The Ballad of John and Yoko (London)

We're still here, and will be for a few more days, dear reader. Of course that provides an opportunity to expand on my love affair with London. For those of you who don't know me well, that was sarcasm.

Salman Rushdie in his brilliant, if controversial and incomprehensible novel Satanic Verses, speculated that the gloomy, morose mood of Londoners was due, not to their inherent nature, but to the weather. He described London as a cheerful, happy place once the cold, grey, dreary, sun starved weather was replaced by that found in the long languid days of sunshine in the tropics. The long black overcoats (now puffer jackets or gilet as they are called here) were replaced by colourful, relaxed styles of clothing.

Interesting. In a discussion with one of the bar staff at the hotel he said pretty much the same thing. Sunshine and warmth bring colour and happiness.

I'm just here to break up the text.

I commented on the train en route from Heathrow that so many people had RBF (resting bitch face). There were complaints about the lack of seats - at least 2 other underground lines were closed for trackwork; and bags and suitcases in the aisle - the train originated at Heathrow. There was a constant stream of people who passed us with faces of stone, RBF. That to me is London.

If London was a movie it would be Mean Girls. Or some male equivalent. Saltburn? Is that too much?

Service

Way back in 2015 when we were last here, I commented on the dreadful service we received, ironically at a tourist information centre. Unfortunately things haven't changed. 

Zoë came to see us in the afternoon on the day of our arrival and we embarked on a brief excursion around the local area. There will be more on this later. The last stop for the day was an upmarket pub, The Folly (love the irony in this country). It was Sunday evening and not crowded, but it was warm, out of the wind and trendy. 

Statue near the Tate. "Don't applaud throw money".

The bar in this split level establishment would have been 20 metres long. I was the only person standing at said bar, waiting for to be served. Behind the bar were 2 workers. Neither was vaguely interested in serving me and both knew I was there. One continued to prepare his ingredients for cocktails that he clearly would not be making until tomorrow. The other was putting glasses away. They conversed with each other as they continued to ignore my existence. It was like being 12 again, waiting to be picked to join a team in the school playground. The guy putting the glasses away, stood in front of me at one point and said how difficult bar work was and how busy the day had been. Then he wandered off.

Finally, dear reader, a third person arrived and asked the magic question, "Have you been served?" The Folly was that we visited this trendy, up-market, over-priced version of an ironically named pub.

Australians have long been duped into thinking that they are not good workers, take too much time off work and do not understand workplace hospitality. Having experienced poor service in Hungary - the customer is there for them; and Austria - they are still getting over the collapse of the empire; and Spain - let's not go there; and England, I could continue. Instead, I just call bullshit.

Disclaimer: service was not like this everywhere, but also it was not an uncommon experience.

Out and about

Just down the road is the Borough Market. It is an undercover marvel. Wheels of cheese as big as car tyres. Amazing fresh food, bread, pastries, coffee, wine, craft beer. We are going back later when we have more time to explore.

Next door to the market is an Italian restaurant, no pizza, just pasta. Padella is one of those places where you can't book. So you register, are given a time to return and then head into the markets for a glass of wine and a wander around. The hour estimate we were given was out by about 45 minutes and we were seated in the restaurant, perusing the menu while still drinking the wine we had purchased at the market.

Such an attractive river. Almost as beautiful as the Yarra.

Dinner was delightfully simple and totally delicious. The pasta was fresh and hand made. We didn't have to wait, but if we had, it would have been worth every minute of standing in the cold wind.

Following dinner, we crossed the bridge and had drinks at the trendy, ironically named pub.

Monday didn't dawn so much as it was blown in by arctic gales. Undeterred we braved the conditions to have breakfast at Lantana, all of 5 minutes walk from the hotel. It sells itself as the original Australian brunch. Whatever. The only Australian influence I could see was "smashed avo" and that is nothing to be proud about. The coffee was passable, or by UK standards: WOW, excellent. Not enough to bring me back.

Shopping

Yes dear reader, shopping. You know I love it to balance Jayne's dislike. It's a yin and yang thing. Balance.

Not this trip. We needed to purchase items for our visit to the Arctic circle and decided London was probably a better place to do this. Sydney doesn't really get cold. I would argue we only have three seasons and none of them is winter.

Not really attractive the Tate.

Anyway, we set sail for Mountain Warehouse in Covent Garden. About a 30 minute walk. Depending on wind direction and strength. The wind chill factor was extreme. I resorted to a beanie. Gloves were a dream.

Along the way we passed the Tate Gallery where they are hosting a Yoko Ono exhibition. Hence today's title. The story of an artist who fell in love and married, or the story of an artist who fell in love and married well. You can decide who is who in that relationship. Listen here.

Apparently there was a Hello Kitty exhibition in Somerset House.

We entered the store, desperate to find the last of the equipment necessary for our visit to the Arctic Circle. We left, confident that we could match Nanook of the North. In between, we had coerced an assistant to remove the Goldilocks size 40 snow boots off the mannikin she had just wrestled into position on the store window ledge. The other boots were either too small or too big for Jayne's dainty feet.

Wandering London

Post shopping frenzy, Zoë arrived and we left to find a perch from which to view London. In doing so we checked out Shoreditch's uber cool laneways and streetscape all suitably decorated with street art. 

Harry Potter was also a discussion point as we entered 'Diagon Alley'. There were two separate 'Harry Potter' tours happening.

Recognise it? Maybe you had to be there. Diagon Alley.

Out into the open again, we walked to the Shoreditch Markets. I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt dear reader, because it was late in the afternoon. However, the number of markets I've attended based on their published operation has left me disappointed. Today was no different.

Despite the market let down, there were a number of sculptures in the area. Elephants figured prominently.

I have no idea. But, hey, they have a unicorn on the coat of arms.

Unlike the skyline in Sydney, London has at least attempted to tart things up architecturally. There is a curiously shaped building nicknamed the gherkin. So, it wasn't the first name I thought of, nor the last and gherkin was not one them. Snigger. Smirk. There is a notice at the base of the gherkin, "batteries not included".

Um, yeah, gherkin. Sure.

In the sky

It was time for a bird's eye view of London. The forecourt of the 'Walkie Talkie' building was quite crowded with people milling around aimlessly. A brief chat with 'security' ensued and they confirmed that the viewing area was closed to due a "protest". None of us was sure what that meant, except we couldn't go up there.

We did not get inside this building.

Next stop was the newly constructed Horizon 22, Bishop's Gate. Our first attempt was met with a 'no booking no experience' style comment, despite the advertised information to simply turn up. Just around the corner of the same building, was another entrance. Free of charge. Staff literally welcomed us with open arms so up we went to the 58th floor.

Ok, I enhanced the colour.

The view was, of course, amazing. The double glazed windows made it difficult to take a picture without some sort of shadow but you could see forever. Well, a long way. Certainly further than you would have been able to see on the famous London Eye, for the princely sum of £30 per person!

Down and out, not George Orwell style, we charted our course for a late lunch. Or an early dinner. 

Ottolenghi

From Bishop's Gate on to Spitalfields. I am not sure what that means. Is it a journey? It could be an insult. Today it was part of our London experience, because we were navigating our way, slowly but surely to the master, Ottolenghi.

No need for food porn. Oh, alright.

Where to start?

Yes dear reader, we made it. And it was everything I thought it would it be. Minus the Master himself. Still, his minions did him proud. We sat at the bar and enjoyed the day's offering. One hot dish and two salads. They looked small, but were extremely filling. Not to mention tasty.

Lamb and pumpkin and carrots.

Street Art

I love a bit of street art. Sanctioned or otherwise. Shoreditch has all varieties. Not just painting or grafitti, but installation style as well. It was quite an interesting walk through the area. Brick Lane is quite famous and anarchic, but it is just the beginning. 

Classy stuff. Why not for the girls too?

There were works as social comment. There were some that were graffiti. Others that were obscure in purpose and meaning. At least to me. Some just decorated a drab building.

Loved this. The hair is left over Christmas tree and decorations.

The area is well worth a slow stroll. Quite fascinating.

This literally glowed in the afternoon sun.

Eataly

By now we had walked over 12 kilometres and it was time to rest. We stopped at Eataly to have a recuperative drink and chat and watch the sun set over London.

Eataly doesn't really need an explanation does it, my dear reader? We visited the one in New York in 2015. While the London version is smaller, it is no less authentic. It is a place where you can buy Italian produce, eat Italian food and drink Italian wine and beer.

Vandals? No. It was really windy.

Some observations

We walked home amidst the rush of workers attempting to do the same in the shortest time period. Do not step in their way. Unlike New York, you won't get abused; in London, they will just mow you down as if you weren't there.

There were some interesting sights today - the best was probably the guy walking down The Strand with a cat on his shoulder. I'm not sure what sort of pirate that makes him, but I'd back a cat in a fight with Long John Silver's parrot.

Another observation: I've always believed that if a nation drives on the left then as a pedestrian you walk on left and vice versa. Not in London. Generally it is the reverse. Generally. Then again, perhaps it's just anarchy on the footpath. The common rule is do what you want. Wear black, hold your phone in front of you, head down and everyone will give you a wide berth.

We made it home. Safely. After a great day in London which included precisely none of the big ticket tourist draw cards.

Until next time.