London

Monday 12^th December.  All day on the trains.  .

8.00am joined the children walking down the street in pitch darkness to school, but went on to the station.  Train into Strasbourg.  Train to Paris.  Admired a sleeping man in striped socks.  Walked from Gare l’Est to Gare du Nord – about 10 minutes.  Through the Eurostar terminal – passports etc.  I handed over my Australian passport, having decided to be Australian going into Britain.  The passport man got worried because there was no evidence in the passport of my having ever entered Europe.  Had I teleported in? So I had to produce the Irish passport.  That was fine.  Apparently people getting confused about which passport they are using is not unusual. 

They really push that Eurostar train along.  It is little more than two hours from Paris to London.  By car, 5.5 hours, including an expensive channel crossing, even using the tunnel.  The tunnel is hardly even noticed in the train.   I shared a four seat set-up – two facing two – with another woman my age and a couple .  The man was enormous.  He took up half of his wife’s seat, so that she was wedged up again the side wall. And his legs left little room for the woman opposite him, so she needed to come my way a bit.  He read from his kindle for a while, which he balanced on his stomach the way pregnant women can hold a plate there;  then he fell asleep.  The mouth fell open and the tongue lolled out and the chins all shuddered as he snored.  Wife took no notice, her gazed fixed on her kindle.  So one man’s comfort cost three women any enjoyment of their trips.

 

I was not aware of this when I booked the hotel for Flyspring and me, but it is less than a mile from St Pancras Station, where the Eurostar comes in.   I welcomed the walk in the fresh, if cold, air to Euston Square, wondering if every evening is as frenetic both on the road and on the pavements, or if that is the regular routine.  I will know by the end of the week.  It seemed that half the vehicles on the road were London cabs, but they are not all black any more.  Many are almost totally covered with advertising.  Another icon subverted.  Half of the remaining vehicles were buses, and then some cars and (exceptionally foolhardy) cyclists.  A generous sprinkling of ambulance, fire engines and police cars, all with lights flashing and sirens (different) wailing.  I thought something momentous must have happened, but no-one took any notice.  Must be a regular occurrence.

The hotel is just off Euston Square, and is adequately comfortable.  I hit the restaurant straight away, being hungry after a long fast, and was delighted to find bangers and mash on the menu, with onion gravy .  Perfect.   My enjoyment of this English favourite was somewhat tempered when I realised that a group in a nook nearby, who had workbooks and pens etc, and whom I had assumed were poor beggars on a management training exercise, turned out to be a French class.  And here was I looking forward to the dulcet tones of my native language.  I am also a bit challenged in understanding the English of the all-Indian staff of the hotel.  

I can understand the TV however.  The weather man on BBC1 has advised that this is going to be a week of big storms and winds – just my luck!  But I am now watching a Christmas cooking program, don’t know who the chap is, but he has just done his Christmas dinner dessert – nut tart and celeriac ice-cream.  Not what you would expect, even he admitted. 

And of course London is in the grip of the Olympic run-up.  First thing to be seen when you get off the train at St Pancras is an enormous set of Olympic rings suspended from the high arch of the ceiling.  And already I have seen a bit of a programme with people worrying about the readiness of the Olympic facilities and what is going to become of them after the games.  Sounds familiar.  But they have nothing to compete with Clark and Dawe and Gina Riley and “The Games” I would be sure of that.

Tuesday

Very cold.   Icy winds.  Clear blue skies. 

Walked down (up?) Gower Street to Oxford Street and did the length of it.  It was a bit ho-hum really, although there are thirty-four shoe shops, there is only one bar.   There are lights suspended across the street for Christmas, but very few businesses have made any effort at all.  Selfridges did have a series of quite bizarre window tableaux, but when I saw strikingly similar presentations in the windows of Harrods later in the day, I decided they must both be the work of the current designer-of-the –month.  By the time I got to Hyde Park, I had had enough of walking in the winds, so bought a ticket for one of the hop-on-hop-off tours, and spent the afternoon seeing London from the top of a bus, with a very good commentary as well.  A bonus, the ticket is good for 48 hours, so I can do it again tomorrow and the next day, or just use the buses – they go every 10 minutes from numerous points, to get where I want to go – they do all the main places.  

MIG friends will be so disappointed to know that I could not get you each a Will and Kate wedding tea-towel.  The place where I saw one and thought how you would like it did not have enough in stock.  So sorry for your disappointment.  But I still have three more days, so you never know:  I will do my best to find them.