La Grande Randonnée - Day 1 - Bordeaux and the Getting There

2008-09-16 Bordeaux

as threatened last blog, we did have to resort to Plan B - flying to Bordeaux. Fortunately Kensington-Victoria-Gatwick-Bordeaux Airport-Bordeaux St Jean was ridiculously easy. Unusually for BA, the steward was funny, friendly, and the food was edible - must have been an off day. The piccolo of lunchtime champagne on the flight was almost good enough to ease the sting of the fully flexible airfare (ouch).
Bordeaux knocks Bath  off its perch for beauty and charm, not to mention much better food. We also score another tick on the World Heritage list.
We arrived in Bordeaux about 17:00, and enjoyed a couple of hours strolling around the 18th century town before dark. We had dinner at a little cafe across from the hotel. As it was our first night in France we opted for the Perigordais specialities of foie gras and magret de canard. Little did we know how tired we would be of anything made from duck or goose by the end of the week.
We stayed at the Amarys Royal St Jean, which was right across from the train station, very pleasant and good value.
The next morning we discovered that SNCF does not approve of credit cards without chips, and punishes foreigners by making them queue to buy train tickets from a real person. Fortunately we decided to buy train tickets before lunch rather than after, so this was not in fact a disaster. Next stop - Bergerac.

an incendiary week

I don't know what is wrong with London this week. Despite my doom-laden prediction in the last blog, the Whole Foods Market did not burn down (though there was a distinct smell of smoke).
However London's Burning may be more than just a song by the Clash.
This week the London Stock Exchange fell over, there was a tram and bus crash in Croydon, all the bus drivers are out on strike, the Tube upgrade blew out by a couple more billion pounds, yet another budget travel company went under and stranded 200,000 people, and yesterday afternoon, the Channel Tunnel caught fire! It's not looking good for the weekend.
I personally blame the switching on of the Large Hadron Collider in CERN. It has obviously created a wave of malfunctioning reality to ripple across Europe.
None of this would normally bother me, except...we are supposed to be catching Eurostar to Paris on Tuesday to go on holiday.
Never fear, Plan B (refundable air tickets to Bordeaux) is already booked.

Hotel troubles in Montreal (C23)

It's country #23 - Canada. By the rules of the country game, describing Montreal as part of Canada may be challenged. Many would vigorously defend the right of Quebec to be distinct from Canada. This includes many Quebecois who will be shuddering at my lack of accents (it's just too hard to find them on an English keyboard).

I spent this week at a putative 5-star hotel that shall be nameless to protect the staff. Now I'm sure on a good week this well-known and respected Montreal landmark would live up to expectations and deliver a fine and satisfying service. Unfortunately they seem somehow to have misstepped in the Canadian industrial relations system.

When I arrived, all seemed calm except for a polite notice that suggested some union action might occur. Certainly things seemed normal enough that evening - the bar and restaurants were open, all the staff seemed to be there. Over the next 3 days things grew steadily odder. Staff disappeared, my room was no longer cleaned, the health club closed, the remaining staff turned up in shorts and T-shirts, all pretence of service was abandoned. 

Sunday morning a fire alarm at 7:30 brought the few remaining hotel guests out into the street in their dressing gowns and jarmies to stand around outside the lobby and watch the fun. The fire engines arrived in less than 5 minutes, and there was much busy to-ing and fro-ing before the all-clear was sounded. Thank goodness it wasn't a real fire. The lack of visible fire wardens, defined muster point or crowd control would have meant victims for sure. Canadian safety procedures? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

Just half an hour ago, two housekeeping staff appeared at my door. A more trusting person might have been overjoyed that they had finally come to make up the room - it had been 2 days out of 4. Unfortunately they seemed only to want to take away all the minibar biscuits, chocolates and other over-priced goodies you are only ever tempted to eat after room service closes for the night. I would have just assumed they were bringing fresher versions, or that the guests' pilfering had reached unacceptable levels, if they had not invited me to help myself from the collection on the way out. Canadian hospitality? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

On my last morning, after a week of bemusedly watching a 5-star hotel implode on itself, I decided it was time to be assertive. I marched up to the front desk:

"I would like a 6:00pm checkout please"

"That will cost you an extra day"

Using my best Jedi hand-wave - "It will not cost me anything more".

The receptionist looked at me blankly for a moment, disappeared into a back room and returned a minute later.

"No problem, 6:00 it is".

Bouyed with confidence in my mind-control technique, when I came back at 6:00, I managed to get another night free for the inconvenience.

At least the weather was warm and sunny, there were lots of cheap and cheerful restaurants to choose from, and I had fun shopping.

Back in London now. The fire engines were piling up outside my favourite market yesterday, and I'm off to see if it burnt down while I was sleeping.

Avebury & Lacock (LW04, WH0373)

London Walks again came through on walk #4 (see the list of London Walks). In an eerie coincidence, they offered a day trip to Avebury and Lacock on the very day I was struggling to figure out a means of getting there by public transport. As usual, the cost was low, the organisation flawless and the guide whimsical.

Lots has been written about Avebury, so I am not going to be boring and repeat it all.The best book I have found on Avebury is "Prehistoric Avebury" by Aubrey Burl. I also read "Hengeworld" by Mike Pitts. Though this had lots of interesting content, the writing style was a bit breathless and incoherent. Here are some interesting links:

• National Trust
• Avebury - a present from the past
• Wikipedia

This doesn't rate as a new World Heritage site on the tick-off list because I have already been to Stonehenge (WH0373). However, it is huge, and wonderful, and I will go back one day and spend more than a couple of hours.

Lacock is a tiny gem of a village in deepest darkest Wiltshire. When not swamped by film crews, it is sleepy and peaceful. It may be the last living village in England with a Post Office and general store (and no Tesco's).

photographic fame at last

Was in Trafalgar Square on Sunday after visiting the National Gallery. I am trying to tick off every painting in "1001 Paintings to See Before You Die", but it's going a bit slowly.
On my way back to the Embankment Tube station I stopped to watch the crowds watching the Olympics on the big screen.

One of my pictures (<---) even made it onto the BBC website this week. They said:

"Thanks for your photo of the crowds at Trafalgar Square, it's just what we are looking for and we've used it in our gallery of audience photographs"
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/olympics/7565307.stm
it's somewhere in the above gallery - you may need to look at a few of other peoples' photographs before you find it.

Ishmaelia mon amour

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Early July, I found myself back in Ishmaelia (aka Guinea, aka country #21). After my disappointing encounter with country #22, and my failure to leave the grounds of the hotel on my last visit here, my expectations of this African experience were low.
I was also travelling for work. I think it may be a supplementary rule of the country game that you are allowed to be as negative and sarcastic as you like if your employer is paying for the trip (unless of course you work for a tour company).
If you are holidaying or otherwise there at your own behest, you always feel the need to defend the choice - "such an interesting experience", "dysentery is such a quick way to lose weight", "the foul sliminess of the local currency really discourages you from over-spending", and so on.
However, I strangely enjoyed myself. As one or two old Africa hands have said to me - either you hate the place or it sneaks up and grabs you by the heart. I can't see myself living in Guinea - for climate reasons alone (loathe the tropics) - but it is growing on me. Its mad, baroque complexity is oddly fascinating, the people are charming and dignified, and once you get out of the urban renewal target that is the capital and into the countryside, it is lushly beautiful. No timetables or guarantees, but looking forward to the next trip back.

Southwest

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as usual, writing blogs for things that happened months ago...
Back in Perth for a few days in May, managed to sneak down to Busselton and try out the new (or at least less old) campervan. Crammed in a few favourite things - lunch with the honeyeaters at the Berry Farm, a stroll through the Lake Cave, and evening on the coast.

autumn harvest

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one of the (arguably) nice things about being away from home for a few months is that you get to see things grow and develop in magic snapshots, like timelapse photography.

I went to visit our local community garden the other day, and was delighted by how much it has blossomed in just a few months.

I had to take a few shots of the autumn harvest.

Sydneyside

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Oh dear,
despite best intentions, I haven't improved my blogging frequency. Blame air travel. I'm back in Perth this week after a week in Sydney.
The haul from London to Sydney wasn't too bad. The best part was blowing some points to travel first class Heathrow to Singapore. As expected, it is a lot nicer, but not that much nicer. The best part is the flat bed and the snuggly doona.

Unfortunately despite a stop & shower in Singapore, first-class comfort did not prevent me arriving in Sydney at 5:15am horribly jet-lagged. Due to time zone confusion the hotel had cancelled my booking, but we managed to retrieve it. I spent the day walking around CBD Sydney and the Rocks, trying to stay awake. Had dinner in a nondescript seafood place in Darling Harbour and went to bed ridiculously early. The next day much the same in the morning - I had to be in Ingleside around 4:00, so got a taxi about 3:00.

It seems Sydney taxi drivers are not required to have the Knowledge. The driver got lost and started to get panicky. I had to take his street directory away and navigate intersection by intersection. Fortunately we were only about 2km from where we were supposed to be, and arrived quickly enough once a woman was in charge of reading the map...

The week in Ingleside was intense - 5 days of business strategy and leadership with ping pong in the evenings. I made it to my friends' house on Friday night totally exhausted.

Spent Saturday wandering around the Domain and the Botanic Gardens - spiders, cockatoos and Wollemi pines dominate the pictures this time.
Sunday back to earth (I mean Perth), and back in the office.

Unfortunately I have two laptops, a desktop and a portable hard drive scattered around the world at the moment, and I couldn't for a while quite remember which hard drive the pictures were in. I finally tracked them down in the home (Perth home) PC, cunningly filed in Lightroom instead of Picasa.

dogs in space

no pictures for this one, just a few thoughts.
Now the days are longer, I walk to work through the park. One of the odd joys of Kensington Gardens is the happiness that it brings to the dogs of Kensington. Many of them are starting to become familiar - the pair of wolfhounds, the two Irish setters, the pack (three bitser terriers, two aged golden labs, and two elderly ladies),the chows, and the many jack russells. I have never been much of a dog fan, but I do get a lot of entertainment out of the many dogs, racing each other through the trees, enjoying themselves immensely...

badly behind in blogging

I have been very remiss in keeping up with my vow to blog every week. Sometimes life just seems to move at a pace faster than your fingers can type.
I have had a few distractions though...
First, Mirek was here, so I got to be a normal person with a life instead of a grumpy workaholic for a couple of weeks. Having company means, of course, adventures. We weren't wildly imaginative, but we had a wonderful three days of being Easter tourists in Cornwall. We stayed in Penzance

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and roamed the south-west coast. Cornwall is one of those beautiful coastlines you walk along and realise why all your ancestors emigrated to New Zealand. Just like home but much much better...
It's all tiny, beautiful fishing villages, historic houses, hidden valleys, neolithic stone circles,

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friendly locals, 14th century pubs and cider. New Zealand just has fewer stone circles, no cider and farmland that hasn't been bought up by pop stars. Actually, I'm not sure about the cider. I'm not sure about Cornish cider either, but I tried very hard. Oh, and pounamu. Never underestimate the attraction of pounamu...
I tried to take pictures of things that actually looked like they were in England, and not just Margaret River or Dunedin, but it was tricky sometimes. There were other odd resonances. I was trying to explain to my French teacher how we went on a walk to St Michael's Mount. You can imagine:
"Nous sommes allés à Mont St Michel"
"Mont St Michel! En Bretagne!"
"Non, en Bretagne"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit!"
"Non, en Bretagne, en Cornwall..."
"Mais, Mont St Michel est en Bretagne!"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit..."
at this point I gave up and just showed him the pictures, which didn't actually help that much because of the unfortunate close resemblance between St Michael's Mount in Cornwall, and Mont St Michel in Brittany.

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I must admit one of the highlights of our Cornish idyll was the Jubilee Poo.

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I can't explain, you have to see the pictures, but I'm sure David Hockney would have approved.
Next blog, I describe what it is like to have 3 inches of snow in London in April, and explain why a new camera removed my ability to type words for a while...

Turner's London

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Sunday the 9th was the day before the gales that blew all over England and led to a miserable cold and windy week. Perversely, London chose to be at its prettiest, giving us Turneresque skies and dramatic clouds. I almost expected the Fighting Temeraire to appear on the Thames.
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many...
I again took my guide from Benedict Le Vey and wandered up the Borough High Street. I passed London's only surviving galleried coaching inn, admired the fine brickwork of the hop factors, glimpsed the Corn Exchange, enjoyed the Art Nouveau excess of Harpers Cafe, and passed the oldest railway station in London. Across the street from St Thomas' Hospital, I was accosted by one of those worrying people with a satchel full of brochures and a slightly mad look in the eye. He was very interested to hear that this was the site where the first English bible was printed, but seemed disappointed at my lack of interest in his photocopies of inappropriate bookshop displays. I was just warming up for a lecture on the role of Southwark as a moral free zone outside the constraints of the Elizabethan City of London when he wandered away...
I made my way through Green Dragon Court (which you may remember from such films as Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)) and past the (closed) Borough Market. I whizzed past the Golden Hinde, Winchester Palace, the Clink, and wound up at the Anchor Tavern, arguably built on the spot where Samuel Pepys watched the Great Fire of London. Another fire viewed from nearby, The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October 1834, was a subject for Turner, and thus leads me back to the start of my blog.

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.

the strong, silent type...

no, I'm not really... I have just been a bit busy. Had a much less intensive weekend this one just past than I have lately. I think I am getting over the frantic tourist "must see everything in London in 4 days" attitude and starting to believe that it is not a mortal sin if I don't see anything new for a week.
Had an in-principle frustrating day on Saturday. Went to yet another photo lab to discover that they have never heard of medium-format, and think black&white is what Granddad used to watch the cricket on in the shed when Grandma wanted him to mow the lawn...
However, I am learning to deal with these disappointments by embedding my forlorn visits to camera shops in long walks with interesting things in.

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Last week it was Regent's Park and Camden, with a nice, apologetic paraglider whose film technician had just resigned. Even the back-in-5-minutes sign was not too disappointing, as it meant I found the Chinese tea shop 1/2 a block up.
This week it was a stroll around Victoria (eventually). I was diverted to Marble Arch by (apparently) planned engineering works on the Circle Line. But fortunately everything in Central London is accessible on foot (if you are a Sherpa). And it needs to be - the daily congestion charge is now 8 pounds, before paying for parking.
I did find a very nice espresso maker and a teapot to go with my tea of last week, so mustn't grumble. After waiting 15 minutes for the "oo er dunno" response to my enquiry on film processing, I grumpily walked up the street. I was cheered by first seeing the London Eye from a new vantage point, passing New Scotland Yard (I was too frightened by the frowning bobbie to take a picture), and ending up at the headquarters of the London Underground (St James' Park). This Tube station is notable by being:
a) faced in terrazzo marble,
b) apparently never closed for engineering works
c) unusually clean
As I had achieved my target of 10,000 steps before I am allowed in a Tube station, I rode the magic railway home.

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Sunday was rain, wind & grim, so I stayed home and cleaned things. It cleared up briefly about 2:30, so I went out for some retail therapy and a stroll around Holland Park. Had a classic Enid Blyton moment sitting on a park bench involving squirrels, a magpie, a robin, and some obese doves (I know that sounds weird, but they were really, really fat...) If I had stayed out a bit longer there would probably be foxes too. A major culture shift in moving to England from Australia is learning to think of foxes as "aaaaw, cute", rather than "aaaagh, shoot!".

Country #22

Country #22, South Africa,was underwhelming. Perhaps I'm being unfair. It was the worst kind of business trip for country appreciation: airport-hotel-office-hotel-another office-airport.
But even so, with the best will in the world, Johannesburg is just not nice.
The food is so boring I actually lost weight.
You have to lock your handbag in the car boot because people will shoot you at traffic lights for 20 R & a Blackberry.
The place seems like one big office park (see unfair above).
There was no electricity for several hours each day.
I can't be bothered showing you photographs, because I might as well have been anywhere in the developed world - generic downtown with Africans.
You can't walk anywhere because people will rob you (see shootings above).
However, to be fair, the people were friendly, the hotel staff were funny & charming & patient, the beds were soft, and there was plenty of hot water. I was horribly embarassed by the Englishman who was abusing the reception staff for his inconvenience caused by lack of electricity. I wanted to brandish my passport and cry "New Zealand! Youse is all good blokes! I dunno what him Pommie bastard talking except sounds like bullshit!"
All in all, South Africa deserves another chance (but maybe not Johannesburg).

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...