The cat came back...

Two weekends ago I left home on Friday morning and headed to the train station which was odd for me as I usually find myself there on Tuesdays and Thursdays to take the train to Derby for my classes. But this Friday was different as I was heading the opposite direction; to London. When I was in Vancouver this past summer dad had told me he would be in London in early November for work and we decided to spend the weekend together.

I arrived midday at St Pancras International station and made my way via the tube to the Crown Plaza hotel in Westminster. We hit the streets and walked through some of the areas and neighbourhoods of London. As dad was far more familiar with the city than I, he led the way and I was never really too sure where we were.

After looking at a map later I realized we had been through Soho and Mayfair to name a few. I do know we had been spending a fair bit of time in the posh parts of London since we were seeing £100k cars as frequently as London cabs. In that first afternoon I spotted three Lamborghinis and over the course of our two days we saw dozens of Bentleys as if they were a common car to have.

In Vancouver I was used to seeing opulent luxury vehicles daily, but in Amsterdam and certainly now in Leicester they are far less prevalent which made it seem all the more unusual in London. It was giving me flashbacks to my trip in 2007 when I spent a day in Monaco.

Simply for the experience of it, dad took me to Harrods. It looked like any other department store at first as we strolled through the clothing department. It wasn’t until we arrived at the food section that I really appreciated that we were in a special place. The selection of cooked food in the deli was mind boggling! Traditionally, a deli counter in a supermarket is simply one counter and is nothing special. Here, it was a section the size of a small supermarket with dozens of different pates and meat pies, counters of delicate hors d'heurves and whole sections dedicated to ethnic foods. As we hadn’t had lunch, I bought a few lamb sausages and a skewer of lamb and dad had some white fish which we took with us to eat along the way. The butchery department and fish monger took up another section of the shop with sculpted porcelain decorations on the walls and ceiling. The rooms, looked at as a whole, were beautifully designed with a look you rarely see anymore; made at a time when everything had to have class — even shopping for food.

We walked along a street full of clothiers and tailors with a few sporting the royal coat of arms advertising the shops were frequented by the Royal family.
We did some window shopping and I was amazed at the number of shops we passed in our two days together that sell, and specialize it selling, wet shave accessories. The windows of these shops were full of brushes to apply the lather and the different pieces of paraphernalia required throughout the process.

By this time it was mid afternoon and time to head to a pub. Dad had one in mind and I couldn’t explain where it was or what it was called for the life of me. It was small and out of the way, there was no music fighting to compete with conversation (which is one of the reasons dad liked it) and a decent location for dad to enjoy a beer and for me to have a draught cider. We found a Turkish restaurant for dinner and had an early night as we had a full Saturday planned.

We arose at a reasonable hour on Saturday, found a spot for some breakfast and made our way to White Hall to view Churchill’s bunker and war rooms. This is the fortified bunker underneath government offices where Churchill and his people orchestrated and led the British side of the 2nd World War. Many of the rooms are in pristine condition having been sealed up at the end of the war and left untouched until the mid 1970s when they were opened up and later turned into a museum. Throughout the experience you can hear and read stories told by people who were stationed down there and experience Churchill’s eccentricities firsthand. It was like being in a time capsule and something I am very glad to have had the chance to experience.

We walked through Covent Garden market where dad’s dad and his dad before worked in their food wholesale business. We stopped at the location where dad’s grandfather’s wholesale stand one stood; now long gone. And directly across the road stood the building where dad’s dad had his office. The market has changed now with small boutique shops filling the space where grocer’s stalls once stood.

As Sunday was the Remembrance Day parade, they were feverishly setting up for it on Saturday. We passed the location where the Queen would lay down a wreath and start the two minutes of silence. London’s Lord Mayer was inspecting the location and was just being whisked away in his chauffeur driven Rolls Royce as we arrived.

Saturday night dad took me to a tapas restaurant he was fond of. We sat at the bar and immediately got into a conversation with an American gentleman sitting next to us. The food was excellent as was the conversation and it made for a great evening.

Sunday morning dad left for Brighton to visit Mike Clark and I had 5 hours until I had to make my way to the train station. I set out to walk along the Thames and on the way I passed Westminster Abbey which was buzzing with people in their military uniforms. After walking down river for a while I made my way toward St Mary le Strand church which dad and I had walked past the day before. This curious little church sits on an island in the middle of the Strand with each side of the road straddling the church. Inside the choir was practising for the day’s service and I was surprised to see Hebrew over the altar. The Priest came outside to put up a sign and I asked him why a church bore Hebrew writing encased within a triangle. He explained that Hebrew was the language of the Old Testament and by placing it within a triangle it symbolizes Christianity.

I walked through Piccadilly Circus and into St James Park. The edge of the park was lined with people waiting for a glimpse of the queen. As I walked by her motorcade passed giving me a brief profile glimpse of that face I know all too well from the various notes and coins that bares her likeness.

I continued pass the palace to Hyde Park’s Speaker’s Corner where I found myself amused for a good 45 minutes by the various religious zealots spouting off their over-the-top propaganda.

By now it was the early afternoon and I had yet to experience a Sunday lunch since arriving in Britain. I was making my way back toward the hotel and stopped in at the Bag O’Nails; a pub Nick had recommended to dad. I sat upstairs where I had a view of the back of Buckingham Palace and the busy street below. Then I was off to collect my bags and head home.

On the Friday afternoon when I arrived at dad’s hotel I checked my Email and was delighted to see I had one from Wayne who had some work for me. He had taken on a new client and they required some copy written for a brochure to attract potential franchisees. The project also involved writing a page for their website, also aimed at franchisees, with more detail and enticing them to make contact. And, finally, Wayne I had to look through the structure of the client’s website and make suggestions on ways it could be better organized and laid out.

I told Colin, the head of the Media Writing program and the lecturer I have for my Professional Writing class about this project. If it weren’t for his class, I would have had a much harder time accepting this project as it is well out of my experience level to be writing marketing copy. However, after the past two months of classes, I feel I now have the tools to attempt such a project. Colin was delighted and asked me to write him a note saying as much which might end up in the marketing copy used to promote his program!

Having now spent two weekends in a row visiting cities other than Leicester (Nottingham then London) it seemed fitting that I should go away the next weekend as well. The four weeks of living alone had come to an end as Nina was due back late Saturday night at the London Stansted airport. As it is a two hour drive in each direction and her flight was due at 11:30pm, I thought it might be better to take a room at a B&B and drive back the following morning.

I drove down to Bishop’s Stortford on Saturday afternoon which was a fabulous drive. I took a back route, avoiding the M1 motorway, which affording breathtaking views over lush green meadows. I finally arrived at the inn which was housed in an old mill sitting over a river. Inside the restaurant’s dining room were the cogs and machinery, in working order, once used to ground flower and corn.

Sunday morning we drove back home and over the past week we have been getting back into our routine of ‘normal’ life again.