London Christmas (in the style of Samuel Pepys, c December 1660)

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Being Christmas week of 1659-60, and latterly moved to the great city of London, I find myself two days past Boxing Day in fine health and of abstemious temperament. This Sunday, not desiring to attend church, woke late morning to find the whole world enwrapped in fog.

I put on my coat with great skirts, having this week obtained this in the High Street, and strolled to the nearby estate of the Earl of Holland to take the air. I can well imagine in future centuries that this green and pleasant spot shall become a park. I think Holland Park a fitting name. The fog was most amenable to my wish to sketch a few impressions, and remained for some hours.

Christmas Eve I borrowed £100 of the bank for my purchases of the season, and so went to my office, where there was nothing to do. Those that did attend on this day grew weary of travail by twilight, and retired to the local tavern.

Christmas Day, being without family obligations and wishing to save my £, I planned a day of exercise in the open air. Sadly, the fates did not treat me kindly with the weather, and it was bitter cold and wet. Nevertheless, I determined to be jolly, and went out regardless.

I arose early and dressed for the cold though perhaps less well the wet. As I later discovered, I chose my gloves poorly, selecting Uruguayan leather rather than good English wool, and these suffered greatly from the rain through the course of the day.

I first attended the Peter Pan Swimming Race (price £0) in that Hyde Park, kindly granted to the people in my youth by our late lamented king Charles I. Each year, much to the astonishment of the waterfowl, a group of swimmers leap like geese into the Serpentine, tho the water is bitter cold. They must exercise themselves greatly to reach the end of the race some 50yds on, for fear of dying from the cold. It is said that one poor swimmer, not prepared for the chill, did indeed die some years past. Ending the race in but 5 minutes, the brave swimmers cheer themselves with mulled wine, which they do not care to share with the spectators.

I made my way along the park toward his Majesty Charles II's favoured promenade of Constitution Hill. I hope, with his Majesty's recent restoration to the throne, he will take the park in hand and lay a gravel track, for the walk is fearful muddy - a veritable Rotten Row.

As I strolled along the road through St James' Park, I was greatly taken by the disruption imposed on the park by his Majesty's building works. It pleased me tho, to see so many new trees planted, and I look with eagerness to the spring and the growth of the new turf being laid.

Continuing my walk, I passed Lord Goring's house to the right, and admired his mulberry garden. I have heard, that he may be in some difficulty with the freehold, for the document failed to pass the Great Seal before King Charles I fled London in 1640.

I passed Charing Cross, where King Charles I' equestrian statue formerly stood. Grant it will be returned to its place one day - I have heard it was hidden for safe-keeping from the depredations of the Lord Protector. As I stood before the King's Mews, I realised I had come near an hour before my appointed meeting time of 11:00. I had left the garret without breakfast, and grew irritable from hunger. Desiring a capon or perhaps some bread and cheese to settle my stomach, I searched for a public house. Alas, in this Christian country, all were fast shut until noon, and I wandered disconsolately through the streets of Whitehall until the appointed hour.

At 11:00 I returned to the square between the King's Mews and Charing Cross to meet my companions. What a whimsical fancy - to stroll the streets of Whitehall in the footsteps of Samuel Pepys - as if the man might not step from his lodgings in Axe Yard at any moment.

The afternoon I busied myself with domestic tasks and dined well, but that is a story for another day...

the days are just full...

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I was a whirlwind of activity this weekend - I'm quite exhausted this morning. I don't think I have ever been so domestically minded in my life! Among other things:

• Took delivery of the final bits of furniture I think I need and managed to assemble a flat-pack chest of drawers in only two hours. The other one can wait until next week.

• Did 3 loads of laundry - this is a symptom of the tiny washing machine rather than my enormous collection of dirty clothing.
• Made a big pot of chicken stock - can't seem to buy it, so I have to make it.
• Got my home phone working with the aid of a new £19.99 handset - saved myself a £119 call-out fee.
• Wrapped all the Xmas presents and got them into post packs (carefully weighed to be under the 2kg small parcel limit). Unfortunately didn't make it to the Post Office by noon Saturday - maybe this evening.
• Acquired a library card and even got library books out.
• Bought enough coat hangers (finally) that I can finish the ironing.
• Acquired a coffee cup and tumbler for the office - no more paper cups for me.

After all that domesticity, and because Sunday was a beautiful sunny day, I decided I needed a good long walk. Unfortunately, due to my turning over two pages of the map at once and skipping a whole section of the Thames, the walk turned out to be a bit longer than planned - about 13km in total. Still, it was a very pleasant walk, and I saw lots of interesting things.

The Burghers of Calais were intruiging - the last time I saw them, they were in Rodin's garden in Paris. I suppose, if I were to write "1001 Pointless Lists to Complete Before You Die", I could add - "visit all 12 castings of the Burghers of Calais in situ".

I also met James McNeill Whistler (but not his mother), Emmeline Pankhurst, Oliver Cromwell, Winston Churchill, and caught a glimpse of a particularly tastelessly gilded statue of Thomas More from across the road.

The main purpose of the walk was to visit the Bankside Frost Fair - which was mildly entertaining. I was going to visit the Globe theatre, but couldn't be bothered by the time I got there. Contented myself with eating hot roast chestnuts as I strolled around, and snuck home on the Tube before it got dark.

Hardship Posting (my new home in London as told by Fungus the Bogeyman)

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Back in Bristol after two days in London waiting for my airfreight to show up. One day someone will explain to me how they can move a person in 20 hours, but 6 boxes take 28 days to travel the same distance. On the way back, I'm going by container...
Have the key to my new home, and frankly, I'm disappointed. I would have expected a far more likeable residence on a company ticket. I don't know where to begin to complain.
Firstly, the building is more than 100 years old. Just to make a point, here is evidence of the building from around 1900. I was so hoping for one of the finer examples of post-war Brutalist architecture, such as the Trellick Tower. It is rumoured that Ian Fleming so despised the architect of this building, he named one of his most famous villains after him. Why couldn't I have found such an unlovely residence instead of being walked around tasteful flat after tasteful flat.
My hopes were dashed again when I got inside - a century-old building conjures warm thoughts of rising damp, balky hot water systems, sculleries and the smell of boiled cabbage. Instead I get downlights, cedar blinds, hot water boosters, anti-tamper locks and 24-hour security. It's enough to make you weep.
The location is even more awful. My near neighbours include the Royal Academy, the South African Ambassador and Edina Monsoon. I can't even get the blood flowing in my legs before I am amidst the nightmare temptations of Kensington High Street. Habitat, Muji, Laura Ashley, Marks & Spencers, the Whole Food Market, Zara - it's a litany of horror. One block from Holland Park, 10 blocks from the V&A, what am I to do?
I looked for a grim and nasty way to walk to work - it's the antique shops of Kensington Church Street, Palace Gardens or Hyde Park - dismal. I thought I could increase the grimness quota by diving into the Tube - 5 minutes (literally 5 minutes) from Kensington High Street to Paddington. Not even enough time to catch a cold from somebody.
I can only console myself with the thought that I managed to spend an alarming amount of money in only two days - but doesn't that faux fox throw look divine...
And just to top it all off, I'm told the managing agent is absolutely charming.
BTW - if you're not a fan of strange childrens' books, more on Fungus the Bogeyman here...