London, Day 5
May. 5th, 2006 01:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleIt’s Thursday. So is this day 5? Um…yes. Day 5. Yay!
So yes, as I said, I got a lot of this mess temporarily worked around this morning, though I’ll have to straighten it out when I get home. But I have some cash in the hotel’s lockboxes, so I’ll be okay. Still, it pisses me off.
I got offline with Mom and my sister—I showed them how to chat!—about 5, and ran down to the V&A to get those beautiful books—plus a giftie for Foxglove I have to struggle not to keep for me. As I left, I realized that weird little corner I kept thinking about was directly across the street. And it’s only this second I’m also realising why I didn’t remember it being across from the main entrance to the museum: the entire time I was there, the museum was utterly grimy, and covered in scaffolding. It’s now clean and bright and looks nothing like it did. Ha!
I took a stroll down Brompton Road, and turned left into Cottage Mews, on a mission. It took a bit of hunting—including discovering a gorgeous little jewel of a park I’d never known was there—but sure enough, I eventually found the very tiny, sidewalkless cobblestoned street called Ennismore Gardens Mews. Um, who cares? you say? I did, back in ’89-’90. That’s where John Taylor used to live! My friend Darice and I used to walk down that street after clubbing, just because we could. I used to wear these little Goth pixie boots with metal heels, and they’d strike sparks off the cobbles. But we always whispered, cos we wanted to be sensible semi-stalkerish fans….
I wandered a good bit more, and came smack up against Hyde Park. For some reason, I didn’t want to go in. I lived so close for all that time, and never did. Maybe I’m like Legolas and the sea, only backwards. But I schlepped down further, and found myself at—drum roll, please!—Harrod’s, at last. I turned the corner, and there it was.
There is SO much more upscale shopping around there than I remember. Of course, I didn’t used to shop much in Knightsbridge before—I was a poor student. But I approached the Mecca for Consumerism gladly, and even bought some more stuff—mainly more gifties. The food courts are, truly, beyond belief. And it’s not one, but several, each room a gastronomic wonderland, appropriately and richly decorated to theme. The candy and confectionary room has a pizza oven and bar in one corner, and—I kid you not—a Krispy Kreme bakery in the other. Stand in the middle and your nose will rebel and take you out. I don’t know how I got out of there alive.
The staff are absolutely amazing there. Very friendly, and very helpful. I stopped dead in a aisle when I looked out a door and saw the Rigby and Pellier boutique across the street. A very large security guard told me I looked confused, but I said, “Oh, no. I’m thanking my stars that shop is closed, because I could do some serious damage there.” Without even batting an eyelash, he said, “Ah, but we have all of their things upstairs—more than you could ever need!” I believe I whimpered. R&P make some of the best bras on earth, but their prices are commensurate. “You’re not helping!” I cried. “That’s my job!” he responded, laughing.
But in the end, I escaped the terra-cotta shrine to capitalism (the Harrod’s motto is Omnia, Omnibus, Ubique—Everything, for Everyone, Everywhere), and started to schlep back down Knightsbridge towards home. Once again, I was carrying FAR too many heavy books, which meant I spent the whole walk inwardly whining about being so out of shape. Yes, gym when I get home. A lot.
But I took many photos on the way, which I’m uploading. Shops I remembered, some I could believe I’d forgotten. Some absolutely gorgeous Art Nouveau shop door handles I fell so in love with I nearly made love to them on the street. (I consoled myself with more photos.) I saw places I remember putting in my first novelette, and every time I put my camera away, I had to take it right back out.
Whining, I finally regained the block of my hotel, and though I’d meant to put my bags away first, when I saw “my” table was free at Illy, I took it, and had a lovely dinner of lamb lasagne in an adorable little custard-type dish, with fries and a salad. Possibly it’s standard with Americans, but they brought ketchup without my even having to ask.
And it’s funny: remember how I wondered about my accent? It hasn’t been a problem. I haven’t picked up my English accent—much—because I haven’t really heard any English accents. Everyone here is from somewhere else. The man in the cell phone in the corner at dinner was, oh, I’ll place him from Texas, perhaps. The three gorgeous women at the table behind me were French. The lovely woman who helped me at Harrod’s was recently arrived from Poland.
I miss hearing more Brits, but the feeling of being in such a swirling, diverse city goes a long way to make up for it.
So. Who’s coming with me next year?
PS--More photos on the Flickr page! http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/sets/72057594125784189/ Go look!
So yes, as I said, I got a lot of this mess temporarily worked around this morning, though I’ll have to straighten it out when I get home. But I have some cash in the hotel’s lockboxes, so I’ll be okay. Still, it pisses me off.
I got offline with Mom and my sister—I showed them how to chat!—about 5, and ran down to the V&A to get those beautiful books—plus a giftie for Foxglove I have to struggle not to keep for me. As I left, I realized that weird little corner I kept thinking about was directly across the street. And it’s only this second I’m also realising why I didn’t remember it being across from the main entrance to the museum: the entire time I was there, the museum was utterly grimy, and covered in scaffolding. It’s now clean and bright and looks nothing like it did. Ha!
I took a stroll down Brompton Road, and turned left into Cottage Mews, on a mission. It took a bit of hunting—including discovering a gorgeous little jewel of a park I’d never known was there—but sure enough, I eventually found the very tiny, sidewalkless cobblestoned street called Ennismore Gardens Mews. Um, who cares? you say? I did, back in ’89-’90. That’s where John Taylor used to live! My friend Darice and I used to walk down that street after clubbing, just because we could. I used to wear these little Goth pixie boots with metal heels, and they’d strike sparks off the cobbles. But we always whispered, cos we wanted to be sensible semi-stalkerish fans….
I wandered a good bit more, and came smack up against Hyde Park. For some reason, I didn’t want to go in. I lived so close for all that time, and never did. Maybe I’m like Legolas and the sea, only backwards. But I schlepped down further, and found myself at—drum roll, please!—Harrod’s, at last. I turned the corner, and there it was.
There is SO much more upscale shopping around there than I remember. Of course, I didn’t used to shop much in Knightsbridge before—I was a poor student. But I approached the Mecca for Consumerism gladly, and even bought some more stuff—mainly more gifties. The food courts are, truly, beyond belief. And it’s not one, but several, each room a gastronomic wonderland, appropriately and richly decorated to theme. The candy and confectionary room has a pizza oven and bar in one corner, and—I kid you not—a Krispy Kreme bakery in the other. Stand in the middle and your nose will rebel and take you out. I don’t know how I got out of there alive.
The staff are absolutely amazing there. Very friendly, and very helpful. I stopped dead in a aisle when I looked out a door and saw the Rigby and Pellier boutique across the street. A very large security guard told me I looked confused, but I said, “Oh, no. I’m thanking my stars that shop is closed, because I could do some serious damage there.” Without even batting an eyelash, he said, “Ah, but we have all of their things upstairs—more than you could ever need!” I believe I whimpered. R&P make some of the best bras on earth, but their prices are commensurate. “You’re not helping!” I cried. “That’s my job!” he responded, laughing.
But in the end, I escaped the terra-cotta shrine to capitalism (the Harrod’s motto is Omnia, Omnibus, Ubique—Everything, for Everyone, Everywhere), and started to schlep back down Knightsbridge towards home. Once again, I was carrying FAR too many heavy books, which meant I spent the whole walk inwardly whining about being so out of shape. Yes, gym when I get home. A lot.
But I took many photos on the way, which I’m uploading. Shops I remembered, some I could believe I’d forgotten. Some absolutely gorgeous Art Nouveau shop door handles I fell so in love with I nearly made love to them on the street. (I consoled myself with more photos.) I saw places I remember putting in my first novelette, and every time I put my camera away, I had to take it right back out.
Whining, I finally regained the block of my hotel, and though I’d meant to put my bags away first, when I saw “my” table was free at Illy, I took it, and had a lovely dinner of lamb lasagne in an adorable little custard-type dish, with fries and a salad. Possibly it’s standard with Americans, but they brought ketchup without my even having to ask.
And it’s funny: remember how I wondered about my accent? It hasn’t been a problem. I haven’t picked up my English accent—much—because I haven’t really heard any English accents. Everyone here is from somewhere else. The man in the cell phone in the corner at dinner was, oh, I’ll place him from Texas, perhaps. The three gorgeous women at the table behind me were French. The lovely woman who helped me at Harrod’s was recently arrived from Poland.
I miss hearing more Brits, but the feeling of being in such a swirling, diverse city goes a long way to make up for it.
So. Who’s coming with me next year?
PS--More photos on the Flickr page! http://www.flickr.com/photos/ysobelle/sets/72057594125784189/ Go look!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-05-05 02:12 am (UTC)Already said I would. *smile*
I AM
Date: 2006-05-05 07:50 am (UTC)I am, that's for darn sure... My friend Derick, who owns a nice duplex in South-End-On-Sea, has just volunteered to put us up next year.
And goodness - ketchup, KFC, and Starbucks? I'd've sooner starved than put up with that revolting crap!
A mile or so outside the city, in the East End, or in South-End-On-Sea, you'll never even hear those darn "foreign accents". Please do consider it.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-05 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-05 08:30 am (UTC)YIS,
WRI