London Days 9 and 10: More Wandering

Hedonism Wines, Mayfair, London 

31 December 2024

The events in this post took place on December 22 and 23, 2024.

I don't remember which day it was when, armed with our passports and a bank statement printout, we went to a Lloyd's branch on Tottenham Court Road. The clerk there clearly did not want to bother with the process. She even gave me trouble when I asked to exchange an old, paper, 20-pound note for a new, plastic one. Since I didn't have an account, I couln't do it. Jack could. If I handed the bill to him, she could take it. She went into the back of the bank, where we could see her working at a terminal. She came back and said that Jack's account was dormant and not worth reviving. If he wanted to, he could contact the office that deals with these things. She handed him a slip of paper with a mailing address on it. Then she gave him the plastic 20-pound note, which he handed to me. Jack was grateful to at least have an address. We decided we'd try another branch later. 

Anyway, we had Sunday plans to meet a friend in Brixton for lunch. We had breakfast at the train station again, a much cheaper and better-tasting option than our hotel. Outside of King's Cross station, which is next to Saint Pancras, was a small coffee chain called Black Sheep. I bought an Americano there and made my way back to the hotel.

Across the side street from the hotel is a building painted in what ought to be far more artsy and attractive than it ends up being.

The Standard hotel has an external elevator that services the tenth floor, where their fancy restaurant is. From our room, I could see the top of the elevator. In this photo, the red, pill-like capsule is the elevator. Our room was immediately to the right of the top of the capsule. 

Around the corner from the hotel lobby, near the internal elevator bank, was a display of souvenirs, including this one, a ceramic, lipsticked mouth with visible front teeth. "Want to take it home?" the sign read. No. No, I do not want to take it home.

We took the Northern Line tube south to Brixton to meet a friend for lunch. I always look for good cat names on whichever tube line we're riding. The Northern line, for example, has "Totteridge & Whetstone," which could work for siblings. "Finchley" could work. "Tooting Bec" would just be cruel. You can play this game too. Here's the London Tube map.

We arrived early, so we strolled around. Jack pointed to a road sign that read "Electric Avenue." My only association with Electric Avenue is the MTV video of the Eddie Grant song in the early 1980s. "I didn't know this was a real street," I said. Jack had to give me the history lesson. 

The part we saw was filled with independent shops selling produce, housewares, and food. Goods spilled out of the storefronts onto the sidewalks. "Closing up for the day must be a pain," I mused, imagining a shopkeeper hauling all that stuff into the shop's single, narrow aisle. And back out again the next morning. 

Our friend, an American expat, told me I'd be able to find oat cakes in the Tesco across the road, so that's where we went after lunch. Then we walked in circles until we found the bus stop for our ride to Hyde Park. I wanted to to to the Winter Wonderland to take pictures. 

It was a long ride, through parts of the city I'd never seen: Vauhall; and Elephant and Castle. Not exactly tourist attractions. 

When we arrived at Hyde Park, we encountered a long line to a paid entrance. I was confused. We'd never had to pay to walk in during the day. It had never been crowded either. So much for that.

Now it was late afternoon, dark already, and Jack was grumpy about all of the wasted time on this trip. He added, "I haven't had a good meal yet." The tickle in his throat was turning into a cough. We took a bus back to the hotel and ate in the ground floor restaurant there.

It was still early when we returned to the hotel. I felt antsy. For the first time since the pandemic, I found myself lifting weights in a gym. For a hotel gym, it was well-stocked, and I managed to mimic one of my home routines. I was the only person there.

The next day, Monday, Jack made lunch reservations at Noble Rot in Mayfair, a posh section of London. The first thing on the agenda was a pair of antiquarian bookstores. Jack went in while I took a quick walk up to Hyde Park to see if I could get some photos of the Winter Wonderland. Jack had checked online and seen that there was no charge for admission during the day.

Near the park was a sculpture of a pair of bare feet sticking out of the ground.

When I reached the park, I saw a ticket-taker checking people's phones. I asked if there was paid admission. He said yes. I turned around.

Throughout the city there were rental electric bikes available.

Jack was in the second bookstore. We walked to the restaurant. We were early; the place only opened at noon, and our reservations were for 12:30. They let us in anyway. By the time we were halfway through lunch, the restaurant was full. Noble Rot is known for their wine list.

On our way to Hedonism Wines, I stopped to take pictures of some of the street-level holiday decor.

I had to wait my turn for this one. A pretty, made-up woman with influencer-looks was posing like a model in front of the store, her lipstick and coat matching the red and silver-white of the decor. 

We headed for another Lloyd's branch. This one was much fancier. We were sent upstairs, where our problem was sorted in ten minutes. The account was reactivated, the address changed, the phone number changed, and a new bank card issued. We mentioned the trouble we'd had at the previous branch. The banker knew right away who we were talking about and said she was going to have a word.

We doubed back to go to Hedonism Wines, which had gone all-out with advent boxes for kids to peer into.

By the door was a pile of silver balls.

Inside, the overhead inverted wine glasses are there year-round.

I took pictures of the oversized glass decanters and texted them to my glassmates while Jack tasted a few wines from the enomatic machines.

We decided to walk down to Leicster Square and Covent Garden. I stopped for an interesting, um, manhole cover? on the street. There were several like this.

It wasn't dark enough for the lights to come on yet. Oxford Street had what looked like a chandelier, becaues of course it did.

We ended up near the Burlington Arcade, where a security guard (he had a radio in his left hand) was talking on his phone. He was dressed as a stereotype, in a maroon coat with black trim, and a black top hat with maroon trim to match.

There's nothing in the arcade shops that real people can afford. That didn't stop the place from being crowded.

On the other side, Fortnum and Mason had done their building up to look like an advent calendar, with each passed day lit up in a window.

Leicester Square was crowded. Leicester Square is always crowded. So was Covent Garden, again. I took some photos at the edge while Jack figured out how best to walk towards the Barbican in the City (the square mile that is the original London). We had dinner reservations near the theater and tickets to see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform A Midsummer Night's Dream.

It would be a longish walk. On our way, we passed what my phone identified as Castle Baynard when I took the picture.

A little farther along, we found an old phone box that had been repurposed as what we call a "little free library" here in the States. 

As we were walking, I suggested we go to the zoo on Christmas Eve, since the British Museum was closed. Jack stopped, tapped on his phone, and asked if noon would work. He bought tickets right then and there.

The Barbican Center is a concrete monstrosity, voted "London's ugliest building" in 2003, according to Wikipedia. Fortunately, it was dark, so we didn't see the place in its full glory. The theater is built so that the seats are steeply banked, making for better views. We were against a wall in a rear balcony. I thought we were in the highest seats. "Noooo," Jack said. "It goes way up." We couldn't see above us from where we were.

I'm not a Shakespeare fan. Most of the time I haven't got the first clue what's going on, and being hearing impaired does not help. This time, though, the actors wore microphones and enunciated. The play was really good. 

We took the tube home, only two stops from Saint Pancras.

More London Tube cat names: Bickley, Birkbeck, Catford (duh), Chigwell, Chorleywood, Fairlop, Hackney Wick, Hounslow (for a dog), Hoxton, Maida Vale, Osterley, Plaistow, Purley (add another r if you want), Romford, Shadwell, Swanley, Taplow, and Upney.

There was a bus line that ran along the Euston Road in front of our hotel. The destination was Crouch End. We know that cats have a crouch end and a pounce end.