Victorian Properties

Friday it was time to say goodbye to the comfort of service–the well-to-do families whose children spoke in unequivocally perfect English (they all seemed German) and businessmen with loud, curt voices that seemed to declare authority even when ordering a coffee (they were all men and they all seemed to be American) and the occasional couple who, at breakfast, seemed out of sorts, perturbed they needed to dress and present, like they vetoed room service only because the room was too small–and trek up north to Cricklewood for five nights with Simon and Rocki.

We spent a couple of hours catching up, so much catching up!, and then I stepped out to run some errands; alas Simon was in Dorset, recovering from a hospital stay, so the weekend in Wimborne was nixed.  Stepped out into the very grey London, so noticeably and remarkably grey after the Cote d’Azur.  Walked the km or so to Willesden.  Took the Jubilee to Green Park, then walked east past Covent Garden, north along Charing Cross, back along Piccadilly, and then up to Cricklewood (and of course the Jubilee wasn’t going to Willesden, so I had to alight at West Hampstead, walk down the street to the Thameslink, and wait for a train.  Transit…).

 

The West End was insane.  Tourists, swarms.  The end of half-term for UK families, so thick with parents and myriad children walking zigzag and oblivious to anyone else.  Stopped at Fortnum for tea; the buzz was deafening.

Eventually it was time to head back north.  Rocki popped out for superb local fish and chips and we chewed the fat to the wee hours.  Rocki and Leia fun fact: They took the Concorde to NYC once.

Saturday I had both a matinee and an evening play in Finsbury Park, which is east of Cricklewood; transit options were basically go south and backtrack in a V shape.  Instead I decided to walk.  Google estimated that at two hours, dipping south to walk around Hampstead Heath would get me there in time for curtain.

 

London was grey with sunny breaks, it drizzled and it cleared, essentially London.  The walk began across the (eonormous) UCS rugby pitch, then across Hampstead Cemetery, then through some nice side streets to Finchley Rd and to Frognal, then south into Belsize Park.

I walked by the Camden Arts Centre and decided to check out the two shows, which were free admission.

By the time I got deep into Belsize Park it was past noon.  I stopped at a rather exceptional pub called the Washington, and enjoyed a lamb dish.  Pubs non-fun fact: No cash, cards only.  Irritating. 

Following lunch it was getting late and my ambitious plans to walk the whole distance were curtailed; I jumped on the tube and connected to Finsbury Park.  I remember in the 80s dreading that neighbourhood but while it’s now still a little dowdy it’s teeming with people and shops and very, very lively but not a googly-eyed west-end tourist sort of way.

 

The play, the Forsyte Saga, parts 1 and 2, was a five hour re-interpretation of the classic Galsworthy saga.  It was “all rather excellent” to borrow from what I heard someone say in the foyer.  Tiny theatre, 200 seats, small cast, bare stage, and yet deeply moving.  I’ve clipped a paragraph from the FT review as it seems to hit the proverbial nail:

“Witty and highly enjoyable duo of plays that create the stage equivalent of a box-set binge, while making serious points about power, values and sexual politics across a period of intense social change. Directed with immense skill and fluidity by Josh Roche, they become a joyous exercise in shared dramatic storytelling.”  Also lovely: It’s not the 26-episode (!) BBC version from the 60s, or even the 2002 10-part series.  And yet, all the respectability, rectitude and moral contradictions of the clan come across deeply in a two-part (relatively) short, condensed version.  Wonder what John would have thought?

 

Random Galsworthy quote: “There was not much real harm in English people, except their teeth and their taste, which was certainly deplorable.”

In between the two plays I popped up to the White Lion, which was SRO, and then abruptly emptied out.  I asked the keep why; he said there were fireworks tonight and a lot of people were heading out for that.  Although Fireworks Night is Tuesday, the weekend would include a litany of fireworks events, large, organized, and myriad backyard spectaculars.

 

The tube home was back into the City, then back up north.  I disembarked at Golders Green and walked the final 20 minutes.  There were, yes, all sorts of fireworks, some of which could be seen, others only heard, and foxes.  I couldn’t count how many foxes I crossed paths with.