a fabulous river front. It is drowned in history (had lunch a few months back with my supermodel Russian friend Marina and we found an authentic roman bath just of The Strand). It has the clubs, the bars, the restaurants and on top of this all it has more green space than any urban area on earth. I get it why people flock to London no matter the season.
But you know what ruffles my feathers?
The annual influx of international Christmas Shoppers.
Oh go home and shop in your own towns.... PLEEEEEEEAAASE??
Now I don’t mind that people flood to my city to enjoy the most fantastic retail experience on earth. I really don’t. In fact on behalf of Boris (or of the charts nutso major) I thank you or your dollar, yen, euro and shekel. BUT. Please if you are here to shop... learn the ruddy rules will ya!
In England... we have rules. Now unlike most counties we don’t have rules to keep you down or ruin your life... we have rules so that we can spare each other from the English man's worst nightmare..... Embarrassment!
We here on this lower eastern portion of this sceptred isle (oh for my non Brit readers... the lower west is another country called Wales and the upper portion is another country called Scotland... after centuries of brutality from us they kind of want independence but we won’t let them have it as the west have gold and up north there is oil)... we have a massive fear of embarrassment. (The Scots tried to capitalise on this by having their blokes wear skirts and no panties and the Welsh tried this by getting unbelievably intimate with sheep... but it didn’t work.) No... cross dressing and animal abusing does not embarrass an Englishman... what does is having to point out to a Johnny foreigner that there IS actually a QUEUE.
Call us ridiculous if you like but the reason why (when I was born) most of the world map was pink was that we have a civilised approach to shopping. We taught the world to stand in line and wait your turn - and they liked it. They called it the 'English Sense of Fair Play': The person in front of you is there for one reason and ONE reason only. He got there before you.
These days of course the world map is no longer predominantly pink and the world does rather mock our systems... only the other day an American friend pointed out to me that the English invented in class system purely to find a reason to look down on people who are exactly the same as each other! Laugh at us if you want on any of our odd customs, we have a sense of humour and we keep some purely for the irony but when it comes to queuing we are serious.
Queuing WORKS. It is the ultimate in meritocracy. He who comes first, gets served first. You snooze you lose. SIMPLES!
However, on Wednesday I discovered to my horror, hoards of persons with accents that were not generated in these parts, totally ignoring our system (honed over centuries of trial and error and resulting in the blueprint called the SINGLE QUEUE) and messing things up for the rest of us.
Understanding that they must wait in line for services rather than barging to the front is a concept that bewilders visitors to the UK. This is not their fault; we do understand that in less-wealthy countries the only way to get access to necessities is to push yourself forward. However let me tell you about what happened in Fenwicks on Wednesday.
I had just queued to purchase a darling object from a great designer. You know how it is when you have a budget but you have abandoned it- you need to purchase and purchase quickly... any time to think will result in you having to put it back and live within your means. Queuing is great system... each second involves you taking one step closer to the cash register...it’s a slow-mo road to commitment to purchase.
Well on Wednesday ... not so much.
Not one but two thickly accented persons cut in front of me to buy unspeakable amounts of Christmas wrapping paper. They jabbered away to each other in their incomprehensible tongue giving the store assistant little choice but to wrap, pack and ring up their items. The assistant waved an apologetic eyebrow at me (we English are far too embarrassed to mutter our displeasure at rule breakers). But queue jumpers dispatched...finally it was my turn.
I put my goods on the counter.
Lord alone know why I bothered as within seconds a loud American interrupted and put her goods in front of the assistant and started asking questions about her purchases as if she was being served now.
“Excuse me” I said apologetically
(There is a tendency in England to apologise for others wrong doings... even if someone treads on your head, it is our way to apologise for your skull being in their way rather than to wait for them to apologise for causing your bonce an injury)
“Excuse me,” I repeated “I think you’ll find I was first... I think she’s serving me”
(Another peculiar thing is that we never state our circumstances as a fact... even if it is self evident that the other person is way out of line we absolutely never tell them that we find the facts to be self evident, we always say ‘I think’ as if there is a possibility that we may have misunderstood what to an idiot is clearly a breach of decorum).
The American looked rather bewildered for a nano-second, processed what I said and then pronounced that the USA had a superior service culture and no way would she be served after me back home.
“That’s as maybe” I said “But I have allowed 2 others to cut in as it was clear that English was not their first language as they may have been unable to understand the signs, but clearly you speak English fluently, so I assume you can also read it... the sign says queue starts here and I am first in the queue – this is how we do things in England... we politely queue and wait our turn”.
(Yes... we English are crap at the four second put down.... we prefer the well constructed diatribe as a method to put interlopers back in their boxes)
“Oh Em Gee!” exclaimed our visitor from over the sea “back home we don’t have this stand in line nonsense.... we get served!”
“I think you’ll find madam... back home if you ‘cut in line’ you’d be shot” I retorted.
The American recoiled and joined the queue.
Feathers ruffled by this interchange... (yes I won, but being a Brit mean that then you feel awful about it)... I had to get to a happy place. Now for me one of those happy places has to be the retail emporium Heals, on the Tottenham Court Road (TCR). Heals is the doyen for furniture stores... each floor is a film set for the life you wish you had. It’s a wonderful thing to lie on a chaise lounge in Heals and pretend your servant will be back to you in a jiffy with a cup of tea in a bone china cup.
So on leaving Fenwicks, I trotted up to TCR. Walking in London is one of the true joys in life. At this time of year, the city is decked out for yuletide. Retailers and local councils vie with each other for who can use the most light bulbs and lasers to make the best of the early darkness. By 4pm natural light is history and the city twinkles in shades of blue, pink, silver, gold, red and green. It is quite something.
The obvious lights to see are Oxford Street and Regent Street where humungous lighting rigs festoon the entire length of the boulevards. However, the smaller retail streets such as South Molton Street, St Christopher’s Walk and Carnaby Street are sights to behold decked out in extraordinary flamboyancy. Walking from Bond Street to TCR means you can take these in while absorbing the smells from street vendors roasting chestnuts, and hearing carols played on the brass instruments of the Salvation Army. If that doesn’t infuse one with the sprit of the season... then nothing will.
Except.
Walking during the winter influx of global shoppers is a trial of epic proportions. Just like our international shoppers who do not know that there is a perfectly good system in place for service... our international visitors can’t grasp the idea that stopping suddenly with no warning on the narrow streets of London is dangerous!
I get it... every few feet there is a sight to behold... we are an ingenious nation when it comes to expressing ourselves artistically. I do understand that our international visitors wish to capture as much of what they see on camera so they can show the folks back home. But what I don’t get is why, when walking in a throng of people they suddenly stop, rummage in their bags for cameras then start zig zaging about snapping away. They seem oblivious to the fact that stopping suddenly causes everyone behind you to collide with each other!
We’re BRITISH. We’re quite happy NOT to have physical contact with each other! I cannot explain how traumatic it is for us to have to peel ourselves of the person in front – or how excruciatingly embarrassing it is to apologise to someone –without any eye contact of course- for being almost erotically intimate with them when that was certainly NOT your intent!
On that short walk from Fenwicks of Bond Street to Heals of TCR... I must have been intimate with the backs of at least thirty people. And the culprit each time... a visitor with a camera.
What makes things worse is that, because they have been shopping, they have half a dozen bags. When the camera muse strikes them... they simply plonk their bags down on the pavement and start snap-snapping away. Which means (as an on-coming pedestrian) I find myself tangled in the bag handles... or worse standing on their present for Aunty Flo.
But hey ho!
You know what I love about London?... all you have to do is turn a corner and tranquillity returns.
I did just that on Wednesday evening.
Having been twice queue-jumped then had disagreeable words with the thrice attempt, peeled myself of the backs of people and tripped over a slew of pavement bags. I hung a left into Columbia road.
Suddenly the hustle and bustle melted away into a charming neighbourhood of cobbled streets and enclave of traders offers vintage fashions, quirky artworks, funky homewares and irresistible deli goods. Usually Columbia Road is only open on Sundays when the flower market is on but on the Chrimbo run up they open late on Wednesday and the 40 or so retailers also offer refreshments, music, and entertainment while you shop.
And you know what.... after a gingerbread latte under a Victorian street lamp... the bah and the humbug melted out of me. A lovely American tourist and I struck up a conversation about which movies Columbia Road had featured in as a film set and I even offered to take a couple of snaps for a group of giddy French girls who were over for a spot of Christmas shopping:
“Ziss is soh coowl... we don’t ave ziss in Pari” one of them drooled.
And you know what... they don’t.
Sometimes it takes international Christmas shoppers to help grumpy residents of ol’ London town like me stock up on some seasonal cheer!
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