Fleet Street and Smithfield

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I took my plan for this Sunday's stroll from two different guides - City Walks London and Eccentric London by Benedict le Vay. I started at Holborn Tube Station, where I was treated to the site of an open fire merrily burning on the truck painting stripes on the road. Safety? We don't have that in London.
I passed the home of the BBC World Service, dedicated to the friendship of English speaking peoples. I stopped to admire the Waldorf Hotel, famed for its tea dances in the 1920s. No doubt, like P.G. Wodehouse's Aunt Augusta, if I had gone in I would have seen Edwin lunching at the Waldorf with a creature.
Passing the Waldorf, I turned down India Place past the statue of Nehru, to find the little church of St Mary-Le-Strand. In Saxon times, this area was the heart of London. The present church is one of those built following the 1711 Act for building new churches in London.

I walked through the quite beautiful space of Somerset House, past Inland Revenue and down to the Thames Embankment. I walked past John Stuart Mill (the people you meet...), past the closed gate to Middle Temple Lane and up Temple Avenue to Fleet Street.

In bygone days, this was the course of the river Fleet - according to Benedict le Vay, the only river to have exploded due to the gas produced by its own effluent. Later of course, Fleet Street was more famous for the gutter press than the gutter. The outlet of the Fleet can still be seen below Blackfriars Bridge.

Just off Fleet Street and up a tiny alleway I found Dr Johnson's House. In the same little square you can find the bronze statue of Dr Johnson's cat, Hodge, who, according to Percival Stockdale,
...by his master when caressed
Warmly his gratitude expressed;
And never failed his thanks to purr
Whene'er he stroked his sable fur.
Hodge was presumably fond of oysters, as a pair of shells adorn the statue.
Returning back along Fleet Street toward Blackfriars I passed Wren's St Bride's, allegedly the primary inspiration for the tiered wedding cake.
I passed the Old Bailey, took a tour through Smithfield, visited Gloucestershire and found myself back at Ludgate Circus. Owing to the Engineering, Blackfriars Tube Station was out of service, so I had no choice but to make my way up to St Paul's and home.

I went to Camden Markets, but they were gone before I got there

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Memo to self - watch the news on weekends...
I was sitting at home on Sunday morning, trying to decide what to do. Perfect Perth winter day (oh wait, I'm in London)... Weirdly warm and sunny winter day - 15 degrees, clear skies. I knew I had to do something outdoors.
My first thought was to go see the Henry Moore exhibition at Kew Gardens, however I've been in London long enough to be cautious about public transport. Check the Transport for London website. Oh, disruptions on the Bakerloo line. Every other transport option takes twice as long.
Plan B - Camden Markets - that'll be fun! Circle Line is running today - catch the Tube to Great Portland Street and walk up Albany Street. All seems fine. I pass the Queen's Head and Artichoke, say hello to St Pancras and head up Oval Street to Regent's Canal.
Odd - Camden High Street is blocked to the north and I can't get to the markets. I heard a policeman mention "the pub" and I thought knowingly, "Sunday afternoon, there'll be footy riot at the pub, saw one of 'em at the Hillgate Arms the ovver week". Town crier directing pedestrians to the Stables Market. Kept walking.
Walk up Hawley Street - more police lines. Must be quite a footy game - ambulances, fire engines, emergency response teams - wait, something's not right...
Got to Leybourne St and as I surveyed the smoking ruins of the Hawley Arms ...finally... realised what was going on...
Clearly I need to watch more television and get out less...

Highgate Cemetery

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One of the less depressing things about London is the happy hunt for underappreciated tourist attractions. You know, things like Henry Moore's sculpture at Millbank on the Thames. Never heard of Millbank? Notorious Renaissance den of iniquity within the sanctuary zone of Westminster Abbey, 19th Century point of departure for the convict ships to Australia, origin of the term "Down Under", 1960s icon of Brutalist architecture? There you go - underappreciated.
This weekend's forgotten gem was Highgate Cemetery. In fact, before I got to Highgate, I had to turn again, turn again, turn again like Whittington, who stopped at the Archway Tube station to reconsider and go back to be thrice Lord Mayor of London. I took a picture of his cat. Bronze cats are popular in London - in a later blog, I will introduce you to Dr Johnson's.
You may know Highgate as the resting place of Karl Marx - I didn't bother to visit the great man. I did, however, pay homage at the modest gravestone of Douglas Adams - Writer.
Highgate represents the pinnacle of the great 19th century funerary obsession. It ranks with Pere LaChaise in Paris, and Recoleta in Buenos Aires. Unlike those two immaculate gems, Highgate has been allowed to subside into a delicately sustained neglect; something like that elderly relative who teeters between charming and vicious on the third brandy and dry.
Speaking of which, the West Cemetery is accessible by guided tour only. It is also guarded by a fierce dragon in Argyll plaid.
I was at the front of the queue, being compulsively early as usual. Immediately I was in trouble. I had my Hasselblad tucked discreetly under one arm. Not discreet enough for dragon-lady. My camera was too big, and thus disrespectful to the grieving and departed. She bore an alarming resemblance to one of my more intimidating primary school teachers, so the Hasselblad went back in its bag, and the baby Pentax came out. I must have projected the right air of cringing subservience, because she appointed me Head Girl in charge of collecting the tour group and walking them across the courtyard to our designated waiting spot.
Fortunately dragon-lady was replaced by cheerful and blonde, who walked us around the weird and wonderful relic of Highgate.
After the Highgate tour I still had energy to burn, so walked back across Hampstead Heath, then through Chalk Farm and Primrose Hill, across Primrose Hill and then to St John's Wood. All up, about 8km, so not too bad for a Sunday.