Gertsamtkunstwerk

Brixton Village Market & Casa Sibilla

Brixton Village is nothing short of a phenomenon. Housed in the market hall previously known as Granville Arcade, and with some overflow in spirit if not in strict technical fact into Market Row. For years, the home of stalls you'd expect to find in any market. A useful if now somewhat dated article from the Evening Standard How Brixton's arcade got a new lease of life explains the background.

For a long time, there was very much a feeling that there's hardly anywhere worth eating in Brixton. I feel the renaissance of the market has had a knock-on effect more widely. I also feel that Twitter, Facebook, and sites such as Qype also help. I know you're supposed to find restaurants by word of mouth, but I've had too many people tell me somewhere's 'amazing', but their tastes extend no further than freezer-to-microwave-to-plate.

One Saturday in February, we made our way to the village. We had already decided on where we wanted to eat, although we also knew that if it were full, there were other options. We had been to Casa Sibilla before, and were pleased that a table for two, inside, came available just as we arrived. It is possible to sit 'outside' - actually under cover of the market, and most of the restaurants provide blankets, but at that time of year, inside is better.

 

I am amazed at how Casa Sibilla and other restaurants (I was similarly struck at Etta's Seafood Kitchen) do it - create a range of gorgeous food in kitchens that are smaller than mine at home. As far as I can see, there was only one person cooking and two serving, hence my biggest 'criticism', we did have to wait a while. I don't mind waiting for a main, but I did start to feel slightly impatient when I felt I'd been waiting an age for our bread selection, wine and tap water. I wouldn't wish to labour the point, though. The bread selection was a nice selection of sourdough, grissini and plain but delicious rustic white.

I opted for the spinach & ricotta tortellini, whilst Jimmy went for roast chicken with veg and roast potatoes. He was perfectly satisfied with his, and he's a hard man to please when it comes to roast potatoes!

I would have thought that there's very little one can say about spinach & ricotta tortellini. A staple of supermarket ready meal shelves, it is what it is. But this a tortellini which highlighted how poor the supermarkets are. Smooth and delicate pasta, filled with a subtle combination of flavours which remained in the mouth to savour after the substance had been swallowed. Simple traditional food, prepared and cooked to perfection. But photographed out of focus...!

Although the pudding selection was tempting, we decided to move on, and savour Laboratorio Artigianale del Buon Gelato, or Lab G, which is what it says it is. I loved my white chocolate and salt caramel combination; Jimmy, a connoisseur of good ice cream, highly rated his chocolate and pistachio scoops. 

Another highlight of the market is Dagon's fish stall, which supplies many of the restaurants not just in the market but in the wider area. They've been there 25 years, so are not part of the new hip Brixton Village sensation. We bought some very nice monkfish, which I had for my Sunday dinner while Jimmy and our guests had roast beef.

 

 

Brixton Village is a remarkable place, even if there are compromises - Metro

 

 

Walking the River Westbourne

Determined to make the most of a decent, if not spectacular Winter's day, we set off an intrepid adventure. Sadly, I misread my guidebook and thought we were walking the entire length of the River Westbourne but subsequent research shows that it rises in the Hampstead foothills, not where we joined it at the Bayswater Road.

Our first mistake was to walk briskly away from Paddington Station. On reflection, we should have ventured into the mainline station to risk whichever chain coffee place, because there was a distinct lack of any, chain or independent, as we yomped down to Hyde Park via Sussex Gardens. Rather too many down-market chains of the Angus Steakhouse/KFC type. It was cold as we approached the fountains of the Italian Gardens, north of the Long Water!

Too many of my photos have the sky shot-out. It can provide a brilliant contrast with the subject matter, but if it keeps occurring, it just looks like one big error. I could edit in sky from other photos, but I won't do that as a matter of morality. If I start adding in sky, what's to stop me adding all sorts of other lies, and prostituting my integrity?

I've tried different ways of fixing this honestly. One is to take several versions of the same photo at different exposures and blend them together in processing. Definitely a good idea if you think you have a 'money shot' but tedious for tourist snapshots. I've also used the ND filter (Neutral Density) built in to the camera. Not very satisfactory - it leads to a longer exposure time and less exposure of the subject, resulting in dark blurry photos. Maybe I should practice it some time when the pressure is off, the weather is warm-ish, and I'm not embarking on a strenuous walk.

The other option is to use flash. I don't especially like using flash outdoors - or indoors, if I can avoid it - because I think it gives an artificial warmth to the light. But I switched to using flash. It helped but didn't really solve my white-sky problem; fortunately, the light doesn't look too artificial.

A brisk stroll along the East bank of Long Water, with barely another soul around. It's quite overgrown here; in Spring and Summer it would probably be impossible to see the water. As we passed under the West Carriage Drive bridge, we were now alongside the Serpentine, a more managed urban environment. A broadly North to South walk increasingly became West to East, and as we progressed, we were joined by more and more park users. Most striking were those learning to ski, not daunted by the absence of snow.

 

There didn't seem to be any hire boats out on the Serpentine, but the Boathouse was open for selling tourist tat. I was tempted to buy either a cuddly squirrel or a cuddly swan, but Jimmy wouldn't let me. Amongst his arguments was "Wagner (the doll) wouldn't like a swan..." Little does he know!

It became positively busy as we approached The Dell, and decided not to stop in the coffee shop, assuming that there would be an 'in park' premium. Years ago, when I worked at Kensington Town Hall, I sometimes walked up through the park to Hyde Park Corner, in order to get the bus home and avoid the dreaded District/Circle Line black-hole via High Street Ken. Those were the days...But I never noticed The Dell, a pleasant little cultivated garden just across Rotten Row from Albert Gate.

Coffee in the Knightsbridge café was fine, although subsequently reading the web reviews doesn't make me want to go back there again. Perhaps because we were so cold and thirsty, quality didn't matter. 

Back on our walk to meander round the route of the River Westbourne. We stopped at the Wilton Arms for a decent ale and a glimpse of the ultimately disappointing Liverpool v Manchester United FA Cup tie. A decent 3 star pub: not really doing anything wrong but nothing outstanding. Perhaps we should have walked along to the idiosyncratic Nag's Head further down the street.

An estate agent's described Kinnerton Street as London's prettiest street. We laughed at that. Some bits were nice, but it's mostly a higgledy piggledy mess of building styles, some of them pretty enough, but some positively hideous. I think many of the roads around the North West of Brixton Hill are as pretty, and Trinity Gardens is much more so. I suspect most Inner London areas can boast similarly.

The only real interest were the private mews owned by the Grosvenor Estate, complete with signs warning about all sorts of activities that are prohibited. We poked around a few, but I'm hazy about the legal boundary between private and right-of-way, and carry an inbuilt guilt that I may be suspected of casing the joint.

 

We resisted temptation when confronted with Ottolenghi, Patisserie Valerie and Roccoco Chocolates cheek by jowl all on one street, and continued along the route of the Westbourne through the backstreets down to Sloane Square. Here more than anywhere were we aware of people with more money than taste. Shops selling absolute tat, with no prices displayed, no doubt on the basis of if you have to ask the price you can't afford it. We were reminded of the shop in the comedy sketch I Saw You Coming. Either that or it's a cover for an elaborate money laundering scheme.

 

 

(Obviously, taking snapshots into shop windows does tend also to capture reflections off the glass).

There are very few statues of women in London, so I definitely had mixed feelings of these two women near Sloane Street, especially when I discover via the internet that this is just to advertise a company that does dry-cleaning with 'discreet and attentive service'. So, women not even shopping but just picking up the dry cleaning. 

 

 

We passed some momentarily interesting buildings on our way.

 

I really liked this mini. Especially since it had been cleaned with such loving care and attention. By the owner, or a servant, I don't know.

We could have inspected the River Westbourne as it passes through a pipe at Sloane Square Underground station, but decided instead to walk onto the Royal Hospital at Chelsea. An amusing incident as we waited to cross a side road off Royal Hospital Road. A large 4x4 turned in. Unable properly to drive the car properly, the driver turned a wide circle and tried to  drive down the wrong side; surprised to find oncoming traffic, the driver was forced to reverse and attempt the turn a second time, properly - although not entirely successfully - tightly and driving on the left. A couple were standing next to us. He said "Chelsea tractors" with more contempt in his voice than I could ever muster. Of course, the driver was entirely oblivious to four pedestrians waiting patiently to cross.

Extraordinary that neither Jimmy or I have ever been either to the Royal Hospital or the adjoining Ranelagh Gardens. Even more surprising considering how near they are to home. They were virtually deserted of other visitors late on this winter's afternoon; I doubt it will ever be so on any subsequent visit. We didn't linger long, because the sun was going down and the temperature was falling, and we hadn't quite finished our walk.

  

For a few brief minutes, the sun came out and shone brightly in that incomparable time that some people call The Golden Hour. This Avenue of trees almost made me think I was no longer in Central London.

 

We finished on Chelsea Embankment, where we could have seen the outfall of the River Westbourne if it had been low tide on the Thames. But the tide was fairly high; still, we had a lovely view of the sun setting over Battersea Power Station and distant Vauxhall. We walked across Chelsea Bridge, pausing to inspect the mouth of the (former) Grosvenor Canal where it meets the Thames. We caught a bus to Clapham, and, ultimately, home.

More pictures from today and other days out are in my London photo album

The Lido Cafe & Brockwell Park

One mild if cloudy Autumn day we decided to take a walk across Brockwell Park.

I sometimes describe Brockwell Park as my local park, but it really isn't. Both Tooting Common and Agnes Riley Gardens are nearer, as is Rush Common, which I have to cross to get to Brockwell Park. Streatham Common and Clapham Common can be reached directly by bus. Brockwell Park requires two buses, or, of course, can be reached on foot via some rather boring and steeply undulating residential roads. So, over the years I've tended to ignore its existence too much.

Considering it is a formally laid out and maintained park, Brockwell is full of surprises. Wide open spaces, some of the best views in London. Managed wilderness and areas devoted to specific activities. 

It is currently undergoing a programme of refurbishment, a process that is bitter-sweet to watch, knowing that the money being spent is probably among the last vestiges of the previous Labour government. I wonder how long it will take for our public parks to regress to the derelict, threatening no-go danger areas I remember from my teens and young adulthood.

The ponds are being dredged, re-lined and re-planted. I believe work is being done on drainage. A refurbished adventure playground is due to open in Spring 2012. And, over winter, the secret walled garden has been closed. The model railway isn't running, certainly not on weekdays. The tennis courts are empty, the BMX track barely used. Presumably there is relatively little to do in the Community Greenhouses

A new play area, using water and sand, has been developed, although the water is off during the winter months. We realised after we had walked round that, strictly speaking, as adults unaccompanied by children, we shouldn't have even been in there. Hopefully, as there was only one mother and child there, and we kept our distance, our mistake can be overlooked.

Each time we visit Brockwell Park, we try to take a different route. I often lose my bearings, never quite grasping its vastness and the different communities that abut it. And being high up, and vast, one can see for miles.

Previously, we always used to go into the café in Brockwell Hall, but were becoming increasingly dissatisfied. Basically, we found their coffee undrinkable, which makes one reluctant to try anything else.

It was purely by chance we heard about the Lido Café. We had both been to previous incarnations, but once you absorb the message that it's closed, you just forget it ever existed. But we decided to try it. "I'll have a coffee and some carrot cake," I decided, looking at the tempting display of cakes on the counter. One of the staff suggested we sit down, she'd bring us our coffee, and why don't we look at the menu. One French onion soup later, I was able to exclaim 'No wonder people rate this place so highly!'. I didn't take my proper camera out of my bag but was very pleased at how this phone picture turned out

Fast forward to February. Jimmy was due to have a minor hospital procedure on a Monday, and I decided to take the Tuesday off work just in case he needed looking after. It turned out he didn't even have a general anaesthetic, so he was more or less fine the next day. The next day was Valentine's Day, and neither of us wanted to go out for a Valentine's dinner. Nothing says 'Unromantic' quite like being spontaneous to order from the multinational conglomerates, or even spending an evening among the slight desperation of couples who think a Valentine's Special dinner is the only way to show they care. Yes, I know most decent restaurants do a Valentine's special, unfortunate for the numerous friends and acquaintances who celebrate a birthday that day or work away from home. It's business...

So, instead we booked ourselves a lunch at the Lido Café. We chose to walk there, along the uninteresting and hilly residential streets,

We took a different route around the park, and saw different sights.

The upper most duck pond being refurbished

Pond still frozen

The remnants of the previous week's snowmen: although it wasn't warm on our walk, the snow and the bitter cold of early February seemed distant memories

 

A random snapshot of the trees on the pathway next to Brockwell Park Gardens (a residential road)

Odd traffic signals at Norwood Road

 Mocking the stone-cladding

 I like this view but was too impatient to wait until a train passed. Stupid of me, because the grace and elegance of a train skimming across the sklyline is a sight to behold

 And finally into the Lido Café to fulfill our lunchtime reservation

 Mackerel bap with tartare sauce, crushed peas, and triple cooked chips; & Luscombe organic (medium dry) Devon cider. A simple cheerful meal, tasty and cooked to perfection, with some nice little presentational tricks. Incidentally, the novelty tomato, so often a disguise for cheap and nasty ketchup thankfully contained good quality stuff, Heinz or equivalent.

 And pudding was ginger chocolate pot with orange sorbet. Again, a simple dish most of us could probably make at home, if we could bothered, and presented in an attractive way that complements the tastes.

 Arguably, it's a misnomer to describe the Lido as a café. It's in a different league, and a different priceband, than the other café in Brockwell Park, and in some other neighbouring parks. But you can go for a coffee or soft drink, as well as a three course meal with choice wines and beers. I've never been when the pool's been open, and I've not been in the evening to this incarnation. I guess I'll just have to go back (and have been since I started writing this blogpost!)

These and other photos are in my Brockwell Park album

links 03/10/2012

• Pioneering Women - First Female Tube Driver: Going Underground's Blog

  tags: london

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens

Our last full day out was in Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens, one of Britain’s best collections of open-air exotic plants.

When we visited Abbotsbury Swannery, we bought a combined ticket for these two attractions, and also the Children's Farm. Even without visiting the Farm, the combined ticket is a saving. It then obliges one to make use of it, of course.

I actually preferred the gardens to the Swannery. And, therefore, this final blogpost of our holiday in Dorset should be a case of going out in a blaze of glory. But, what is there to say, especially so many months afterwards? We started with coffee in the very nice and very evocative Colonial restaurant.

I don't believe it rained all day, but I have a picture of me sitting here, and another one of me walking round, dressed in my kagoule. There's no public interest in publishing such photos, but the fact that I was wearing, not merely carrying it, suggests there may have been short-lived showers

We walked for several hours round the gardens. We could have done it more quickly, we could have been slower. Admission price includes a superficially informative leaflet, which maps out a route to take in mostof the gardens. There's an alternative wheelchair route which attempts to highlight the accessible parts (about 50%) which would perhaps be more suitable for all with mobility difficulties, including pushchairs.

What is there to say about a garden?Ultimately, it's a great collection of plants, which are often a visual delight, but also impact upon other senses, most of all, smell.

Even the visual: a photograph cannot capture the sense of space or the contrasting sense of enclosure by shrubs and trees, nor the full impact of a vista.

I walk around and I see plants, which I judge by 'That's nice' or 'That's unusual'. If I can, I read the labels to learn the names but then I forget them. I doubt I'll ever be a 'gardener', and I certainly never want to be one of those women in a Crimplene frock that descend with (a slightly superior) attitude on a formal National Trust garden with its uniform borders and perfectly manicured hedges. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's possible, though not essential, but highly recommended to take the marked diversion out of the gardens and climb the unrelenting incline to take in an impressive view of the Fleet Lagoon and Beach back towards the Swannery, to sit on a bench and bask in the sun which made a welcome and somewhat unexpected appearance at this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 My favourite feature, apart from the sum of all the plants was this amazing bench, carved out of a 200-year-old oak tree felled in a winter storm, by chainsaw artist Matthew Crabb.

    

The garden also included a Sculpture Exhibition. I think the Buddha is permanent

and the other statues are there until sold

 

Some statues had already been sold; on the empty plinth, visitors were making an abstract sculpture of 'found' objects - I added a pine cone

 

2010 was the year that I really appreciated the sight of a bed of lavender densely planted, and its rich colour

Towards the end of the walk we spotted a pheasant, and then we had tremendous fun throwing goldfish feed, from a handy dispenser installed next to the pond, into the goldfish pond.

 

By the end of the afternoon, I was quite tired, but there was still plenty to see

 

Taken overall, the day's walk was reasonably strenuous for me although not challenging. Most people we met were pleasant and intent on keeping themselves to themselves, except for one party with a Primary School Age child, presumably either home-schooled or truanting, who needed to demonstrate loudly to everyone else how learning-outcome focused was their trip round the garden whilst also ensuring the child  experienced learning through the play of throwing and kicking a ball. Even the dogs were on leads and under control, their owners heeding the warnings that they had lost two Golden Pheasants to dogs held on unlocked extendable/retractable leads and beyond their owners' control.

Dinner - or high tea - was panfried crevettes in a chilli sauce with dressed salad & crusty bread at The Anchor at Seatown, below the Golden Cap

More photos of today and the entire holiday are in the Dorset photo-album

Le Nozze di Figaro at Royal Opera House

I have been feeling slightly disenchanted with opera. Or, perhaps, I have been struggling with nights out. Precisely, I have found that a night out may have the ability to lift my spirits and re-energise me, but I have seen too many operas recently that have served only to tire me, leave me aching from sitting too long, and deprive me of rest.

I booked Le Nozze di Figaro because I have not seen it for quite a while. I returned my ticket in 2010 because it clashed with taking a holiday, which was necessary to fit in before the several Simon Boccanegra performances at the Royal Opera House. Overall, the cast did not massively attract, except for Simon Keenlyside. When he withdrew, I intended to return my ticket, but never actually got round to doing so, so I went sort of by accident, with very low expectations, not least of myself.

So it was a sheer delight to sit in an amazing seat and bask in what was a gorgeous performance. The production is the same as I originally saw six years ago and is available on DVD. In short, I still vastly enjoy the production. I could make criticisms about some details, as I could then, and I know there was an argument that it made no sense setting it what appeared to be the early 19th century, but despite this, or irrespective, it's definitely my favourite production I have seen.

My seat was amazing because it was fairly cheap but afforded a great view of most of the stage, up close. Certainly no need for binoculars, as I was sitting in line with and to the side of the orchestra pit in the stalls circle. So when the singers stood at the front of the stage, on my side, it sounded, looked and felt very intimate. During the interval, I tweeted that I had three different shows going on: the singing and acting on stage, the sublime orchestral concert at my feet, and the interesting show given by Tony Pappano on the podium. I was tempted even to write that Such-a-Role was sung by Jo Bloggs and Tony Pappano.

The highlight was the orchestra playing. I am as familiar with the sound of this work as I am with any opera, although I don't actually study scores, pretty much like I don't require a recipe when I dine out.

I guess some people would argue that dynamic contrasts, and, to some extent, those of tempi, were brash. I couldn't persuade otherwise but am convinced that the brashness was deliberate. In any case, the lyrical passages were extraordinarily plangent, and I never got a feeling of disembodied numbers being played.

I just loved the sound the orchestra makes. It surprises me that Tony Pappano is so talented at Mozart and yet so clearly detests Baroque and especially Handel.

The cast was on average better than good. I was particularly taken with Lucas Meachem as Il Conte, more than just a replacement for Keenlyside. Not a beautiful voice, but robust and effortless. A convincing stage presence if not necessarily oozing with charisma. Physically attractive if not a conventional barihunk. I also really liked Aleksandra Kurzak as Susanna. I'd previously heard her as Norina, and enjoyed her with reservations. Those reservations were gone this evening, a delightful voice, and a lively stage performance.

I want to like Ildebrando Arcangelo more than I do. I've seen him good and I've seen him not so. I concluded that being close to him was a definite advantage. He demonstrated he is capable of singing loud, but when he's not singing loud, he can be hard to hear from far away over a big orchestra; certainly loses the vocal nuances.

I also found him a delight to watch at close quarters. Again, a nuanced and intelligent performance. Perhaps overall he is perfect for a small house or on DVD, not so from up high in a larger house.

Anna Bonatatibus was fine as Cherubino, a role that must be a dream for any mezzo to play. The supporting cast all played their supporting roles wonderfully; it was particularly nice to see Ann Murray as Marcellina and remember Philip Langridge, her late husband, as Don Basilio.

I really didn't take to Rachel Willis-Sørensen one bit as the Contessa. It's difficult, because the cheers at the end made it clear that most of the audience loved her, and I am very aware that my 'I don't like' is purely subjective and is not an objective assessment of her ability. I thought her loud and squawky; I would only like to see her in those loud squawky Verdi soprano roles in preference to Sondra Radvanovsky, whom she vocally resembles.

I thought she moved as if she had conscientiously and ably learned complex stage directions, and got no sense of her being a natural actor, almost as if she was constantly fighting the urge to park-and-bark. But maybe I am unnecessarily harsh on account of my my vocal dislike of her.

What was nice was that the performance brought back memories of the exceptional cast from 2006; it confirmed my belief that cast was exceptional. And yet, I enjoyed this cast, not despite the previous cast, but regardless. I know that it's possible to treasure memories of highlight performances without them ruining future enjoyment.

And I'm seriously convinced again that Figaro might just be my favourite opera, even thought tenors are giving scandalously tiny roles.

Photos from the Royal Opera House Facebook page

An offbeat walk around Mayfair

On my bookshelf I disovered a little book called Discovering Offbeat Walks in London. Eight different walks of attractions that are omitted from the standard tours or are inaccessible from an open-topped bus. The book has its flaws, but it's pocket-sized and has clear directions, and having done two of the walks, I can say they are not too strenuous for someone like me.

We arrived at Green Park underground at quarter to one, and finished our walk at half three, having stopped en route for coffee and beer.

We did this walk in mid-January. Saturday afternoon is always busy in London, and a gloriously sunny, if cold, afternoon in midwinter is probably going to busier than most. The Tube was busy and, at the end, Oxford Street was heaving, but, in between, we walked along streets quieter than a typical country village.

We strolled along Piccadilly until Jimmy decided that - going against the book's instructions - we should walk down Half Moon Street to take a closer look at the Third Church of Christ Scientist. We had shunned Starbucks and Pret as purveyors of crap coffee, and were about to go in Cafe Nero, but we spotted an independent Lebanese cafe. We always prefer independents to chains, given the choice, and we had good coffee at Beiteddine Express. Jimmy had some snacks, too, which he said tasted good, and even I was impressed that the kebab spit clearly contained proper slices of proper meat.

We passed the bookshop where Nancy Mitford had worked, before entering Shepherd Market. I had been there 21 years ago with a then boyfriend, but, surprisingly, have never been back. I think I shall return sooner than 2033! Some almost laughably chi-chi shops. One, sadly not open, had a sale on, and was selling stuff like decorative twigs. The jewellers were real, a diamond ring for a five figure sum casually displyed in the wondow, its many facets glinting in the low bright winter sun. The toy soldier shop attracted the eye, all superbly crafted, and not a price tag in sight.

We looked at several restaurants - but it was too early to eat. None of them stood out, except, perhaps the Polish-Mexican brasserie, but I made a mental note of them collectively, as a possible alternative to the perennial Covent Garden. All of them looked priced at Central-London-reasonable ie more expensive and less exciting than trendy South London, but not 'Mayfair'! There are four pubs: we randomly chose the Market Tavern, which was good, notwithstanding me being served ale in a 'Lady's glass' without being asked!

 

We walked via Charles Street to Berkeley Square, listening out carefully, in vain, for a nightingale! It's a strange place - a largish square with old townhouses on one side and fairly ghastly post-war commercial premises on the other, and famous London plane trees in the middle.

From there, onto Farm Street and a look around the Jesuit Church. Now, I'm not into religion, but I do like walking round them as a tourist, taking (non-flash) photos where it doesn't affect other people. I also feel that, as I use them as a tourist attraction, I should put some money, my "admission fee" in the box (they always have boxes).

Also on Farm St is an attractive looking pub, The Punchbowl, where we paused for another drink. While in there I read a review where someone mentioned they had spotted Guy Ritchie. I had to rack my brain to remember who he was and very certain I wouldn't recognise him if I did see him. It wasn't until later that I learnt that he actually owned it, as had his ex-wife Madonna before their divorce. 

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  After there, we diverted slightly from our route to admire Mount St. Gardens, which are more than a pocket park, although probably not a destination in themselves. A pleasant little garden, and I was moved by the plaque I found planted there.

 

 

 

 

 

Onwards into South Audley Street, which is definitely worth a stroll along, even if just to window-shop and laugh

We spend some time looking in the windows of Thomas Goode, which claims to be the largest china and glassware shop in the world. I do like a nice dinner service, and acquiring one would seem to be one of the few reasons to get married. Perhaps the only reason...! I also appreciate that tastes differ, and also that to build up a proper dinner service eg Wedgewood from a shop such as John Lewis is going to run close to four figures, and yet people who are super rich can spend thousands like I spend tens. Even so, I could not get excited about the £7000 reduction on a set proudly displayed in the window and looking like it wouldn't be out of place in a tired unmodernised suburban curry house. I can't see the need for those crescent-shaped plates, and I wonder why it lacks coffee cups. 

We proceeded down the road, which just got sillier and sillier: a table display featuring...twigs. I said to Jimmy, mark my words, twigs are the next big thing, fashion-wise. Perhpas summing up my disdain for the utter futile superficilaity of 'fashion' per se*. But, after all the tat I saw, I think that possibly the most egregious was this toilet. Obviously designed exclusively with the (straight) male in mind, it shouted out bad taste. If I had the misfortune to be invited into the house of someone with this toilet, I would run for the hills, wondering exactly what sort of pervert was so keen to pee so close to a woman's breasts...or my mind would wander to other more unsavoury possibilities.

We finished off by strolling down to Grosvenor Square and looking at the US Embassy. A more boring London square you could not imagine, so we passed through swiftly. Although not before posing with the most unusued, dust-covered phone!  We headed in the direction of a visible road with obvious bus routes - which turned out to be Oxford Street - and ended the afternoon in the forgettable indifferent Marlborough Head pub for a swift drink. A bus ride took us to Covent Garden and an early dinner in one of our favourite chain restaurants.

 

  

 

 * I'm not anti manufacturing, or proper design, and acknowledge their role in job creation, exports etc, and I would be a hypocrite to condemn people for buying Nice Things, but I've never worked out who decides what is 'fashionable' at any given time, how they are elected, to whom they are accountable, and why people make themselves miserable with the thought of not being 'in fashion', rather than trusting their own eye and having what seems nice, for its own sake.

More photos from this day and many others in my London photo album

Brazas, Tulse Hill

I'd read positively of Brazas, and decided that it was worth trying. It's sort of quite close to where I live, but I just never go up Tulse Hill, never have any reason to. Once  upon a time, it used to be the Two Woodcocks, which I've never been in. I like the way that the interior is recognisable as having been a pub, and yet modernised. Accusations of gentrification, of course, because this is Brixton, and Brixtonians are never happier than moaning about Gentrification, which results from Yuppie Flats.

It's a good, local restaurant, and one we intend to go to again, and fairly soon. It was probably not wise going here just a week after going to Trinity. They're aiming at different markets. We went to Trinity for my birthday; we went to Brazas for a pleasant Saturday night out. We paid three times as much at Trinity.

One thing that attracted me on the website was a clear distinction between meat, fish and veggie dishes. It's like they take veggie seriously, not just tack something on grudgingly because they feel they have to. They also had a Specials board, offering a 2 mains for £15 deal

I started with Wild Mushroom Strogonoff in puff pastry sheets; Jimmy had Chargrilled Chorizo w black honey syrup & toasted bread. I'm sorry I didn't photograph that, because it was very eye-catching, even to me, although I wouldn't have eaten it! And their website Gallery is not good. They'd be better off without one - it makes it look like a cold unwelcoming place, which it isn't, and there are no photos of the food.

There was no sophistication in how the stroganoff was presented, but it was very tasty. The puff pastry sheets were noteworthy - a nice crumbly texture - and the Stroganoff was comforting. The right consistency, creamy but not greasy.

 

For mains, I had Chargrilled Whole Filleted Mackerel, crushed potato & fennel w gremolata. I Googled gremolata on my phone, having never previously encountered it. The presentation was rustic, unfussy, good home cooking. The photos don't really do it justice, partly because I didn't use the flash, and partly because their presentation doesn't do the food's flavour, preparation and cooking any favours. It's a moot point, I guess, because too much focus on plating turns it into poncey food, which is less comforting. Jimmy had the chargrilled piri piri chcicken and new potatoes, which he really liked, although he could have done without the sad salad - undressed green bits and only four halves of cherry tomato worth rescuing.

I finished with Blueberry, Raspberry and Amaretto Cake w vanilla ice cream, which again didn't really look all that, but tasted  delicious as it melted softly on my tongue. I also had some booze, so I tweeted 

Like the Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail the oceans forever, I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

 

I guess at the time I thought it was poetic!

So, to conclude, a good quality local restaurant that I couldn't really fault. Friendly staff, relaxing atmosphere, well-made lovely tasting food. Good value for money. 

Burton Bradstock and Little Bredy

Perhaps, in another life, one of these places would be my spiritual home.

By now, it won't surprise you that rain was forecast, so we wrote off sightseeing and headed out for a highly recommended lunch at the Hive Beach Cafe: quality food, served in a tent. I had Lyme Bay lemon sole with garlic & anchovy butter, new potatoes & salad. Main courses were in the region of £20 or more, and worth it, because the fish was fresh and cooked to perfection. But, obviously, at that price, café is in some ways a misnomer.

Jimmy commented that there was no shortage of money; many of our fellow diners were obviously retired, and, judging by the red trousers prevalent among the men, the quilted body-warmers of the women, and the dogs, of a certain background. There were signs about dogs only welcome when on leads; unfortunately on the table next to us the red trousered/quilted bodywarmer dogowners felt that justified their dog crawling under our table and actually touching me. Shudder. Obviously, one can't blame the business owners, and they probably get more business from attracting the dog-obsessed than they lose form deterring the dog-phobic. It's just a bit weird!

  We strolled along the cliffs over-looking the beach, but the weather became colder and windier. I followed a whim and as ace-navigator, I directed my driver along winding narrow country roads. I wanted to find some picturesque village; in my head was a barely-formed plan to wander around taking atmospheric photos of its utter tweeness.

I'm an urban girl and don't understand the village system. I've never been able to understand, when watching Midsomer Murders, how there can be so many villages around one market town. Bridport opened my eyes, and, to be honest, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if Midsomer was set there. Except that there's no sea near Midsomer.

Looking at the map, I now have no idea how we got there, but, seemingly close to the middle of nowhere, was a sign advertising afternoon teas and a secret walled garden, open to the public. The sun had come out, and I could not resist. We drove down a steep road that barely resembled a track, and found ourselves somewhere that barely constituted a village, at the bottom of a valley seemingly cut off from the rest of the world. The middle of nowhere! And I loved it immediately. 

This sign welcomed us to the garden, explaining that it was run as a not-for-profit by volunteer gardeners. The sun came out and for a while we basked in its rays, sipping tea out of china and eating fresh cake, and then we set off for a walk around the garden. 

We were given a leaflet which not only showed the layout of the garden but also encouraged us to walk through the village, along the river and past the church, to re-enter the garden at the top via the vineyard.

I took many photos, although I find that photos rarely do justice to a garden or to plants.The beauty of plants lie partly in their 3-Dimensions. A garden is about scent, the air, a sense of space, peace and tranquility, none of which are captured by the camera. Rapid changes between bright sunshine and light drizzle only added to the mystique. The history on the village website concentrates, as these places tend to, on the manorial quasi-aristocratic heritage rather than the normal people, which would be more interesting to me.

But here's a selction of photos from the garden and the village. Very little further narrative required.

 

As ever, more photos of this and other days in the Dorset photo album