Gertsamtkunstwerk

Hampton to Walton Riverside Walk

It was nearly mid-April and we were experiencing the third warmest Spring on record. A pleasant Saturday afternoon beckoned and pulled us towards the River Thames. Actually, it wasn't quite as warm as we expected. I wore a blouse and a spring-weight cardigan , which was okay for strolling in mid-afternoon, but we emerged from a pub after a late lunch/early supper and from five o'clock the temperatures fell and it became increasingly chilly. Nevertheless, the sunshine was welcome, as was the dryness of the day.

My app recorded the total distance walked Hampton Court railway station until a bus stop in Walton-on-Thames as exactly 5 miles. I attach a map of the route but it really is the easiest walk to follow - just walk along the River Thames, with no real interruptions or obstacles. The path was temporarily diverted a few yards inland for a short distance in Hurst Park but we could still see the river.

We encountered relatively few people en route. There were clusters around entry points, indicating that people go for just a few tens of metres along riverpaths before turning back and returning to their cars. None of my business, I know, and some people have good reasons - poor mobility - why they can't venture far, but I'm sure that many more, not necessarily physically lazy, have never considered venturing off into the unknown. Some people maybe anxious about personal security, and one does read of incidents, but they are almost all in the evening, often in the dark or twilight. I don't see too much of a risk on a dry sunny Saturday afternoon - although 'quiet', nevertheless we we were overtaken by cyclists or passed opposite direction walkers every two or three minutes. 

As I walked along I took a good few photographs. None of them is outstanding, but I think as a collection, they tell a little story about life beside this 5 miles of the non-tidal Thames.

Lots of houseboats moored on the river. Some of them quite fancy. I increasingly like the idea of living on a houseboat; or an an island in the Thames. Perhaps a houseboat moored alongside an island on the Thames.

 

Plenty of water fowl at different spots on the way - a Tufted Duck and what I'm pretty sure is an Egyptian goose

 

Some pleasant houses on both banks of the river - perhaps no more pleasant in design than those that stand only on roads, and, frankly, if you had a river view and mooring rights, would you care greatly about the architecture of your house!

  

It's not all idyllic, though. You might be stuck with a neighbour who conspicuously flies a UKIP flag. Or have an ugly pseudo-Georgian* mansion overshadowing you (*for all I know, or care, it might be a genuine historic building!)

 

Everything I have read (admittedly, not much) about this stretch of river mentions the view of St Mary's Parish Church Hampton. The site "is said" to be that of a Romano-British chapel; historical records of a church being here stretch back to 1342, 150 years before King Henry VIII (I mention him because of his close association with nearby Hampton Court). It's reasonably safe to say that this church, and its view, has dominated the entire history of civilised metropolitan Surrey.

And what do I see? The more I look at it, what dominates the eye? Like a portrait taken with a blouse button undone or lipstick on the teeth - no, because they are inadvertent. I see a car park.

Regular readers will know my antipathy towards organised religion and my ambivalence about preserving old churches just because, and may also know that I embrace modern architecture alongside the historically interesting.  So more taditional or conservative people than I should be furious at this. All I see is a car park. No spot of land in this sometimes awful country is too nice, historic or strategic to prevent people parking their cars there. Often without paying and rarely paying full market rent for the land they so casually occupy. Well done careless car-driven people of Hampton. Your potentially beautiful church looks like the backdrop to a car park from Hurst Park. You haven't thought this one through, have you?

There are other sights along the way, such as a foot ferry from bank to bank, a little sign that the grand metropolitan river further east is becoming more rustic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I took a picture of someone's delightful rock garden. It wasn't until I uploaded the photos at home I noticed the topiary teddy bear!

Outside their house across the towpath near their mooring they had sculpted a child riding a bird.

Further along, the houseboats were humbler. I felt it my duty to collect evidence of modern day slavery. Shocking. Those poor rag dolls, desperate for freedom.

 We passed a City of London coal duty boundary marker. I photographed it for future reaearch (reading Wikipedia). In brief, if you imported coal into London, you were liable for duty. The post served to remind you. The inscription refers to Acts of Parliament during the 14th & 15th years of Victoria's reign. There's an entire dedicated website City Posts.

 We came upon Sunbury Lock. Locks are endlessly fascinating. It was our good fortune to see two pleasure boats enter the lock to be transported downstream.

The lock lies by Sunbury Lock Ait (Ait means a small island in a river). The Ait is accessed by a footbridge. I used this as a vantage point for more photos up and downstream.

 

We stopped for fish and chips at The Weir. Very good they were, but there's a natural limit to the number of plates of fish and chip one can photograph. And I didn't get my camera out for the brisk walk to a more central part of Walton, and a bus stop. the Weir seemed a very nice pub, apart from the dog (off its lead, despite signs) that slobbered over Jimmy - not at his behest - and stained his trousers. Totally unacceptable in any establishment, especially one that serves food.

View 52-54 Bridge Rd in a larger map

My experience of attending 'faith schools'

Writing this because it's too long to Tweet.

In my long ago childhood, I attended two faith schools. One from 5-11, and one from 11-18. I could write about their flaws, but overall, they were good schools, with some excellent and many good enough teachers, and gave me a very good academic education.

I think it was wrong for my parents to send me to these schools, for several reasons.

They were not my nearest schools. Other children living nearby went to maintained Primary schools and, generally, one of the Sale Grammar schools. My friends at school did not live near me. While it's possible to maintain separate friendship groups in school and out, it takes effort, mainly from the parents. Why would a Sale Grammar girl want to hang round with me rather than her other Sale Grammar friends living just a few roads away?  And at the age of 12 or 13, how reasonable is it to hang out with school friends living in Warrington or central Manchester?

By choosing different schools from the very good local ones, weren't my parents sending a message to our neighbours  'your schools aren't good enough for my child' and implying 'your children who go those schools aren't good enough for my children'?

I had to get the bus, even to Primary School. This meant I couldn't hang out with my classmates or dawdle home on summer's evenings. Because of logistics, my bus contingent had to sit around in the school hall for half an hour or more (missing most of children's TV, in the days before videos).

Although I grew up in Sale, I went to school in Altrincham. Yes, the two towns are joined at the hip, like Romulus and Remus, Brighton & Hove, or Ant & Dec, but they are different towns. One is M33, the other is WA14. I think I can still walk around Altrincham while reading a book, but I have no muscle memory of Sale. Where am I from?

My parents were not particularly well off, but neither were they poor. I think they were probably typical of most people living in our immediate area. Decent but modest salaries, reduced to a level just above struggling by the cost of children, running one modest car, rarely replaced. Altrincham contains some very rich areas - I read only a few years back that the Altrincham & Sale constituency was in the top ten most prosperous out of 650.

Despite going to a faith school with a strong positive ethos of fairness, equality etc - the wishy-washy quasi-socialist aspect of liberal Roman Catholicism (of which I approve, and is an important part of who I am) - the prevailing culture of the school community was conspicuous materialistic consumption.

When your classmates have cottages in Wales, holidays in the South of France, several cars, often Jaguars, renewed every couple of years, and clothes from Benetton, it warps your perception. I was avaricious and resentful. Goodness knows how the very small number of girls on free school meals or in jobless households felt.

I think it warped my ambitions to an extent that I was determined to follow a career that paid a high salary rather than one that fulfilled me personally - and, to an extent, that's where I am. My salary is well above the London median, and I could have followed a career path into a six-figure salary; thankfully I chose not to. I frequently get some personal fulfilment from work, and appreciate the money/time to pursue other interests.

I could be disparaging about the ideological religious agenda of Catholic Schools - for example, we had a visiting speaker from SPUC, the militant anti-choice pressure group. However, I am pretty certain it backfired. Because we had been taught to think and challenge, and because of the liberal feminist ethos that was quite advanced for Thatcher's Eighties, most of the bright girls, the opinion leaders, were angry at the propaganda and brainwashing, and inspired to form cogent arguments to defend a woman's right to choose.

But I think the lasting damage of going to a 'faith' school was the lack of community. When you're a child your geographical horizons are narrow, and it's difficult to build solid lasting friendships with people who live across the A56, or in another county. Selective 11+ schools divide a community; religious apartheid adds to this.

The prosperous Irish diaspora dominated the culture and there were relatively few real Mancs or Cestrians. If you weren't Irish enough there was a slight hint of being a lesser person! I grew up thinking that everybody was Catholic or Protestant, and white, except for the one friend who was Muslim, with prosperous Pakistani parents (and whose companionship did open my eyes).

I'm not sure the non-faith schools in the area at that time were more ethnically varied, but I would have learnt not to categorise people by which church they go to, because most don't. I would have seen it's possible to be a normal decent person who judges the difference between actual right and actual wrong on how it affects other people, rather than being a nasty person who follows The Rules.

This is not a criticism of the schools I attended, and perhaps it reflects on the passive, over-protective, anti-social attitude of my parents, who saw no need to mix with non-Catholics (except Grandad!) or to pursue structured or unstructured social activities outside of school and church (and then, barely).

I'm sure more enlightened parents, then and now, who choose faith schools also ensure their children take part in sporting or cultural groups outside the narrow faith community, and will organise playdates and encourage hanging out with friends from different social circles. Interestingly, my partner who grew up in south London, and whose parents had no interest in academic achievement, also insisted on the Catholic apartheid system they brought with them from Ireland, and he too suffered the no-friends-locally/long-journey-to-school syndrome, and neither of us is able to maintain deep friendships (although superficially we are both quite gregarious and 'friendly').

I don't criticise anyone who chooses to send their child to a faith school because they can select (by parental attitude); but I have observed too many schools whose self-proclaimed 'Christian ethos' is a complacent assumption that bad things such as bullying don't happen.

There is a problem when a parent's desire for a 'faith' school sends out a message of inherent superiority. It's also a problem when many children are driven or bussed to their faith schools, when too young to understand or decide whether they have a religious faith, and many others are driven away rejected by their local taxpayer funded school because of their parents' non-attendance at church.

It was often church schools that introduced education to poor areas, but that was 150 years ago! That doesn't make it necessary to fund such schools now - although, frankly, abolishing them would be a policy, legal and administrative nightmare, so it's no surprise no government has tried. I find it preposterous when certain people attempt to explain the special status of Church schools by 'but the parents raise funds for them' - almost as if that doesn't happen in (supposedly) non-religious schools.

The irony of parents fighting to send their children to specialist christian schools is that every school in England that isn't a specialist Christian school is by default and by law a Church of England school. Of course, this law is honoured more in the breach than the observance, but the time has long passed where Catholic parents (often of Irish ethnicity) demand special schools to keep their children away from the quasi-paganistic practices and beliefs of a state-sponsored Protestant school. I'm sure if such an arrangement happened in a foreign (not former British Empire) country, we'd laugh and call it an archaic and probably corrupt foreign peculiarity. But in England, it's the norm.

Chez Bruce birthday lunch

Last summer we went to Chez Bruce to celebrate Jimmy's birthday. So long afterwards, there's not anything meaningful I can say, especially as the food was superb and the service was faultless. Also, I drank quite a lot for lunchtime, and it was the hottest day of the year. We sat on Wandsworth Common for a while afterwards; back home, it was stifling indoors even with a through draft with both front and back doors kept open (and hotter outside).

I enjoy the photographs I took:

I started with a Gazpacho with marcona almonds and basil oil

 

My main course was Cornish hake with grilled squid, sautéed black rice, bisque vinaigrette and fennel

I'm really rather pleased of that photo of an obviously photogenic dish.

Cherry and pistachio tart with clotted cream

And, because I was quite squiffy, I took a couple more photos.

Very nice; I would highly recommend it. I must go back again soon!

 

The Wandle, after The Storm

What a miserable winter 2013/14 was. I am immensely grateful, living on a hill and inland, I was not affected by floods how many people were. Even so, the seemingly constant heavy rain and strong winds was not conducive to going out. I've blogged about a New Year walk around The City, and a fortuitous stroll along Bournemouth seafront, but other than 2 or 3 pleasant but uneventful walks on Tooting Common, and one to Brockwell Park, these are my only 'going out' since returning from holiday in September.

I took time off sick in February and March. It retrospect it might have been easier to take a full week, rather than a day here, a couple of days there. Something dawned on me in late March - how good I had felt walking through Central Croydon after a work-related meeting, and a similar work-related jaunt to leafy outer suburbs. Both days were bright sunshiny days. One was pretty cold - scarves and gloves - but that mattered less than the brightness of the sun. In short, I am fairly certain I have Seaonally Affective Disorder. I don't want to be pseudo-scientific, and I'm very aware of the power of suggestion, but I have felt so much better since the Spring Equinox.

The odd trip out, in glorious pre-Spring weather, only served to mask the reality of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've ignored it for too long. I've treated it like hayfever or migraines, afflictions that make me lose several hours every couple of years, but not comparable to people whose lives are devastated by them. Everyone feels a bit down in winter. It's not that I'm depressred, just de-energised, lack-lustre, indifferent, apathetic. And yet, that isn't me in sunshine. I walked three miles, which is nothing really (although three miles of pootling and stopping to admire the view surely requires more energy than yomping across country). I was tired in the evening, and had to leave a birthday party early, but it felt a lot more positive than the world-weariness I had felt for months.

The Wandle never ceases to amaze. I could walk its banks for ever and always see something new. Early on, we detoured into the wheelhouse at Merton Abbey Mills and saw behind the water wheel.

Along the river were scenes of devastation:

     

The sandbags were out by the flats in Ravensbury Park - thankfully, looking unneeded. What a great place they must be to live. Whenever I go past there are always people out enjoying their amazing back gardens, and the kids obviously love living in the woods - even when a kicked football falls dead in a squelchy hidden puddle!

 

Talking of squelchy, the Wetlands were pleasingly wet. According to Wikipedia: 

A wetland is a land area that is saturated with water, either permanently or seasonally, such that it takes on the characteristics of a distinct ecosystem...wetlands consist primarily of hydric soil, which supports aquatic plants.

During the winter, some attention-seeking MP was condemning money spent by the Environment Agency on creating a wetlands in his - admittedly subaquatic - constituency. I sighed big sighs - if the water doesn't go into wetlands, it has to go somewhere else.

 

I got told off by a rather bossy dog woman for wearing the wrong shoes. I was stunned into silence until she had gone. She wore Wellingtons, which are right for her, but they give inadequate support and cushioning for me. It wasn't like I was wearing sandals or PE pumps. I was wearing proper genuine walking boots, Gore-Tex from an outdoors shop. They did me just fine. Yes, they're suede, but I can't help being innately stylish. I pass judgement about people's footwear all the time - in my head. They're adults, they'll cop onto themselves one day, and it's none of my flipping business. It's uncouth to criticise strangers whose behaviour is not affecting oneself. Rude dog woman. 

 

The walk through the Wetlands goes into Morden Hall Park;  several attempts to take iconic bridge photos.

  

Stroll across to the Snuff Mill.

 
I tried a few photoly effects. Not sure what to conclude:

  

It was great to see many people out in the park, but sad not to see those those not enjoying the welcome and overdue sunlight. Part of me thinks that everybody should spend more time in our great parks, but another part of me thinks, no, we don't want the stunningly secret Morden Hall Park to be over-run by people! If you've never been, you could do worse than follow Morden Hall Park walk. Indeed, there are things in that I've never seen.

Great, too, to see early signs of Spring. I feel guilty for writing that. Last year, Spring arrived late, and all the better for it - bumper crops and so on. But I so wanted the gloom of winter to be over.

I took many poor quality shots of wildfowl, including herons, but I have more than enough mediocre photos of wildfowl. Time to say, enough is enough.

Normally in Morden Hall Park we walk (or cycle) down the grand drive next to the Hay Meadow, but this time we took the riverside route, through the arboretum...squelch squelch! It was so quiet, we only passed one other couple. We sat on a bench to watch the world go by but nothing did.

 

except some geese, and a heron taking flight

 

Not even much traffic on Morden Road

 Into Ravensbury Park where the millstream flowed in full force.

 

Several rubbish attempts to photograph waterfowl. Maybe I should get a DSLR with a Zoom lens. One more thing to carry around, and lose. Or I'd be daunted by using it so my photography would dwindle and cease. I was quite pleased with these, anyway

Just before we saw the swan we had noticed a couple of women in their mid twenties. We both thought they were probably Irish Travellers. One was careering along the footpath on a child's scooter (although I've subsequently seen rather too many adults on such a scooter). The other was taking an enormous St Bernard for a walk. We met at the swan, there was also a Polish mother and toddler. Our attention was drawn by the swan. The St Bernard stood there, relaxing, keeping an eye on the swan, not getting excited or agitated. I have never seen a dog so disciplined and well-behaved in the presence of water fowl. Swan, St Bernard, Sunshine...can't beat that (sadly, the St Bernard was lacking brandy). If I ever had a dog it would be a St Bernard. And not for the brandy! I should have photoed the St Bernard, but I didn't, so here's a photo of the London Rd bridge

We had caught a bus and a Tube to get to the Wandle, now we were in for a new adventure - a Croydon tram. Amazingly, only my second ever ride on a Croydon tram, and Jimmy's first

 

Our journey ended on a standard train to Streatham Common, not a station we use much. And early dinner in the Railway. Not sure what to think. Very positive about their craft ales and ciders, but this is no way to serve tea.

I shouldn't have needed to ask for this. Granted, this wasn't in the tea room. Even so, it's not difficult - teabags don't go in teacups. If you're making it in the cup, the cup must be a mug. If you're serving it in a teacup, it should be brewed in a pot. The water was not boiling. Their ineptitude at making tea made me less well disposed. I was part of a mass exodus when several of us separately but together decided it's pointless being in a pub where you can't hear yourself think over a baby that wouldn't stop screaming. 

The squid for a starter was very nice.

and the Somerset brie, chargrilled courgettes & sun dried tomato chutney on brioche bun, hand cut chips, bloody Mary ketchup filled a spot. Foodwise I'd go back the next time I come off a train at Streatham Common starving hungry. But maybe the service and ambience would put me off. Too far to 'pop out' to, but not special enough to justify a special journey.

 

 

 

View Merton Abbey To Mitcham Tram in a larger map

Broadstairs, Wyatt and Jones

We stayed one night in Botany Bay. In the evening we went into Broadstairs to sample a well-reviewed modern British restaurant, Wyatt and Jones. Independent, family run, seasonal local produce. Also, I notice, our childrens menu consists of a selection of smaller portions from our adult menu. I know people who are frustrated because far too many 'restaurants' think children's food should be mechanically processed offcuts deep fried and served as finger food. So, although I have no direct interest, I will praise any restaurant which overtly states such a policy!

They open for breakfast and lunch (I've been told good things of their breakfasts) but they don't open all day - they close for three hours in the afternoon, presumably for staff lunch and rest and for dinner preparation.

Before settling down to eat I took a short stroll to the shore to capture the glory of the evening sun.

  

I started with a fish soup with scallops, prawns and mussels. Substantial, wholesome and tasty, although I'm not sure 'soup' is the right classification, but soup or stew it hit the spot. Good tasty fresh pieces of seafood and fish, and a sauce with robust flavours.

My main course was cod loin in garlic butter, creamed greens, fried potatoes, clams & asparagus veloute.

The sharp-eyed among you will have noticed I don't eat meat but I eat a lot of fish and seafood, especially when dining out - when I'm cooking for myself at home I like both big pulse-rich foods with lots of spice and also egg-and-cheese heavy dishes. But, possibly, my most favourite food group is sauce. And this is why I love Modern British food. Sauce, bringing the dish together. I have been in restaurants abroad - such as Spain -who have served up a lovely fresh piece of fish. but with no or few vegetables, and no sauce, the result is disappointing. (And I'm no fan of Nick Clegg, but his wife his Spanish, and he has made a similar complaint about Spanish food).

And this cod dish was an exemplar of great Modern British food. Ostensibly the cod was the star of the show, but the falvoursome veloute brought it together as a dish of balanced elements, each mouth ful a flavour sensation.

Furthermore, it was delightful to find this restaurant in Broadstairs. I fully admit to having misjudged the town, influenced perhaps by MArgate's reputation as a downmarket seaside town past its best (not entirely true). Nevertheless, it doesn't have a foodie reputation, and the town and area's marketing is driven by sandy beaches. I travelled for the bech and I found a restaurant that, although not 'cheffy' (or 'poncey' delivers good quality fine dining.

However, it turned out that the starter was far too generously portioned, and I didn't have room for pudding.

 

Related articles

The story of Afternoon Tea, part 1

Botany Bay

Wyatt & Jones..................

Round up of Bournemouth

Lovely mini-break in Bournemouth. A wonderful escape from the stresses of work and the stress known as 'Other People'. On the Friday we walked along the seafront to Boscombe A sunny February walk in Bournemouth and on both evenings we ate in our hotel Blake's Restaurant Bournemouth. On both days we had a light lunch in the local pub - the Goat and Tricycle, reputedly the best real ale pub in Bournemouth. Jimmy had a chat with the manager, who said how many barrels they turned over each week - and how many at Christmas. I forget the numbers now but Jimmy was seriously impressed. A good selection of ales and 'proper' ciders and a wide selection of food, from bar snacks to main meals. A good turnover of customers, too, and a reasonable social mix: local workmen, dog-walkers, retired or mini-breaking couples. I felt entirely comfortable there on a Thursday afternoon.

I had planned that we would spend all of Saturday in Bournemouth, perhaps even taking an early dinner before travelling back late, but the weather forecast was not good. Jimmy insisted we get away fairly early. I was disappointed, but I remembered how critical I am of people who travel unnecessarily, putting themselves and others at risk, in bad weather.

After breakfast on Saturday we walked to the clifftop, and down to the Undercliff Promenade to look at the brewing storm. It was lively out there, a contrast from the previous day's relative calm. and, yet, as pictures of the storm-battered winter of 2013/14 go, these are about the dullest you'll see! There was even someone on the beach with his small child, and they looked perfectly safe.

Nevertheless, there were signs of an impending storm and we decided to call it a day and head home. Ironically, our Railway Replacement bus service to Southampton Airport Parkway was a highlight - travelling through the New Forest in glorious sunshine. The train journey was uneventful. We changed at Woking and they were announcing (further) chaos on services to the West Country - this time, a landslip at Crewkerne. On Twitter I was reading various South Londoners caught in flash downpours. This was quite surreal, as we enjoyed surprisingly beautiful weather. Until we reached Streatham Hill, when the heavens opened, and we were soaked in the short walk - dash - from station to fishmongers.

In retrospect, we could have stayed all day in Bournemouth and still got home safely, but I think it was the right decision to make. There were still more storms to come - especially the Valentine's Day storm, which affected previous holiday destinations of Milford-on-Sea and West Bay, but I am rather relieved to have escaped this winter's exceptional storm without one dramatic photo to share with you.

Botany Bay

The famous Heatwave of 2014. A grey, rainy, cool Spring looked like there was no end. I got sick of people moaning "We've had no summer". I recounted the years when similar conditions had prevailed right up to the middle weekend - or even the quarter-finals - of Wimbledon and turned into two months of glorious summer. But no one paid me any attention!

The Heatwave broke out and we went to Battersea Park. The next two weekends involved day trips to Hove. They probably merit a blogpost, but on the first occasion I forgot to take my camera; on the second I forgot to take photos.

On the third weekend we booked an overnight stay near Broadstairs, on the recommendation of a colleague. Thanet is close enough to London, but, by train, a bit too far to do in a day and back. 

With the Heatwave holding and showing no sign of relenting, booking a seaside hotel wasn't easy. Most demanded a minimum of two nights stay, others were fully booked on the Saturday night, probably because of weddings. We settled on what was called the Fayreness Hotel, but has subsequently changed hands and is now called the Botany Bay hotel. At the time, I concluded it served our purpose well enough - decent breakfast and clean room, and extremely handy for the beach. And with the change of ownership, any further comment is irrelevant.

We caught the High Speed out of St Pancras, and on arrival in Broadstairs we walked own into town. I don't know what it is with seaside towns, but they all seem to have their stations well away from the town centre and the beach. We took a taxi to Kingsgate, although we could have caught a bus. We lunched while waiting for our room. I had a decent enough veggie burger, its presentation elegant if somewhat clichéd.

We spent the afternoon on the beach. For weeks before - and to come - Britain had basked in temperatures above the seasonal average. But not that day and not North East Kent. Officially, temperatures were struggling to get out of the teens.

The main beach was full of a 3-coach school party. From their diverse appearance I guess they had travelled from the London area. Well supervised and well behaved - they tidied their litter up into bin bags they left next to the bins - but there was a lot of them, probably Years 5 and 6. I felt a bit sad. Very few of the children went anywhere near the sea. A good few of them remained dressed in layers. The ones that did go near the sea were called back by the adults. (Damned if they do, damned if they don't. Not my idea of fun being responsible for other people's children in a potentially dangerous place. Dangerous especially because it seemed most of the children had no familiarity with beach and sea. And those that headed to the sea, presumably they were experienced, but could the teachers and helpers take that chance?)

We headed along the beach and past a rock that stuck out. That was fine for a while. But it began to feel very cold. It dawned on us we were now in shade, so we returned to the main beach and basked in the sun for another hour or so. There were plenty - but not too many - people on the beach, but no one was venturing in the sea beyond a hesitant paddle.

In the evening we ate in Broadstairs, and returned to our hotel for drinks. There wasn't much atmosphere in the hotel bar. We had tried taking a walk along the clifftops in front of the hotel, but bizarrely, we were swarmed by large hoverflies, which were quite scary. Perhaps not scary like wasps, but they kept flying at me, so my impulses - blinking, swatting, ducking - were in overdrive. I've never encountered anything like it.

 

We were on the beach mid morning and again walked along, to get away from what was obviously the main drag. It began to fill up with people, old people and young, couples, friend groups, families. We never felt overcrowded, knowing that if you want beach tranquility on a July Saturday in a heatwave you have to travel. 

 

One thing I concluded from this visit, and from my two daytrips to Hove is that there's no need to be on the beach early. I should have known this, but too many holidays in Southern Europe and beyond have caused me to forget England. It wasn't really that pleasant in the water at 11am; by 3pm it was gorgeous. So therapeutic. 

This stretch of coast is sandy; even so, I was glad to have brought beach shoes. We sat by some rocks that needed crossing to get to low water and were submerged at higher water. There is no feeling equal to that of floating in the sea on a day that - eventually - became very hot. I do regret that, having set our hearts on (a very fine) afternoon tea, we left the beach too early. We can have afternoon tea any time; sea swimming is a rarity in England - I haven't done it since (I had hoped to in Cornwall, given that the sea is at its warmest in September, but the air temperature rarely rose above 20C).

When we left the beach we had to return via the 'main' part. I gasped at how crowded it was. People's towels were almost touching the towels of their neighbours; there were perhaps a dozen rows of people. We had chosen a better part - but further to walk from the stairs and ramp. But perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised - a week or two earlier, I had seen pictures of 'Standing Room Only' at Brighton beach, such as this one, from Stephen Liddell's blog.

We returned into Broadstairs. The beaches were busy there, too. We wandered around for a while but it was too hot for wandering, so after a drink or two, we caught the High Speed home, avoiding the worst of the rush.

It was an enjoyable time away, but I made a mental note for the future - don't be the person who leaves the beach too early in the day. I'm sure it would have been great for swimming even at 6 or 7pm, and a hellish journey on an overcrowded train would not be the disaster one dreads!

 

Blake's Restaurant Bournemouth

We went to the Connaught a couple of years ago. The restaurant and leisure facilities were a high standard, and the room good enough, and it's situated close to the beach. We got a deal for out of-season/non-Saturday night, and splashed out on a sort of birthday treat.

There's a lot of good things about this hotel, but I'll get the criticisms out of the way first. Firstly, the rooms - they really are nothing special. No specific criticisms, and, indeed, as spotlessly clean as one would hope. But, to be frank, having stayed in a couple of Premier Inns recently, if I was choosing on the basis of room alone, I'd opt for a Premier Inn rather than this 4 star hotel. Premier Inn has better fittings and better bed coverings, the rooms are bigger, and, perhaps most importantly, have temperature/air-conditioning control in each room - in the Connaught, the room was just too warm for a truly comfortbale night's sleep.

The other criticism was having the one Michael Buble album on loop throughout our entire stay, through both breakfasts and dinners, and at all other times as we came and went in the communal areas. The time we stayed previously, it was a light classics album, more to my liking, but even so, if I never hear Maria Callas sing Casta Diva again, it will be too soon.

The staff are outstandingly good: warm and friendly without being intrusive, and with sufficient attention to detail without fawning. We had two good/very good meals at the restaurant, although to be honest there wasn't one dish - with the possible exception of the cheese board - that really had a wow factor.

Stupidly, I didn't make a note of what I had to eat and three months later, it's hard to remember precisely. I started with a non-meat Scotch egg, which was tasty, and I followed with a fillet of white fish, served with a variety of vegetables done in different ways. This was faultless and tasted perfect, although I keep looking at this photo and thinking - they've tried to do something with the presentation that didn't quite come off. No matter, it was appetising to the eye and cooked to perfection.

My birthday pudding was a rhubarb cheesecake. I must have been quite squiffy by this point because I didn't notice 'rhubarb' on the menu, just 'cheesecake'.

I hated rhubarb as a child, unfortunate, as it grew in the parental garden. It came back into fashion only just a few years ago and I decided to ignore my childhood hatred and try it again, with little luck. So, in a way, I was fortunate to make the mistake of ordering this rhubarb cheesecake. As you can see, it's presented elegantly, and all the non-rhubarb bits were adorable, but even though I ate the rhubarb, and it was possibly the nicest rhubarb I have ever eaten, it still wasn't for me. So, in future, I can be confident I don't like rhubarb, having been presented with a clearly delicious rhubabrb dish!

The following evening I started with the double baked cheese souffle, a wise choice, recommended by Jimmy who had had it the previous night. There's a risk that such a dish could be insipid, but this was packed with flavour and was just the right consistency. I'm afraid the photo doesn't do it justice, indeed I'm disappointed with the entire set. I'd like to say that the really rather good wine slipped down too easily - it did - but that's no excuse at Starter time! I think I over-estimated the ambient light.

My main course was pan fried salmon, with parmentier potatoes, shrimp and capers in brown butter, cauliflower florets and wilted shrimps. I had been tempted by the wild mushroom risotto. I do like risotto and I love wild mushrooms, so, obviously, it's a great dish. But it seems that currently, it's becoming a predictable choice for 'veggie option', so I thought I'd go for the salmon. A really good dish, with some classic traditional ingredients combined in an intelligent modern way. And, let's face it, when it comes to fish fillets, you really can't beat a good old pan-frying: ignore the health freaks - grilling's all very well, but nothing stimulates the succulent juices like pan frying.

Not too many years ago, I proclaimed that 'cheese boards' were dated and well out of fashion, and no restaurants actually serve them. What an ass I can be. Of course they're not, and of course they do! Nobody does cheese like the English, and 'the West country' probably rivals Lancashire/Cheshire/Shropshire for its quality of cheese.

The menu specifies 'up to 4 cheeses' but the lovely waiter gave me five of my own specification, from Dorset, Somerset and Cornwall. Yes, it probably wasn't wise after a cheese souffle starter, but, heck, that's what Lansoprazole is for. And port, obviously!

A couple more indifferent photos of good food.

 

If we return to Bournemouth - perhaps if we get a heatwave - we might stay in the Travelodge a few yards away, and eat in Blake's again.

Battersea Park boating

I created this post almost two months ago, in order to post photos and write about a trip to Battersea Park last summer. But, on reflection, there's not a great deal to say. 

It was a hot day in June and summer had barely begun. We didn't know it, but this was the start of an extended period of gloriously hot summer weather. 

We caught the bus down to Battersea Park. We intended to go boating, but worried that everybody else would have the same idea, and the queue would be a mile long. And, indeed, there was a queue. I suggested we joined it, and after ten minutes we would be able to gauge the length of the wait. After ten minutes, we were taking possession of a rowing boat - the wait was longer for pedalos, but we wanted to row.

We spent an hour rowing. We don't do it very often, and my partner cannot grasp that I am better at it than him. Even though I always explain "I used to row at University".

I know you have visions of me, in an eight, up at dawn to train on the River Trent. That's not precisely what I mean, even though my old University has a decent reputation for rowing - in fact, I don't think you can call yourself a Nottingham graduate unless you did some rowing at Uni...on the boating lake.

Battersea Park is a lot smaller than Highfields in Nottingham and a lot of it is roped off. Sharing the water with so many other users, as well as myriad water fowl, means more time is spent steering round obstacles than actually opening up and rowing straight. Perhaps inevitably there's always one party who seem to think that there's only them on the lake and everyone must make way for them.

I was rather touched to see a young woman in a hijab with two young boys in a rowing boat. She was floundering, not having grasped that you have to sit backwards in the boat.

I explained to her that you have to use the oars to push the water backwards so that the boat can move into the space - and use the small boys as lookouts. It would have been easy to mock her ineptitude but I admire her for venturing outside her comfort zone and bringing a great new experience to her sons. I hope they found the hidden treasure.

Boating in a municipal park is a nice way to spend an hour every so often, and it's not difficult once you get the hang of it.

Thoughts on Trip Advisor

A few weeks ago I read a sneery comment about people who 'plan their holiday on Trip Advisor' and it's annoyed me ever since. I don't suppose the writer literally meant that people go to Trip Advisor and blindly select a holiday just because it's got a certain number of stars.

On the other hand, as part of planning a holiday or break, it's useful to consult reference sources, to find out, for example, what restaurants exist in the area, if any, and which seem to have a general consensus of positive reviews from multiple reviewers. Yes, perhaps it would be easier to wander a strange town on spec. I've done that in the past, and have been turned away at fully-booked places, or discovered the only eating places open are chains pushing processed rubbish.

Of course, many of the positive reviews from Trip Advisor are form people with no discernment and the negative reviews from people with a particular axe-to-grind. But if a place has dozens of reviews and the consensus is high, or if there is one informative review that lights a spark, given that you're in a strange town, and you want a restaurant, and this is a restaurant, in that strange town, it's not a bad reference source. In the past I have stayed in a couple of very dodgy hotels that I would surely have avoided if TripAdvisor had existed. And since I've started consulting Trip Advisor, I've not really found anywhere that is radically different from the consensus of reviews.

I do wonder a little bit about the mentality of some people who leave reviews. I went somewhere recently, and was amused by a review that said "Every time we visit England, we have Afternoon Tea here and it is unsurpassable". A philosophical conundrum - how do they know it's best, if they haven't tried the rest! I had afternoon tea there and it was decent. It was good value for money, at, arguably, half the price of some other places I have tried, but even as a satisfied customer I really couldn't call it unsurpassable.

There's a restaurant I've eaten in on two mini-breaks, and I checked out the poor reviews. The worst included this:

At NO time did anyone of the waiting staff ask what the food was like which is standard in all restaurents I thought,

The Managing Director answered politely. My reaction would be to take such people out and shoot them. It's a two rosette restaurant. The waiting staff are trained to be alert to a raised hand, or a frowned attempt to catch their eye.

Good restaurants know that people want to enjoy their food and maintain lively conversation without some untrained halfwit mechanically asking "Everything ok you guys?". The only think worse than a moronic robot interrupting your eating pleasure with "Everything ok you guys" is three mornic robots in one course asking "Everything ok you guys?". 

Another poor review for the same restaurant includes 

The place was full of very old people, most of who seemed like walking dead.

to which the MD replied

This review is hugely offensive and disrespectful to a particular section of our society and warrants no further comment.

A reply that should be applauded in itself.

In another location, I almost booked a restaurant on the strength of this terrible review alone:

The restaurant had a power failure and the place was left in darkness, small candles were provided for the tables and toilets.

We had to choose dishes they said they could prepare so we gave them a chance as many other customers had decided to leave (just trying to support local businesses.

After one hour (9pm) the starters arrived with still no power.

at 10.30pm the main courses arrived and the food was barley edible in parts.

We called the manager to express our disapointment that the lovely chunky home made chips were in fact thin frozen chips covered in oil (disgusting)
The fillet steak my wife had was in fact three small thinly sliced frying steaks although he insisted that it was a fillet and that was how the chef prepared them.( i think i know a fillet from a minute steak)

This was pointed out to the manager and his reply was "the chef was doing the best he could ", (not the right answer, i told him that if the food was going to be sub standard then they should not be trying to serve it up.)

He said i had an attitude with him and stormed off .

I felt so sorry for the manager who replied to this - in short, they were trying to operate a restaurant during a long unannounced power cut that affected the whole street.

In short, I would never 'plan a holiday using Trip Advisor' but when I'm planning a holiday or break I use Trip Advisor as one of many reference sources. And by doing so, have found some outstanding restaurants and gleaned a few tips eg "book even numbered rooms in this hotel in order not to be disturbed by the heavy traffic for the early morning ferry". 

Related articles

20 ridiculous TripAdvisor reviews

A sunny February walk in Bournemouth

We were taking a chance booking a seaside holiday in February. We didn't fully understood we would be caught in between two great waves of extreme stormy weather.

Destination Bournemouth, using my biirthday falling on a Thursday as an excuse for a weekend away. When we left London the weather was dull and unnoteworthy. The train took us down through the outer suburbs of South West London, into Surrey, and across Hampshire before crossing over into Dorset. As we travelled, we played that gusessing game - field or lake - the clue is that lakes don't contain electricty pylons. The view was not spectacular, but in a quiet English way told a story of the winter floods and how the land was soaked, the waterways overflowing, and the New Forest - puddles and winter ponds.

Our arrival in Bournemouth was heralded by a heavy cold dark shower. Our taxi driver asked us if we were here for a Conference and seemed non-plussed that we were visitng for a mini-break. In the restaurant on Thursday evening, two couples were talking and I eavesdropped. One couple had been for a drive down to Swanage but had only stayed half an hour. I wasn't surprised. I had seen a news report; one line stood out "I've never seen the tide go so far up the High Street in my lifetime". Just the previous day Lindsey Harris took these amazingly good photos of Swanage. She's disabled right-clicking so I can't copy - fair use for criticism or review - but do have a look, they're exactly as documentary photographs should be - no poncing around with special effects but letting the subject of each photograph speak for itself.

All were agreed, however, that Friday would be the day to get out for "a walk". Which we duly did. I didn't start 'My Tracks' app until I reached the seafront, but the walk down the zig zag from our hotel is an exertion in itself. We repeated the walk from nearly two years ago. That day, it had seemed a challenge to reach the pier. So I was pleasantly surprised at how soon we reached it this time. In fact, the short version of this blogpost is that we walked from our hotel at West Cliff to Boscombe Pier, then turned inland to catch a bus. With more energy we could have retraced our footsteps, but on top of the cliffs (but I know from experience it is quite a trek inland to cross the Chines).

It was a glorious day for a walk and we were not alone in grabbing such a rare opportunity.

We reached the pier and lingered to watch the surfers in the water. The news had covered elite surfers heading to Britain and Ireland from around the world, but I don't think they had Bournemouth in mind. I don't think these people would consider themselves elite - although better than I could be. They probably meet every Friday for some fun in the water.

 
  
The weather was perfect for February. Suitably wrapped up in winter coat and scarf, it was a pleasure to sit basking on the sun-drenched pier for a mid morning latte. We passed several beachfront cafés where customers were sipping al fresco oblivious of the ubiquitous sandbags.

We walked past the pier. The promenade was covered in sand. Bournemouth has cliffs that rise steeply above the beach. The town lies at the top of the cliffs. The road has restricted access for vehicles, I think mainly official vehicles use it. And pedestrians and cyclists - it's possible to walk or cycle safely for miles, encountering only the tourist land train (but not on a February Friday) or council vehicles maintaining the front.

We passed the oldest municipal beach hut in Britain.

 

I became fascinated by the different colour schemes of the beach huts. It's been thought out carefully. Here, going from blue to purple through pink into orange.

These are amazing summer colours, not systematic but all of the same intensity

These are bolder but not inconsistent.

 I think these are amazing. The best thing about them is that they are fully accessible. 

UK studio a:b:i:r Architects and Peter Lewis of AEREA Design have redesigned the traditional English beach hut to be accessible for wheelchair users.

 The East Cliff lift, closed for winter, was undergoing maintenance.

Two weeks later, there was dramatic footage widely broadcast of the cliff collapsing.

 CCTV captures moment cliff collapses onto beach

170ft landslip blocks prom between Bournemouth and Boscombe piers

Just beyond there, the ice cream shop was shut for winter, and looking a little forlorn.

I felt a bit sorry for this woman. The weather was bright and sunny, so she had come to the seafront and opened up her beach hut, in the expectation she could read and bask in the sun. And the Council sent a tractor to clear away the windblown sand from in front of her hut. Necessary work of course, but probably not part of her plans!

 A mother took her kids for a walk on the beach.

A lone surfer battled the swell in the shadow of Boscombe Pier.

Beyond the pier, the lifeguards were off-duty

We walked into the Town Centre, which was in chaos following an road collision. We had a brilliant bus driver, who patiently explained to people their options eg "Run and try and get that bus which is more direct but if you miss it I'll be waiting for you" & explaining to passengers further along the route why they had been waiting. Once they understood, their whole body language changed to "I'm no longer angry now I know the reason, the poor dear" - underlining to me the importance of communication.

Pensioner in 'critical condition' after collision outside Aldi in Boscombe

As I walked down the aisle of the bus, my walking app on my phone played a fanfare as my total steps that day passed 10,000. The blue line on this map is 3.2 miles.

View Bournemouthto Boscombe add half a mile in a larger map

A Wandle ride in June

We got on our bikes and rode.

Almost, anyway! Firstly we caught the train to Waddon. And braved crossing the gridlocked A23 before reaching Waddon Ponds. The road's horrible. Or perhaps it's just the drivers, some of whom have poor risk assessment, poor understanding of traffic lights and scant respect for other road users.
Such a relief to get into Waddon Ponds. So very quiet. Odd, really. It's in the middle of a densely populated area. Admittedly it was a school/work day for many, and the weather was a little overcast and there had been a brief light shower when we were on the train. But the forecast was warm and sunny for the summer solstice; it had been a long wet cold spring.

Leaving Waddon Ponds behind, you encounter signs of electricity generation - the towers of the old power station, now IKEA and a local transformer station.

 

We cycled on into Beddington Park. We'd been there just a couple of months earlier and I had taken a lot of photos - and written at some length - so there's little value in doing that all over again. It was looking lusher and greener

 

I was annoyed to see this tractor mowing the grass for no obvious reason. It's not clear what the field is used for. It's not even marked out for sport and doesn't seem to serve any useful purpose. But, as you can see, something that may be wild flowers are sprouting. This mowing, dictated no doubt by a municipal timetable, seemed like wanton destruction of a meadow that could have been allowed to prosper until the autumn, as, thankfully, is happening in many other places.

Another picture of the Terracotta Bridge

and the clarity of the river

 
At the end of the park is The Grange. This is an old mansion and is set amongst a formal garden that I made a mental note to revisit when in full bloom. Cycling is the enemy of photography! We stopped there for a coffee and while we sat outside beside a tiny tributary of the Wandle, the sun came out. Finally, summer had arrived, at about half past three

Coming out of the park we had to negotiate a difficult junction made more difficult by it being the peak of school run. And then we had to make a decision. For a short stretch it's not possible to walk or cycle alongside the River. We could have taken the cut-through to Wilderness Island, following the Wandle from its major source in Croydon. But we chose to pass along residential back streets and pass the Westcroft Leisure centre, en route for the other source at Carshalton Ponds. At five to four I passed an older - but definitely not elderly - woman who sighed and lamented at the hot weather we'd been having. For all of 25 minutes! How was she going to cope in coming weeks - hopefully by at least removing her coat.

It was good to see The Grove at Carshalton so full of children and teenagers enjoying the late afternoon sun after a day at school. I felt madly envious. I never once went to a park after school. The Primary School day finished at quarter to four but we had to sit in the school hall for another half an hour awaiting a bus to take us home. There was an excellent Primary school ten minutes walk away but my parents didn't think it was good enough, and exercised their right to religious separatism, thus ensuring I had no childhood friends living near me. The unaltering daily routine was never broken for a spontaneous trip to the park to play in long overdue solstice sunshine. Solstices weren't generally discussed in my religious separatist schools (taxpayer funded)*. 

We cycled round the ponds and ended  up in the newly refurbished and re-opened Honeywood Museum

The tea room had a sign "Due to staffing difficulties, unfortunately the tea room will remain closed today" which was a pity, but probably not a decision taken lightly. The museum was great to look round when passing, although I'm not sure it's worth visiting especially. A mixture of local history, including the natural history of The Wandle, and some 'imagine life in the olden days' with paintings and other art works.

Well, it was very enjoyable until the arrival of the archetypal show-off Dad - the one who talks in loud stilted tones to the children he barely knows in order to impress someone - either us or the museum staff - what an amazing father he is. We don't actually care, but if you want us to judge, we feel you'd be better off listening to and getting to know your children.

It had been a lovely day back but the journey was unpleasant. Carshalton Station is close by. But trains from there do not serve Streatham Hill. To use this station would require changing at Balham, either to cycle home, or catch a southbound train - at a time when bicycles aren't permitted. Instead we headed for Carshalton Beeches. To be honest, if I had been on my own, and just a pedestrian I would have ended up in tears, at the cars zooming along narrow roads, the disgusting smell from the engine exhausts and the challenge of crossing a blind bend four-way junction with no pedestrian crossing - outside a school! Looking at the map there does seem to be an obvious back-street route, which I'll remember for the future. But on the way, I wished I'd gone to Balham and endured that slight but continuous climb back home! 

* my secondary school had many flaws I could spend hours listing but taken overall it was a good and, in retrospect, an outstandingly cool school that has produced many successful professional women

Some other of my Wandle posts:

The Wandle - Colliers Wood to Hackbridge

A Wandle in May

Rediscovering the Wandle

Wandle Wanderings Part 3

Wandle Wanderings Part 2

Wandle Wanderings Part 1

Wandle Wander

Related articles

Walk 9: Mitcham Eastfields walk to Sutton

Wonderful Wandle

An oasis of wilderness

All the posts about Cornwall

Everything I wrote about my September holiday to West Cornwall can be seen, in chronological order, here.

Back from Cornwall

Marazion to Perranuthnoe

St Ives

Carbis Bay and Hell's Mouth

Marazion to Long Rock

Lost Gardens of Heligan

A foggy day in Penwith

A Gloomy Day in Mounts Bay

Ben's Cornish Kitchen

Lands End

Sennen Cove and Zennor

Mackerel Sky, Penzance

Mount Haven Marazion

Gunwalloe and Mullion Coves

The Poldark mine on a rainy day

Lizard Point

Cadgwith Cove

A short trip to St Michael's Mount

Porthallow and Coverack

 

All the photos can be seen in Cornwall photo album.

Blogposts about other holiday destinations are in the Holidays category

Porthallow and Coverack

It was the last day of our holiday. How to spend it? I had thoroughly enjoyed my Cornish holiday, with lots of great memories of beautiful places and fabulous food, and hundreds of photos. But I was also looking forward to being back in my own bed, and didn't feel I was in love with West Cornwall like I am with West Dorset. 

Once again onto the Lizard Peninsular and to the remote village of St Keverne. Very pretty, it has an impressive church (we didn't visit), two pubs (we didn't visit), a Temperance Hall (you get the picture). Post Office, General Store, and Community Fire Station. But to my surprise, it's not by the sea, so we didn't linger and I didn't take photos.

Onwards to Porthallow, once the centre of the pilchard industry. The pilchard is now called the Cornish Sardine and according to this article from ten years ago was undergoing a renaissance. More here, and I've seen features on TV that suggest that Cornish Sardines are thriving - although I know the Cornish fishing industry was hit hard by the recent winter storms.

When we arrived we pretty much had the beach to ourselves and we sat there for a while, relaxing. By now I was pretty bored of taking pictures of waves crashing against rocks, and in any case, the sea was relatively still. So I spent some time taking shots of the small details of the intertidal zone. The results are a bit mixed but overall quite pleasing.

    

It was lovely to sit and relax on the beach with no one else around, but we weren't disturbed by the colourful arrival of kayakers - a couple taking a lesson, as far as I could tell. Once landed they didn't stay long. 

 

Later we were joined by a swan

As we left the car park, some people were taking each other's photographs next to a sign. The sign marked the exact halfway point of the South West Coast Path. For a moment, I considered leaping out of the car to take the same photo, but I imagined many people will have done so, such as this one. The South West Coast Path is 630 miles from Minehead in Somerset round the craggy coasts of Devon and Cornwall (North and South) and onto Poole in Dorset.

Our next stop, and the last place we visited on our holiday was Coverack. That was in September; the village appears to have changed significantly since - see Damage to the Sea Wall, April News from Coverack and video of the 14th February storm.

We parked up and went into the gift shop. I bought a book about the legend of Tristan and Iseult. I haven't read it yet. Next stop was the Harbour Lights café and bistro. What a lovely place with a good selection of home-cooked foods. I opted for a crab sandwich. We started by sitting outside, with a view over the bay, but ultimately, being that time of year, we were defeated by wasps and had to retreat indoors. (Also the arrival of a behaviourally disturbed child and his younger-than-me-grandparents).

We walked along the seafront. The map described it as a picturesque village, so I took pictures but didn't really do it justice.

    

It was low tide when we passed the harbour. I reflected that the flood tide must be impressive to allow the boats in and out across some rocks that appeared to block the harbour.

The lifeboat station is n longer used, but they appear to keep a boat there just in case.

At the top of the hill is a pub called the SS Paris, named after a liner that ran aground on The Manacles rock just round the coast. After a pint, we walked back down the hill, passing more picturesque housing.

We also passed a group of four tourists who were in the middle of expressing outrage. One of them had been walking along, minding her own business, eating a Cornish pasty, when a giant seagull swooped and stole the pasty from right out of her hand. I did laugh, though feeling certain that if I had been such a victim my outrage would have equalled or exceeded hers!

The tide had risen and the harbour was once again working. We watched the Kindly Light, registered in Berwick on Tweed - the furthest point of England from Cornwall - landing her catch. The load was winched up by a crane on the quay.

We returned to the car, and back to the holiday let in Marazion, for an early start and a long drive home the next day.

Other people's blogposts about Afternoon Tea

My posts:The story of Afternoon Tea, part 1, Afternoon tea part 2 and Afternoon Tea Part 3

The nice thing about this subject is that the photos of are varying quality but still make the tea look enticing, and the words, however well written or not, convey the pleasure they have eating it!

Far and away the best source of information on afternoon tea in posh London hotels comes from Guided Walks in London, who has taken it upon herself to sample as many as possible, and has an entire blog category devoted to this, including the regular Scones of the Month feature, but seems to have disabled right-clicking so I can't copy her photos! (her absolute right to do so, of course)

Everything Stops for Tea from Sensitive Souls Require More Beauty

My Home Made Valentine’s Afternoon Tea from The Three-Tiered Cake Stand: A blog about afternoon tea and cake - rather lovely, almost made me approve of the dreaded Valentine's Day, and worth reading to see the effort she had to put in for tea for two. some other decent posts, too.

Afternoon Tea at Fortnum & Mason from Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium

Best Places for Afternoon Tea in Cardiff and beyond from Cardiff Girl

A most peculiar Afternoon Tea @ The Westin Hotel, Dublin from Napkinplan (hmm, I'm overdue a return visit to Dublin)

Afternoon Tea at The Forbury Hotel Reading from Jennie Slevin

 Afternoon Tea at The Connaught, Mayfair by Maggie's Mangos

On Afternoon Tea by Baking Fanatic

No photos but a good read - The Perfect Cup of Tea from Lorna Ward News

Tea in the afternoon - Treat Boutique, Belfast - from My Life My Blog Zane

Afternoon Tea at Hanbury Manor from Alexandra's London

 The British Tea Time – A Tradition of Manners, Etiquette and “Polite” Society (and many other themed posts) from Caroline Hope's English tea time.

Nice little piece from a B&B website, although my trust is undermined by their use of 'Carnation chicken', no doubt very different from Coronation Chicken!

 

The Afternoon Tea Club seem to do their reviews by invitation or by freebies, so can't really be considered as impartial. And they have some lovely photos, probably supplied by the places they are advertising..but they hardly hide the fact that they're into freebies, so, simply proceed with caution!

 A similar warning about A Lady in London, again with professional photography almost certainly supplied by the establishment she's paid to visit

Researching this blog post I have been struck by how many people are happy to review establishments they've benn invited to review in return for a free meal. Fair enough that they declare it, and I also noted one blogger specifically stating that she paid for her meal and didn't tell the establishment she was blogging it. This is also my approach. I don't live to blog, but when I do nice stuff I like writing about it.

I couldn't take the freebies anyway; it would be indirectly against the code of conduct for my professional institute. I'm sure they wouldn't expel me for writing flattering copy about a restaurant that's provided me with a free meal. On the other hand, why would anyone take seriously any of my professional work again if I demonstrate I'm open to bribery. and, frankly, if I wanted to earn money doing things, my time eating, writing and travelling is worth more than the cost of a meal or two!

I'm using other people's pictures in the sincere belief that this is legally fair use for the purpose of criticism and review. I make no money from this blog. However, if people wish for me to take down their photo, just leave a comment to this post (I won't publish it but will comply - once I've seen it). 

Afternoon Tea Part 3

Part 2 is here

I booked One Aldwych before Christmas, as something to look forward to on a dark dreary afternoon - that, ironically turned out to be sunny and bright. Having sampled very few posh London hotels I can't truthfully say that this is 'amongst the best' but it is certainly on an equal footing with the Lanesborough and the Savoy. In fact I only have one criticism! 

When the waitress seated us she explained that the tea was 'Charlie & Chocolate'. In fact, it was a tie-in with the stage musical of the book Charlie & the Chocolate Factory, which is probably trade-marked. But that aside, she was excellent as was her colleague. Both were unintrusive but were there when we wanted them at the right time.

We were offered the 'optional extra'  of either a cocktail or champagne, and despite an earlier decision not to, we fell for it (and, later, a second, making the costs half as much again). This was the time also to choose a flavour of tea. I chose Jewelled Apple: The finest black tea with wild strawberry leaves, caramel and real apple pieces. Also on offer are Smooth Caramel, Queen of Berries and Organic Lavender Grey.

The table setting was modern-corporate-bland, and we were lucky to be seated by the window to enjoy the late afternoon winter sun.

The savouries arrived and there was a good variety - two closed sandwiches  - roast beef and horseradish on onion bread, and cucumber and chive crème fraîche on wholemeal bread, The keen eyed will note that that's beef for Jimmy who doesn't like cucumber and cucumber for me who doesn't eat meat. We shared the smoked salmon on rye, and the heritage tomato tart, and leek and Stilton quiche. The last two, of course, outside the strict definition of Afternoon Tea, but, not needing forks, not yet 'High Tea'. The savouries were truly excellent - not much else you can say when they are perfect and exactly as you hope (but don't necessarily expect). Greedily we accepted the offer of a free refil. Possibly regretted that later!

The scones and 'cakes' arrived together. Oh my!

The same picture from Jimmy's angle. Yes, that is in fact a pseudo-African rowing boat sculpture in the lobby tea room. Because Reasons, I expect.

Scones, fresh and almost melting in the mouth, came with a choice of plum jam or apple and meadowsweet compote. No need to choose.

Next was what I call a Cream Egg, but, obviously they don't, because of possible Copyright reasons. They call it Golden egg with vanilla cheesecake and mango purée. After that I'm never going to eat the downmarket Cadbury's version ever again. It would bring back bittersweet memories of this. Well, sweet. Over sweet and sickly. This wasn't. It was good proper chocolate for a chocolate snob.

 Then we tackled the Eton Mess

This was probably the closest I came to disappointment. It was a bit too sweet for my liking, and I've tasted better elsewhere. But I ate it all and enjoyed it.

Next was the chocolate lollipop filled with marshmallow, and time for a (by now) slightly tipsy Selfie, duly processed by photo-editing software - or airbrushed as the ignorants of Mainstream Media call it.

And to finish with, at the point where I was sated and experiencing a sugar rush, a bottle of delightfully cloggy chocloate caramel milk.

Not photographed individually: the rhubarb and custard candy floss and the blueberry brioche. Or the tea refills.

I owuld highly recommend this place. It's certainly not cheap, but it delivers value for money, in pleasant surroundings with excellent service.

Our next Afternoon Tea adventure cost half the price of this, which is important to remember. We got it in a deal that included a 'free' glass of champagne. This was the Kensington Hotel, a short walk from South Kensington Tube. 

I can't really complain about any aspect of the offer, but it was all a bit not-quite. For example, when we arrived, they had no record of my online booking and kept us waiting in the bar area for what seemed like a long time, in front of a TV showing rugby and with two blokes talking loudly above and about the rugby. 

The selection of tea was nothing special - I chose English Breakfast, which was fine but not memorable. The sandwiches were the standard - traditional or uninspired, it's a judgement call - cream cheese and cucumber/ham/smoked salmon/egg mayo quartet. Served on mass catering sliced. Fresh enough, but, again, forgettable. Refills cost £9.50 extra. We declined.

We followed with scones. It seemed a bit grudging to offer one plain and one raisin between us. We did the obvious and split both. But they weren't totally fresh. I suspected they had been baked the previous day, which is fine for cakes, breads, and many other baked goods, but not scones. The jam, a workaday and uninspired strawberry.

 

I have an odd story to tell about the cakes. A tiny piece each of Victoria Sandwich and carrot cake (he'd taken his carrot before I had the camera ready), but they were exceptional examples of their type, light and flavoursome. Just a pity the slices weren't bigger.

There was also a selction of what I supposed is known as pastries. Frustratingly, there were four between us. We had to negotiate a fair method of sharing -as it turned out, both tarts could be split roughly in two with a knife.

They turned out to be extremely good, exceptional, in fact. I just felt that all along there had been an absence of je ne sais quoi about the whole experience. Staff were polite to a nth. But it was that politeness that borders on the subservient and almost grates. I didn't feel there was any understanding in the serving process, whether it be the perfunctory presentation or the seeming lack of insight into the ritual and imagined pampering that is part of Afternoon Tea. But overall, it was good, and - indifferent champagne aside - was really quite cheap, especially for a luxury hotel in Central London. A review on Trip Advisor said "When we come to England we always have afternoon tea here, it's the best" or words to that effect. No, no, no - it really isn't. Actually, you're in no position to judge, anyway, but, also, you really are missing out!

For some reason, I took my camera to the Ladies, and my heart soared at this comparatively rare sight

Yes! A proper mixer tap where hot and cold can be individually controlled, allowing the customer to wash her hands thoroughly, not having to choose between nearly cold and a tap bearing a sign "Caution: hot water". I have been in food places where it's impossible to do a proper hand clean - and in some cases these washrooms are shared with the staff, leaving one to wonder about the hygiene standards of the management. 

Related articles

Your Golden Ticket to experience Charlie & The Chocolate Facotory Afternoon Tea at this 5 star London hotel

Afternoon tea part 2

Part 1 is here

The cold dark days of autumn, with nothing to look forward to except a few days off work for Christmas. I fell upon the Afternoon Tea website, an entire website devoted to Afternoon Tea. I searched South London and came upon a place which, interestingly, is no longer on the website, and they no longer have Afternoon Tea on their own website. So this blogpost is somewhat redundant in respect of Lost Society Clapham. 

It was an interesting experience, and although I have several criticisms, overall I thought it was a decent offer at the lower end of the London price range. My criticisms probably boil down to one particular member of staff. I think he fancied himself to be cool, or cutting edge, or down wivdakids, or something, but he just wasn't very good at his job as barman/waiter. He initially greeted us with an insincere over-familiar 'Hi guys'. We are a middle-aged decidedly untrendy woman and a man who is technically a senior citizen. It's a bit bizarre addressing us as if we are sallow youth. Perhaps revealing this man's lack of real life experience.

We were seated and he took our orders for tea, the drink. This consisted of him bringing over a cardboard box containing about ten cardboard boxes of teabags and hesitantly going through them. The women at the next table asked for a written list, which wasn't available! I chose Teapigs' Darjeeling Earl Grey.

The choice was various Teapigs and Twinings. Both companies do a wide variety of both straight and flavoured tea. If providing them just requires buying a few boxes of teabags, frankly, I would have tried harder. He plonked my teabag in a teacup and filled it with hot water from a teapot, which he left on my table gradually to lose heat. I was irritated. I had booked for Afternoon Tea. Being able to make a cup of tea wasn't too much to ask, was it? Later, I summoned another member of staff and requested the teabags be placed in the teapot and covered with boiling water. The women on the next table also endured the teabag-in-a cup before requesting the teabag in a pot method!

Later I decided to have a cocktail, and when he took my gin-based order he said "That's a good choice".

I suppressed the urge to ask for advice on what would have been a 'bad choice' or, indeed, why a cocktail bar would bother offering cocktails which are 'bad choices'. Or indeed, how could he possibly know it was a good choice for me, given that tastes vary, and what's good for me may be quite unpleasant for you and vice versa. 

He was basically a prat and not very bright, but I wasn't going to let that spoil the afternoon.

For contrast, we later moved on to a more traditional pub in Clapham and I decided to stay on the gin. The choice was Gordon's or nothing. There's nothing wrong with Gordon's, but this was supposedly 'trendy' Clapham, in 2013. The mixer choice was between Schweppes original tonic and Schweppes artificial sweetener tonic, neither of them pre-chilled and both served on ice-cubes that had been melting on the bar for at least half an hour.

Otherwise I was impressed by the afternoon tea. The sandwiches weren't exactly 'traditional', and were all the better for that. They were plentiful, well-stuffed, well-presented and in classic flavours. I liked the cherry tomatoes - succulent and full of flavour, not always guaranteed, especially not in December. The bread was fresh and 'proper', perhaps bought in from a decent bakery (and if so, the right thing to do).

We finished with a lovely variety of cakes. Again, I was impressed. I know some places offer quirky or themed cakes, as you will see in Part 3, but it's possible to offer something different from the well-tested formula without having an artist-in-residence. Adding fresh strawberries was a nice touch aesthetically and for the tastebuds. 

The photos illustrate that someone in the kitchen or in management knows what they are doing and has a clear vision of how they want to present a quality afternoon tea. But it is so important to ensure the staff know what they are doing.

Often, Afternoon Tea is more of an event than dinner - the women on the next table were celebrating a birthday and were dressed in eye-catching vintage finery - not my style and perhaps OTT for a pub on a Saturday afternoon but illustrating my point that people expect good service.

One dull January day, we recreated the afternoon tea experience at home. It's quite some work to do authentically. The great thing about eating out is the variety, without the waste. When this photo was taken, the table was only partly set with a 'shabby chic' mix of china and crockery acquired over the years. It made perfect sense to start with olives and feta. 

This was only a selection of the sandwiches; there was another load being prepared in the kitchen. The fairy cakes were easy enough to do - mix up the mixture, pour half into cake holders, add the chocolate to the remaining mixture, repeat, cook and dollop with icing sugar/water mix. I'd also knocked up some scones, out of shot on a cooling rack - see the posh jam and plastic carton of cream. We drank Darjeeling leaf tea straight out of the cupboard, and, much later in the day, we finished with a slice of eternal Christmas cake. If we had been entertaining we would have made more effort to introduce a wider range of cakes, but for the two of us, this was sufficient. To be honest, I was pretty stuffed after just sandwiches!

The story of Afternoon Tea, part 1

I consider myself an aficionado, or even a connoisseur of Afternoon Tea, but before last year I could count on the fingers of one hand the times I have sat down for the full afternoon tea experience. I've had plenty of cream teas but not so many Afternoon Teas.

The definitions of 'Tea' are quite clear. Tea is a word used in some parts of England to describe a meal that in other parts may be named dinner or supper. In my mind, dinner tends to the formal. Supper perhaps is eaten later, after an activity. Tea is what you have when you get home from work and want something quick and easy but nutritious and filling.

A Cream Tea is available in most tourist haunts and consists of scones, generally with clotted cream and jam, and, of course, tea, the drink. Afternoon Tea is very precisely sandwiches or perhaps other cold, finger-savouries, scones /jam/clotted cream, cakes, and, of course, tea. High Tea isn't just a way to make Afternoon Tea seem posh;  High Tea must include a dish that needs a knife and fork to eat. But not too fancy - Welsh Rarebit or scrambled eggs make an excellent High Tea first course.

Many places include 'champagne', or, at least, cheap sparkling wine, as an optional extra or as part of a deal. For some people, perhaps, part of the justification for eating Afternoon Tea is an excuse to drink cheap sparkling wine before sundown. But who needs an excuse? (and, let's be honest, a lot of the plonk that's sold as a lifestyle choice simply isn't up to the quality of less conspicuously fashionable still wine!). 

I indulged in Afternoon Tea three times last year, and, already twice this year, with another one staged at home, and yet another booked for a future date. The quality has varied, but, to be fair, broadly speaking in line with the price. 

The first occasion was when we went to the Kent coast overnight for the heatwave. I had spotted this quirky place near Broadstairs on Trip Advisor* and wrote it down in my notebook. Somehow the idea became fixed and it became a 'must-do', perhaps a mistake because we ended up leaving the beach far too early. In retrospect it would have been better to stay on the beach and await the break in the weather for an afternoon tea.

Having said that, it was lovely. The Botany Bay Tea Gardens are the front garden of someone's house, and, in essence, they open weekends and Bank Holidays between Easter and September. They have a wide menu - Afternoon Teas and Cream Teas, but also a decent range of lunch/snack items. Very appealing but perhaps not to the two tattooed Polish builders who scrutinised the menu and reeled away in disgust! (They don't have an alcohol licence).

  Chalk boards hung in the garden list what home made cakes are available. We had a choice of  7, and it seemed that another two had run out. We made a mistake in placing our order, and the man, presumably the proprietor, helpfully followed what we said - that is, that I don't eat meat. So he brought us double helpings of the vegetarian sandwiches. Unfortunately, Jimmy doesn't eat cucumber, so I ate just cucumber sandwiches and he ate just egg mayonnaise. But this was our fault, not the proprietor's, and we have learnt our lesson for subsequent outings.

Tea came in a pot. It was teabag tea, but good quality tea bags - I could tell by tasting. It came with a hot water pot, and the the teapot even came with an old-fashioned tea cosy. Very welcome and refreshing after several hours on the beach in the Heatwave.

China plates and cups that matched each other, but not the cake stand nor other tables' china. Some places distribute china entirely randomly, as if they're the remnants of family heirlooms. Of course it's not significant, but I like to make note!

The sandwiches were served on fresh non-processed bread. The scones were fresh and big. I had a delicate tasty lemon drizzle cake, and he had a decadent strawberry and cream affair. I could easily have gone back for more if I wasn't so stuffed! 

To summarise, a solidly good traditional afternoon tea at a reasonable price delivering everything it promised in lovely surroundings in a slightly surprising location.

Our next Afternoon Tea came at the end of a mini-break in the Lythe Hill hotel and spa. Like many hotels, on your last day you are expected to vacate your room by 11 am, but you still have use of the - excellent - leisure facilities until late in the afternoon. Early breakfast, check-out, relax a little, then the full swim, sauna, steam, jacuzzi, probably twice, interspersed with laying on the sun terrace.

And rounding off the day with Afternoon Tea. Also in the restaurant was a hen party, and an elderly woman was awaiting the arrival of the other guests for a friend's 80th. Down by the lake the staff were setting up for a wedding reception. Our new temporary friend went to investigate. My favourite phrase for several days was 'a veritable Miss Marple'.

The afternoon tea pretty well summed up Lythe Hill. I do so like the place and you can't really fault them in terms of getting things right and delivering a good standard. But there's a little niggle that some aspects are just a bit corporate or impersonal. Standard bland catering tableware; big name tea and jam albeit good quality big name jam, and decent enough tea. Sliced bread. I imagine the cakes were bought in, again albeit from carefully selected mass catering suppliers.

I am certain that head office would have been delighted that all the boxes were ticked, but there was a part of me that felt I could easily have assembled the same selection from an upmarket supermarket or even Tesco without a diminution in quality. Sticking precisely to a well-established formula, served in the impeccably sterile surroundings of the hotel bar.

* I have a blog post pending about the advantages and drawbacks of Trip Advisor.

 

A short trip to St Michael's Mount

We were staying in Marazion, almost opposite the causeway to St Michael's Mount. 

When we arrived in the town on our first day, we left the A30 at the roundabout headed due south, and turned left onto the seafront, to be confronted by what is undoubtedly a breathtaking view.

The next day we walked Eastwards, two days later Westwards. I was then officially bored of photos of St Michael's Mount. But, like Everest, it was there, and on a particularly gloomy day towards the end of the holiday, we walked across, and walked back again. Just to say we had been.

Neither of us has any interest in being charged to see the household artefacts of some non-descript family of the squirearchy class. Yes, your ancestors had money, and generally you're pretty circumspect about how they came about it, so we'll assume, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, that you came about it by exploiting or oppressing my ancestors or their local equivalents, or by being on the winning side of a power struggle (probably armed and deadly). So, I see no reason to admire you just because you're descended from such people. Quite the contrary.

We returned to town and lazed the rest of the day away until dinner!

River Ravensbourne Walk

You may have gathered from this blog that I love walking or cycling along the Wandle. You may also deduce that I feel one is in no position to judge something as 'outstanding' if you have nothing to compare i with.t

One mild but gloomy day in June I walked along another of London's less known rivers. Jubilee Line to Canary Wharf and Docklands Light Railway to Cutty Sark - the latter, a stretch of London Transport rail lines I had not previously been on. Quite an interesting ride - at times elevated - through Docklands and the Isle of Dogs. I tried to imagine Docklands when it was bustling with ships and cargo - but I failed.

It is possible to take a guided walk of the Creek at low tide - although the information here refers to last year.

We walked away from the obvious tourist attractions of Greenwich Park and crossed Deptford Creek at low tide. At the time, I felt disappointed. I'm not sure what I expected but the phrase that came to mind was 'gritty industrialisation', not always associated with 'Greenwich'.

After I returned home and reviewed my photos I was pleasantly surprised how some turned out. Not pretty, I'll admit, but ugly urbanscapes are more interesting than a bland flat rural idyll of trees.

 

There was a veritable gallery of urban art. I spotted a middle-aged woman (with bike) taking photos of these graffiti. I sauntered nonchalantly until she went - lest she thought I was copying her! Then I took several photos. Apparently, these works are quite famous. I'm not a fan of graffiti masquerading as art - in my opinion it serves to condone less inspired 'tagging' and further acts of vandalism - but I will make an exception for these.

I immediately loved this art installation. It would look awful in Tate Modern, but was entirely appropriate for this bleak post-industrial setting.

I was also fascinated by this flour mill,  operational for over a century. Pity there were no sons to hand the business on to (/lame joke)!

This illustrates the difference between (more or less) low water and possible high water - which seems more interesting now, after the already infamous winter of 2013/14, than it did last June. Comes with bonus Squashed Shopping Trolley.

I was not much taken with Deptford - where Deptford Creek becomes the River Ravensbourne (or, given the way the river flows, vice versa) so Brookmill Park was welcome. A good neighbourhood park, and the site of the Stephen Lawrence Centre. I'm sure all UK readers are familiar with Stephen Lawrence's history - or really ought to be. But for others, here's Wikipedia:

Stephen Lawrence (13 September 1974 – 22 April 1993) was a Black British man from Eltham, south east London, who was murdered in a racist attack while waiting for a bus on the evening of 22 April 1993. The case became a cause célèbre and one of the highest profile racial killings in UK history; its fallout included profound cultural changes to attitudes on racism and the police, and to the law and police practice, and the partial revocation of double jeopardy laws, before two of the perpetrators were convicted almost 20 years later in 2012.

The park is green, a pleasant contrast with the gritty urban landscape, and great for local youngsters. We saw some evidence of 'wild play' - makeshift dens, swinging ropes and so on. The DLR runs alongside.

 

(I think that second one is a failed attempt to photograph a heron)

 

The river leaves the park near Elverson Rd and and a footpath follows it down to Lewisham, but the scene is bleak.

 

We reached Lewisham, and thus began an even bleaker and more frustrating part of the walk. To start with, crossing the road was difficult and dangerous because of roadworks. No doubt essential, but the site was laid out with no consideration for pedestrians or other non-motorised road users.

 

We had to leave the river at this point; I think both the Ravensbourne and the Quaggy, a tributary, are supposed to cause as little inconvenience as possible to Lewisham town centre. To be honest, Lewisham Town Centre didn't sell itself to me.We failed to find anywhere that so much as served a cup of tea or coffee, just the most god-forsaken retail park imaginable, too downmarket even for my dear other half, and deserted of shoppers except for a handful of woebegone souls, and featuring the most dismal Mothercare one can imagine.

We glimpsed the river briefly, running beside possibly the ugliest tower block in all of South London.

   

The walk on the leaflet - which I now can't find - directed us down residential streets of no interest, except for this incongruous but eye-catching stained glass.

And we arrived, thirsty, in Ladywell. We saw an attractive and tempting chichi café, and would have gone in, but unfortunately, major roadworks were happening noisily outside.

Instead we walked to a pub called the Ladywell Tavern, which was a bit of a dive. This is what constituted a 'cup of tea'. No doubt legally within the Sale of Goods Act but a complete joke. Trying to be posher than their capabilities. A teabag in a mug would have been satisfactory, but what kind of idiot in England puts a teabag into a cup? Contempt for customers (at the price charged). The pub also serves food, even has a dining room. There was an unnecessarily descriptive notice in the Ladies' loos, enough to destroy anyone's appetite, and my companion said the Gents' were just dirty.

We walked to Ladywell station, but realised that any journey home would be via London Bridge. Instead, we caught a bus which seemed to take several days to get to Crystal Palace. Fortunately we found ourselves at the Café St Germain, an almost authentic French café-bistro. I say 'almost authentic' because they jolly well knew how to serve a gorgeous pot of tea. I also had a delightful meal. I forget what now, but I made a generalised positive statement on Twitter. I vowed to go back; as it happens, I haven't, but it's still there as a mental note!

If we had carried on walking, we could have followed the Ravensbourne all the way to Shortlands via Beckenham Place Park, or pehaps branched off along the River Pool almost to Penge.

The next week, we took a delightful cycle ride along the trusty Wandle!

I now have a photo album called Outer London. The distinction from 'London' is slightly arbitrary: photos of Greenwich Park would fall in the latter, despite being walking distance from Deptford Creek, but I think it broadly makes sense!

View Greenwich to Ladywell in a larger map

The enthralling nature of Deptford Creek: walking the riverbed from Walk Around London

Deptford Creek; low-tide walks from The Deptford Dame

London's Lesser Known Rivers - The Ravensbourne from London's Lost Rivers

Walking Deptford Creek from Sue Sinton Smith

Related articles

Up the Creek to Waitrose

New life for our lost urban rivers!

Visit to Deptford Creek

Walking West of St Paul's (part 2)

Part 1 is here

We turned into Ely Place, a curiosity. Although it is without question just a few paces north of Holborn Circus, on the border of City of London and Camden, it is also an exclave of Cambridgeshire. As this Telegraph article puts it:

One of London's best-kept secrets, Ely Place is a living anachronism from medieval times when the influential bishops were determined to remain in their Cambridgeshire diocese even while on ministerial missions in the capital

First stop was Ye Olde Mitre pub, dating from 1546, and one of the most hidden away pubs in London Cambridgeshire. So hidden away I failed miserably in getting a decent exterior shot. The interior one wasn't much better, but then there were several people inside the cosy bar. Several real ales, including many guest ales. Convivial atmosphere, too, and some light banter with some older men who seemed to be regulars. Proper banter, I mean, a laugh and a joke at inconsequential matters, not 'merciless bullying' which appears to be the current meaning of 'banter'.

 

We went for a wander round St Etheldreda's church. This is one of only two buildings in London dating from Edward I's reign (1272 - 1307) and is the second oldest Roman Catholic church in England, and one of the first to celebrate Mass after the Catholic Emancipation Act 1829.

As a side issue, Catholic Emancipation and previous Catholic oppression - and that of Non-Conformist Christians - lies at the very heart of Secularism, and makes nonsense the Catholic Church's criticisms of secularism.  Wikipedia's introduction to the Test Acts states:

The Test Acts were a series of English penal laws that served as a religious test for public office and imposed various civil disabilities on Roman Catholics and Nonconformists. The principle was that none but people professing the Established Church were eligible for public employment, and the severe penalties pronounced against recusants, whether Catholic or Nonconformist, were affirmations of this principle. In practice nonconformists were often exempted from some of these laws through the regular passage of Acts of Indemnity.

This is strong proof from history that religious freedoms are mostly attacked by religions. These freedoms increase the more a state embraces secularism. Religion is a private matter, or one to be shared with one's religious community. It shouldn't be imposed on the unwilling but must be protected right up to the point that it breaks other laws or imposes itself on the unwilling. That is why many Christians are secularists and all should be - other than those who demand special privileges and funding for their own specific group at the expense of all other religious groups and the majority of people who are of no religion or do not involve themself in religious festivities beyond rites of passages and high holidays. The National Secular Society has a website. Those who don't know history and demand special privileges for their particular flavour of religion are the greatest threat to Religious Freedom. I find it particularly galling that some Catholics in England want special privileges, ignoring or ignorant of how they predecessors suffered precisely for that reason.

I took several pictures inside the church and its crypt. It was bombed in May 1941 and the stained glass window dates from 1952.

 

 We walked to the end of Ely Place and into the magnificently named Bleeding Heart Yard before doubling back onto Hatton Garden and walking briskly through several stops on our journey. 

I took a picture of the 'Walkie Talkie' building, repeating a mistake I make often of concentrating on new sites that will be there for years and not capturing the old before they are demolished. This is the building with the reputation for melting bicycles and Jaguar cars.

 The few photos I took in Gresham College did not turn out right but I made a mental note that they provide free public lectures on academic matters covering a wide range of subjects, from eminent academics. Here's a list of their future events. Free events. 

We passed a statue of John Wilkes in a prominent place in Fetter Lane. He was a radical journalist and politician. 

We also passed Samuel Johnson's house and his curator's cottage, said to be the smallest building in the City of London. I suppose we could have gone in, but I'm not sure of the benefit of trailling round looking at furniture. He is known as poet, essayist, moralist, literary critic, biographer, editor and lexicographer, and most famous for his frequent visits to Streatham, so I'm not sure how looking at his furniture would have been enlightening. 

This part of the walk was more interesting for its twisty turns through a warren of back-streets you wouldn't notice if you were passing by on the way from one place to another - Fetter Lane is part of the A4, the Great West Road to Bristol.

 

The last point of interest was the remains of the crypt of Whitefriars Priory, just off Fleet Street. You can gaze on these ancient ruins from behind a glass screen.

 

Gazing at such ruins has limited interest, but it's still rather nice to be in a quiet place in the heart of the City of London, looking at something that's nearly nine hundred years old and is really quite secret,

But by then, we had had enough - but not too much - of walking, and found ourselves a pub serving food, The Harrow, which I wrote briefly about at the time. We caught a train from Blackfriars station to Loughborough Junction. Both the station and the railway line afforded some splendid views above London in 'the Golden Hour' (that precedes sunset) on a beautiful bright day in London.

View 5 Cheapside in a larger map

Cadgwith Cove

Described in both my guide books as 'idyllic', Cadgwith was our destination after Lizard Point.

We missed the main turn off and approached on very minor roads. Just outside the village was a sign saying that the slope was a 25% descent. Jimmy has very good clutch control!

We had to drive through the village and up another very steep road to reach the car park. Of course, if you drive up from a village to a car park, your next step is to walk down a steep hill to the village - and not think too much about the return walk!

He went to 'pay and display' and I took photographs of butterflies on flowers (or weeds!).

 The footpath to the beach lay between picturesque Thatched Cottages, and past a small church that was, basically, a tin hut.

    

We sat on a bench on a headland overlooking the beach. A fishing boat had just landed and people on the beach and seagulls were watching.

One man went far too close to the fishing boat in order to get that one photo he thinks will be special. 'Too close' because I think it's quite rude to assume that someone going about their everyday job necessarily wants to be the subject of a tourist close snapshot. It can be quite annoying, too, for someone who's working to have some fool getting in the way.

I was amused by the seagulls, waiting to pick up scraps of fish left by the fisherman. I thought that. being seagulls, they were supposed to catch their own fish ("you had one job", and all that).

  

I was amused, too, by a woman who was struggling to walk in flip-flops on the shingle beach. She wasn't old - maybe in her 30s - and she had to cling to her partner not only to walk on the shingles but even to get up the steps to her (presumably holiday let) beachside cottage. Do men find that level of patheticness attractive?

We had a wander down to the beach. It is lovely village, although ruined, to some extent, by being geared towards and tourists and full of them, but who am I to complain!

 

It was a day of glorious sunshine and quite some heat, but we had to depart earlier than I would have liked because we had another 6.30 dinner booking. I had rung up and asked for a 7.30 table but they said they couldn't fit us in. I assumed they would be full but it wasn't full even we left at about half eight, and, frankly, there was a distinct lack of atmosphere pretty much until we were onto the pudding. We were the only customers for the first half hour, nothing quite says 'pariah' like that

The restuarant was the Victoria Inn in Perranuthnoe, which we had visited the first week, too. In my diary I wrote "Can't fault it, except in tiny details". I wrote at length about the lack of atmosphere, and, I'm afraid, that's my abiding memory. The other faults were that they offer you bread before the meal but give the strong impression that you are strictly limited to one piece - and there is no butter knife separate from the starter knife.

I started with salmon gravadlax and smoked mackerel pate.

My main was Roast Plaice with minted peas and 'real' chips

Both were very good, if rather straightforward and not overly-exciting.

The highlight was Ginger cake, with an oomph of a ginger hit, and malt ice-cream. I've never had that flavour before and particularly enjoyed the chips of malted 'starchy stuff' (according to my diary!). Wine was a French Rosé made by a Cornishman in Provence.

 

Eat in Streatham

I moved to Streatham in 1991. I can't say it was a great place for eating, but then, probably, few places in Britain were in 1991. It's astonishing to realise how far Britain has come since then. I live in Brixton now, but very much on the border of Streatham, so I feel torn between the two towns. Streatham has never been great for eating and I don't feel even now that there are any stand-out restaurants. However, there are a lot of decent restaurants, places that serve good enough (or better) food conveniently close to home. And, to be fair, there are a good few I haven't tried.

Looking through my photographs I found several that don't merit a blogpost in themselves, but I realised I had sufficient to 'tell a story' about Streatham food.In late April we had taken a beautiful walk along the stunning River Wandle but had been curtailed by a typical April shower and, let's face it, my lack of stamina. We had taken shelter in a dodgy pub in Wallington where the locals barely concealed their hostility. There was another middle-aged couple in there, she was so middle-class she was wearing a sleeveless quilted jacket. She looked even more uneasy/uncomfortable than I felt.

So it was a relief to get back to Streatham Hill and into the much talked about Ilili. Jimmy thought it was over-rated, based on a Mixed Grill. I didn't quite see the point of going to a Middle Eastern restaurant and having a mixed grill. I didn't feel it was anything special, but its appeal is increased by being easy walking distance of home. Not that evening, though, given that we got completely soaked in a cloudburst in the time it took to get to the bus stop. We went back at Christmas and again just the other day. The food isn't fancy but it really packs a punch with flavours.

I had grilled King Prawns

In August was the Streatham Food Festival. The organisers had the brilliant idea of inviting local restaurants to participate in a Food Tour. We visited several. Some of them grasped the concept better than others. The idea was that for a price of say, £3-£5 you were treated to a small potion of their signature dish, the idea being that over the course of Friday evening and Saturday afternoon and evening you could taste from just about everywhere. This year's Food Festival is the first weekend in June.

We started at Bravi Ragazzi Pizza. I didn't photograph the small but tasty triangle of pizza we were served. I think we may have been the first food tourists there; later in the evening I saw on Twitter people getting larger portions. But I'm not angry - things happen, it was a bit 'play-it-by-ear'. 

Next stop was Pratts and Payne which proved to be the culinary highlight of the weekend, the most gorgeous goat's cheese and fig tart. Beautifully presented and exquisitely tasty, and just the right portion size for the concept.

We spent the rest of the evening in Nineteen. I like Nineteen. It does what it does extremely well. Except that it's usually completely hopeless for vegetarians. Jimmy isn't massively keen. I think it absolutely epitomises Streatham eating. Pretty decent, really quite good, ideal for residents of SW2 and SW16, but unexceptional and lacking the wow factor. However, the staff were warm and friendly - not artificial - and the (vegetarian) gnocchi I had was lovely, and again, just the right size.

The table decoration reflected the place, simple and elegant.

The cocktails seemed to slip down marvellously!

The next day we tried to start at Addommme Pizzeria and Trattoria. However, they didn't offer a sit-down for Food Festival, even at 4 o'clock on a Saturday. I was well annoyed at that and vowed never to go back, but that annoyance subsided. They were newly opened, the Festival Food tour was a new concept and why boycott a well-reviewed place so close to home!

Onto Troy Barbeque. I've been past the place so often and it never appealed but I liked what they were offering for the Festival. The waitress was really lovely and they gave us a packed plate. I had veggie Moussaka. Not really keeping with the Festival concept of 'small signature dish' and this meant I ended up being quite stuffed. But it would be churlish to complain about being served too much! We haven't actually been back, but it's definitely now on our list, and would have been our second choice after Ilili in our Emergency Christmas Eve Restaurant search.

We travelled all the way past central Streatham to the Manor Arms, now under new management. W have had some good meals there, but it deteriorated and my birthday lunch was just awful. Given the new management, we thought we would give it a go. That was a mistake. This was how I Tweeted it.

• Oh Manor Arms. What a spectacularly shit pub you've become, & so quickly
• Manor Arms, row of blokes on bar stools blocking access to the bar. Bad. Kids running round screaming. Bad.

• Manor Arms. Poor selection of ale. Bad. Fishcakes - lumps of potatoes. Bits of crabshell. Greasy. Bad.

• The main menu looks sad at Manor Arms. Trying to be a pricier Wetherspoons, but without 'Spoons flair.

• Just ridiculous to buy a successful business & basically remove the elements that made it successful. Good food & good ale.

I won't be going back anytime soon, if ever.

Our final stop was Taj Mahal. We and another party had some difficulty explaining to the waiting staff that we were there for the Food Festival. We had to talk them through their offer. And again, they piled on the poppadums and so on. I went for the vegetable curry, but left half of it. There was nothing wrong with it but it wasn't tasty enough to carry on eating. Yes, I was already quite full, but that often doesn't stop me eating.

Overall, despite the hicccups, I thought it was a brilliant idea, and I'm already looking forward to the 2014 Festival, first weekend in June. I would strongly urge the organisers to impress upon the restaurants about stand alone signature dishes, but I know that often people don't listen properly!

I haven't eaten out much anywhere since, except when I've been away, but one day In January I ate twice in Streatham. A decent stroll on Tooting Common was followed by good coffee and excellent ginger cake in Brooks & Gao. This is a definite contender for 'Things with Faces In'.

In the evening we went out to Addomme Pizzeria. Despite my annoyance in August, I thought it rather stupid to snub a place that consistently gets positive reviews and is less than a mile from home. 

I had a prawn and linguine dish which was fine. Again, in my view, fulfilling the usual Streatham criteria of being 'good enough or better' & worth going to because of proximity. This place is best known for its pizzas, so maybe I should have had a pizza. but I admit to being a total Philistine with pizza. I like them Deep Pan and full of unhealthy or unsuitable ingredients - I am that person who orders pineapple (and tinned sweetcorn) as an additional topping.

 

To conclude, Streatham food has improved beyond recognition in 20-odd years and there are plenty of decent places to serve the locals, but I'm not sure there's anywhere I would feel safe recommending to anyone to travel specially to savour!

Related articles

Food Festival Director Looks Back on Her Life, 1980s to Present

Eynsford & Lullingstone

This is a delightful part of Kent easily accessible by car from Dartford and South East London. It also has a railway station, served by First Capital Connect Trains via Elephant and Bromley South.

There is quite an array of tourist attractions for a village/parish I'd not heard of before I began browsing the web.

It was a lovely day in late April. After coffee in the village we started with a gentle stroll by the River Darent, which I hadn't heard of. The old London to Dover crossed this river at the town known as Dartford.

    

We followed the road round alongside the river 

 and stopped to take photos by an awe-inspiring viaduct, which rises to 75 feet across the valley and has 9 arches.

 We took the minor road to Eagle Heights and looked out across the valley.

and into a farm yard which housed a giant pig.

Eagle Heights is a large bird of prey centre with over 150 raptors. We had arrived in between flying times, so it wasn't worth our while to pay to go in, but I'm sure it must be a lot of fun.

The site which had inspired the day out was English Heritage's Lullingstone Roman Villa, which was sort of interesting but also a bit disappointing.

Interesting, because it is an actual Roman Villa - or remains of. It dates back to about 100 AD and it's possible to walk around and get a real sense of scale and lay out, with some fairly informative wall displays and some artefacts on display.

It wasn't exactly as I expected. I assumed it would be in the open air and it would be possible to scramble round the ruins. Of course I understand perfectly why English Heritage want it protected from the elements and not further damaged by clumsy tourists. I was just very disappointed by the lighting. I didn't understand why everything had to be bathed in various colours of artificial light. I'm prepared to accept a case for protection from the sunlight, or a case for muted electric lights, but the coloured lights were off-putting.

I also found it mildly irritating how much space was given over to making the place 'child-friendly'. I'm not opposed to historically informed child-oriented displays and explanations, or 'imagine you were a slave working in this villa'. Perhaps my opinion is distorted by the obligatory 'family' group that were there when we were.

We suspect it was a absentee Dad on his access day, taking his kids to this villa so that he could show off to the mother and his laddish friends what a great Dad he is. Three activities: running up and down the balconies (shouting); colouring things in (shouting); and dressing up in generic 'Days of Old' costumes (shouting). Other than this group I was the youngest person there. I bet the other adults 'appreciated' the out-of-control brats as much as we did!

It's almost like it's a crime to want to go anywhere and expect civilised constrained behaviour. I don't believe that the kids are benefiting more educationally from colouring things in and dressing up as a Plantagenet aristocrat than they would learn by actually looking at piles of old stones. If public bodies assume that today's children are stupid, uninquisitive and slow-learners it becomes self-fulfilling.

Anyway, because I went and took them, here are some photos of some Roman ruins.

       

 The Mosaic is impressive, especially considering its age. Hard to tell from this photo, but it's black and white, not green and pink.

 

The footpath from the Railway station takes one straight to the Roman Villa. It doesn't seem too far and other than a few yards near the station is entirely away from speeding vehicles. We had a pleasant stroll down a country lane, passing many people like us, wanting to take advantage of the sunshine.

We found ourselves at the gates to Lullingstone Castle - not really a castle, more a Manor House. I quite fancied a look round the 'World Garden'. The man on the gate explained that a tour of the house had just started and after the house tour would be the Garden Tour. So without really discussing it we committed to the house tour.

Regular readers might have noticed that I'm not keen on 'Stately Homes' masquerading as 'Heritage' pretending to be 'History'. There wasn't really a great deal of history mentioned, just a bit of showbiz gossip and complacency. They used to have silk farms that spun the silk for RAF parachutes and for Royal wedding dresses. Naturally, more emphasis given to the Royal connections than the potentially more interesting parachute history.

A detailed explanation of how the 'Compare the Meerkat' adverts were filmed there, and some smug boasting that the view will never be spoilt because it's a golf course and it's against Planning Rules to build on golf courses. I can't find a reference to prove or refute this but whichever you look at it it's disgusting.

Twice as much land in Britain -  an equal amount in England - is used for golf as for housing, golf a pastime open only to an elite rich in cash and time, with bigotry and small-minded snobbery running through it like a stick of rock and less useful than either productive farmland or ecologically vital woodlands and wetlands. And, frankly, who wants a view of a golf course! The people of the house were very pleasant, though.

Much more interesting was the World Garden and the excellent tour guide, Tom Hart-Dyke. I have to confess I hadn't heard of Tom, but I've subsequently seen him on TV and in the Press. The idea for the World Garden came about when Tom was held captive for 9 months by Colombian rebels. He's a fascinating man, a very interesting speaker (for over an hour!) on a subject he's passionate and knowledgable about in equal measure. Very likeable. I would strongly recommend a visit to the garden whether you're an expert, or, like me, just like visiting great, interesting gardens. He's not a scientist but, as a collector of rare species of plants, he works with organisations like Kew Gardens.

And I took lots of photos of plants!

        

We paused for delicious home-made cake and tea in the Marquee, and finished off with a stroll around the grounds and a look at the parish church.

  

 All in all, a lovely day out in a surprisingly beautiful part of Kent. I wish to return before long to explore Lullingstone Country Park which looks interesting. 

Mount Haven Marazion

When looking on Trip Advisor and other sites, The Mount Haven hotel ranked high among restaurants in Marazion. IIt has two AA rosettes, as does Blake's in Bournemouth, Wild Thyme Chipping Norton and Lythe Hill near Haslemere (not yet blogged), whereas Ben's in Marazion and the Victoria in Perranuthnoe has one rosette. The Trinity in Clapham has three rosettes as do several Michelin star restaurants. 

Admittedly, the day we visited the weather was dirty, lashing it down and blowing. But in the middle of September, when the child-free holiday, I would have thought Sunday lunch in a decent hotel would be a popular move. In retrospect, I should have been alerted by the over eager voice when I called after 11 for a 1pm table. I was rather expecting a 'no' or a grudging 'I think I can fit you in'.

When we arrived it was guesswork how to get in - round the back, on the seaview side, but we chose the wrong level. A couple sitting near the French windows directed us with pointing and body language.

We were welcomed, seated in the bar and presented with tatty-looking menus, an A4 cardboard cover divided longways, holding typed pages of the day's menu. Except, the waiter explained, the Scallop and mussel St Jacques had become Moules Mariniere; spinach would be replaced by tenderstem broccoli, and puddings, which included 'Eton Tidy' were actually chocolate torte and coffee creme brulee.

  I was pleased to escape the bar, reminscent of a funeral parlour, and be led to the restaurant. However, there were only three parties and we were sat at adjacent tables. One party left as we were served our starters. The other party wanted to talk. There was nothing obnoxious or unpleasant about them, but with no other diners and no background music, their conversation was intrusive. Conversely, this atmosphere made us clam up, not wanting our conversation to be overheard.

My food was fine, noting in my diary it was somewhere between adequate and good enough and Jimmy enjoyed his, appreciating his venison in particular. I'm not sure if it's the same dish that Gregg Wallace described as "a magical mystery tour of flavours" when the chef reached the semis of Masterchef: The Professionals.  However, he was disappointed that it was served with just a small amount of heavily reduced jus and no gravy. As were were leaving, one of the staff confided in me that they hadn't made enough sauce the previous day and chef went mad because it takes several hours to make. Staff wise, they were all very polite, but it was an odd combination of the over-enthusiastic, the over-sharing, and the over-nervous. 

I left the place bemused. There was nothing wrong with the place but there was no 'wow' factor in the food. It wasn't unpleasant but it wasn't really enjoyable, either, and it was the most disappointing meal of our holiday, failing to live up to 4.5 on Trip Advisor (with glowing praise) and the 2 AA rosettes.

According to their website, The Times says Quite possibly the most perfectly located hotel in the whole of Cornwall. CNN says One of the best 9 secret hotels in the world. Perhaps The Telegraph meant something by saying It's all about the view.

 

April Garden

It's nice from time to time to publish - unseasonable - photos of my garden. I say 'my garden'. None of the credit for any of the work should go to me! I'm writing this in the twilight of 28 February (after half five, such joy!) and there are already signs of spring (including green fly, I'm told!).

I must get out over the weekend and take some 'March garden' snaps. These are from late April last year, and include some 'almost duplicates'. I call it photography practice!

Walking West of St Paul's (Part 1)

 At Christmas and New Year I took more than two weeks off work - the obligatory days, and those in between. The plan was to take advantage of cold but bright weather, and enjoy several 'days out', close to home (because of early sunset). However, most of the holiday turned out to be wet and windy, or, at best, grey and miserable. It was as if there was just one bright day, and we had to use it. Unfortunately, there is a photographic disadvantage of low bright winter sun in heavily built up areas. So, I present a series of photographs more about what they depict than their photographic merit.

The map I followed is below. I only turned the app on when I emerged from St Paul's Underground, and I turned it off in The Harrow pub, not bothering to track my walking route to Blackfriars Station. Including one wrong turn, and a certain amount of walking around and around, it was a 3¼ miles or 5.2 kilometres.

The first site of interest was Postman's Park. This was busy, especially around the memorial wall. I have been there before (March 2003 - some time ago now!) - photos here, and press 'Previous', so I didn't linger.

The first stop of interest was the churchyard and ruins of Christ Church Greyfriars. Established in the 13th century, it was destroyed in the Great Fire (1666) and rebuilt as a 'Wren church'. Apart from the tower, it was largely destroyed in the Blitz. This Wikipedia page lists all Wren churches - 51, plus St Paul's -  and lists those a) Substantially rebuilt after the Blitz (9), b) Tower remaining (6), and demolished in the Blitz (3). The City of London summarises its history and that of the post-War garden. Supposedly, it is haunted by not one but five ghosts - can't beat a bit of ghosting nonsense. This website contains a recent proposal to convert Christ Church Greyfriars into

a memorial of national significance to commemorate the heroism and sacrifice of the citizens of London during the Second World War and in subsequent bombings.

Sounds an excellent idea, the only drawback would be cash - and inevitable wrangles over matters of detail (I'm sure Charles Windsor and Boris Johnson would both weigh in with ill-informed crackpot ideas). 

   

 En route to the Old Bailey, we passed the livery hall of the Cutler's Company. Formed in the 13th century as a guild for craftsmen who made and repaired knives, it is now mainly a charitable institution - including donating cutlery to hospices - and cutlery is very much a Sheffield-based industry

As was the case with the other trade guilds of the day, its function was to protect the interests of its members, to attend to their welfare, and to ensure that high standards of quality were maintained.

The Worshipful Company of Cutlers

 

 We were able to pass below the Old Bailey, but not go in - unlike two years ago when we were able to look around the Royal Court of Justice, when it had risen for recess. My companion said "Let's hope neither of us has a bomb". "Ssshhh," I said. As if either of us - or anyone else with an inch of common sense - is going to say "Oops, I brought my bomb out by mistake" as if it was an office pass or a packet of spice you forgot to take out of your rucksack. There are some people you can't take anywhere!

Next stop was St Sepulchre-without-Newgate, a church ("Without" signifies its place beyond the old city walls, in the county of Middlesex). Outside is a drinking fountain, the first installed by the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association, established in 1859: 

The objectives of the Association are to promote the provision of drinking water for people and animals in the United Kingdom and Overseas and the preservation of the Association’s archive materials, artefacts, drinking fountains, cattle troughs and other installations.

 It now builds drinking fountains in schools, restores existing fountains and provides wells and other water projects in developing countries - Wikipedia.

St Sepulchre's is nowadays known as the National Musicians' Church, and contains a Musician's chapel. Henry Wood learnt to play the organ here, and his ashes are buried here. In the Musicians' Chapel there are modern windows depicting Dame Nellie Melba and John Ireland, and above the altar the 'Magnificat' window in memory of Walter Carroll. On the south wall of the chapel is a case containing the Musicians' Book of Remembrance.

Another Wren church, it is now the largest in the City of London, and is the Bells of Old Bailey in Oranges and Lemons. St Sepulchre’s great bell tolled as condemned men passed from Newgate prison towards the gallows.On midnight of an execution day, St Sepulchre’s Bellman would pass by an underground passage to Newgate Prison and ring twelve double tolls to the prisoner on the Execution Bell, whilst reciting a rhymed reminder that the day of execution had come. The hand bell is now displayed under glass in the church, alongside the rhyme that was read to prisoners  - from the Parish website. 

In retrospect, it was a tactical mistake not to go inside and explore further. Ah well, another time!

We had a quick peak into Snow Hill Court behind the church, and walked down Snow Hill. This police sign is a relative rarity nowadays; this is on the site of the old Saracen's Head, where Wackford Squeers met Nicholas Nickleby. Read about Sarah Mountain, a 'formidable business woman'. Watercolour of the Inn.

 

 We passed a rather un down part of Smithfield Market, the last surviving wholesale market in Central London - for the sale of meat and poultry. There was a livestock market on the site 800 years ago, and Wikipedia has a long and detailed history. Last week, The Observer ran an article about it:

The battle to save Smithfield market

A controversial plan to turn one of London's finest Victorian markets into a £160m office and retail complex is the subject of a current public inquiry and the finely balanced rival claims of heritage and development

 BBC London says

A public inquiry ends this week into plans to redevelop a large section of Smithfield Market in Farringdon.

Some of the Victorian buildings have stood derelict for 30 years and a brand-new public piazza with restaurants and cafes is planned.

But campaigners say the inclusion of multistorey office blocks will destroy the market's heritage. A decision will be made in the Spring.

We reached Farringdon Street and I photographed Holborn Viaduct. I've always assumed it to be a railway bridge, but it seems that it carries the A40. I did once catch a train to Holborn Viaduct station, in 1981, and was told off by 17 year old cousin for mispronouncing it. It closed in 1990. 

From here, it was - surprisingly - only a short walk into Cambridgeshire, and a welcome stop in a extraordinary pub. But this blogpost is already long enough, so stay tuned for Part 2, a sneak preview of which is contained in the map below, which marks my exact route!

View 5 Cheapside in a larger map

Food un-porn

My earliest food photo is from November 2002. I am fairly sure this is Pakora, in a brilliant but short-lived Nepalese restaurant on a side street at the top of Brixton Hill. 

According to Wikipedia, Instagram was launched in October 2010. I am not a member of Instagram nor do  ever want to be. "No filter" scream people, even those who really ought to know better. Oh, wow! You took a photo without a filter. How innovative.

I didn't invent taking photos of food. I didn't even invent 'amateur blogger/photographer takes photo of food and publishes it online as part of an internet-based journal'. But nor did I copy anyone or jump on any bandwagon. Other photos at the time show that I was developing an interest in small objects. I think painters call it 'still life'. Again, not innovative.

Google 'Still Life' and the first hit under Images is Apples, Peaches, Pears and Grapes. Paul Cezanne 1880.

Another webpage says: 

The fruits and objects are readily identifiable, but they have no aroma, no sensual or tactile appeal ... They bear no relation to the colorful vegetables of Provence -- gorgeous red tomatoes, purple aubergines, and bright green courgettes. In his pursuit of the essence of art, Cézanne had to suppress earthly delights.

History of Art is not one of my strong points, but I can be fairly certain that Paul Cezanne was ridiculed for his still lifes of fruit.

I bought these mini pottery casserole dishes because they match my other Le Creuset kitchenware and because I get unnecessarily excited by scaled down objects. I made a lovely breakfast by soaking some smoked salmon in milk and chives, adding an egg, and baking. 

   

I watched the film Julie and Julia; it was entertaining and thought-provoking. A film about blogging. How tedious, how achingly zeitgeisty said some critics. Whatev. (A rare film that manages to feature a woman doing something other than angst over a man, whilst also acknowledging that women can actually combine 'thinking' and 'doing' with 'being in a relationship'. Heck, it was a film with the two main characters being women. That's noteworthy for Hollywood).

For a few moments I contemplated a similar exercise. Find a cook book and diligently work my way through, blogging each and every creation. I quickly rejected this. Some people may feel I'm a bit of an anorak but I'm not a completist. I don't need all records/books by any singer or author, and I don't feel compelled to walk/cycle the entirety of the South West Coast Path, the Capital Ring or the Wandle Trail. I'm quite poor at sticking at things. With leisure pursuits, what's the point of going on if it doesn't give you pleasure?

Last summer I discovered that goats cheese and figs are a blissful union. To be honest, it was only last summer I discovered figs - other than the dried sugared version that come in fig rolls. An oversight. Great recipe - hint, parboil the potatoes first! Photography wise, should I over-expose it or over-emphasise the yellows and beige? In any case, why make it look 3 dimensional when 2 dimensions are just fine! 

 

Photos 7048 and 7049. So mediocre I can't be bothered to give them meaningful titles.

On the other hand, this blog is supposed to be a snapshot of my life and snapshots from my life. I enjoy cooking, although I go through phases of not being bothered. Food can be so colourful but I don't think the world needs another set of recipes typed up by me, especially as I'm not a creative cook.

Beautiful colours but out of focus and blurry. Again, not getting the essential 3rd dimension!

I tend to stick to recipes, and even though I may substitute some ingredients, I don't go far off piste.  I mock recipe web sites where people leave comments such as 'This is a veggie recipe but we're not veggies so we took the veggies out and replaced them with meat" or "I added mushrooms sweetcorn and creme fraiche and left out the red wine aubergine and spices". On the other hand, I think it's fun to read other people's recipes and sometimes they inspire to cook a related dish from a different recipe.

There are some truly dreadful amateur food pictures on the internet. Most people cook food to eat it, and take a quick snapshot before it goes cold. Look at recipe books, magazine articles or websites for restaurants and you see something different. In most cases, the food was cooked specifically to be photographed.

There are tricks that some photographers use - coating food with inedible substances to make it shine, inserting wooden or plastic props to make it look three dimensional. Even those that don't use these tricks pick their lighting carefully. They rarely shoot in pokey home kitchens, and usually use professional photography lights and reflectors. Should amateurs use flash, or not? The results from professionals can be spectacular. From amateurs, less so!

Chocolate cake! Who can resist? Actually, this was so-so. I made the sponge chocolaty by adding cocoa, as I have been doing since childhood. But it didn't really taste of chocolate. Was the cocoa poor quality, or long past its best before date? Some recipes add melted chocolate, but most use cocoa. It was dispiriting. 

I did a few things right in these photos - capturing the three dimensions, and showing the inside, a casually carefully placed cake slice to imply action. But, again, the colours aren't right, the framing and placement isn't right, and I really should have made an effort to wipe the crumbs off the plate.

For my final dish I tried something different. Basically, putting together a dish from scratch. In my Uni hall of residence I loved chef's bulgar wheat and walnut chilli, and made it myself (from my head) occasionally over several ensuing years. I photographed several stages, with the intention of blogging "Hey, look, smug, my recipe, yeah, cool"

Can't really go wrong with the method.

Saute onions and garlic, add stock, carrots, peppers, chillis, and reduce it down.

 

Add kidney beans and walnuts. Add bulgar wheat and paprika.

 

Cook until it resembles an unappetising sludge, and add a tin of tomatoes to try and inject some colour.

 

I divided it into six portions to freeze individually. When I pour them out of the bag it looks disgusting. It has that slightly noxious odour characteristic of bulgar wheat and couscous. Heat it up, stir it around and you have the a comforting and filling meal, packed full of flavour, incredibly nutritious and just lovely. But photos cannot convey that hug-in-a-bowl sensation. I probably used too much bulgar wheat. As with couscous, I underestimate its potential to absorb liquid and swell up.

Perhaps the next time I photograph something I cook I shall pay better attention to lighting, placement/framing and generally how to 'style' a dish. But never to the detriment of eating it.

Lizard Point

Lizard Point is the southernmost point of mainland Great Britain and according to both my guide books is as Land's End should be.

We were very lucky with the weather. Gloomy when we set off, bright for the journey, heavy shower when we stepped out of the car, and bright again by the time we had finished coffee, and increasingly sunny and warm throughout the rest of the day.

It isn't possible to drive to the Point, so the Village Green is given over to parking. A shame for the Village Green but great for small independent businesses and a pleasant stroll down to the sea. 

I don't think we walked the right way to the Coastal Path. I followed signs, and it started off okay, along a road lined with houses on one side and a field and views on the other. I was convinced I saw something that appeared to be a reptile, a lizard perhaps, but it ran under a car before I could photograph it. The Lizard peninsular has no connection to lizards or any other type of reptiles. The dominant geology is Serpentinite rocks, which has no connection to snakes, but derives from the metamorphic process that formed them. 

At a junction, we had to make a decision and I chose 'Bridlepath'. This got us to the Coastal Path, but I could not imagine taking a horse down there. Narrow, a hedgerow rich with insects - butterflies and dragonflies rather than wasps, thankfully - steep, and uneven underfoot.Worth it for the view, though!

We reached a small bend in the Coastal Path overlooking a rocky cove. At the time I wrote "I have come to the conclusion that you simply can't have too many photos of waves breaking against rocks", but, after I had edited all my holiday photos, I revised this opinion!

   

We paused at a viewpoint from where the previous occupants had spotted a  seal, but Jimmy hates seals. This stems from our 2003 Scotland holiday when we went on not one but two boat trips that included close-ups of seal colonies that stunk to high heaven!

The coastal path took us above the disused and rotting lifeboat station. This closed in 1961 and was relocated to a less rocky part of the coast.

 

 Wikipedia article on the various Lizard Lifeboat Stations.

There is a board commemorating the wreck of the SS Suevic in March 1907. This resulted in the largest rescue in the RNLI's history - over 500 people rescued, with no loss of life. The Independent published an article to mark the anniversary:

 the captain of the Suevic who conducted the evacuation while calmly smoking his cigar, not once letting the ash fall to the ground

We stopped off at the Wave Crest café, a little gem, serving Teapigs in a pot and a selection of home-baked cakes: I had a tasty fresh slice of almond and cherry cake.

Around the corner was the actual Lizard Point and suddenly dozens if not hundreds of people. Previously we had met relatively few people, all with sensible shoes, sensible cameras, sensible clothes. But at the epicentre of the tourist spot are people who make you wonder why they're their. Shoes more suitable for trudging round shopping precincts or hanging out in nightclubs. Possibly only stepping out of the car to take an Applephone snap and tick somewhere else off the list.

Of course one shouldn't judge - every individual's circumstances are different and private. For example, I saw a woman in the car park, struggling to walk. She was about my age and I would guess that she suffered from some arthritic or rheumatic disorder. I noticed that she wore fashion court shoes. Albeit flat, but with no cushioning and they appeared to be too tight for her feet. I often have problems walking, and have found that wearing solid supportive cushioned walking boots make a massive difference. I often find a walking pole helps, too. So I find examples such as this woman frustrating and I have to resist the urge to offer advice. My comments from sadness not from anger or judgementalism.

We walked to the Lighthouse but didn't go in. It was such a gloriously hot day it seemed a pity to waste it. 

 

 
I concluded there are few experiences that beat a clifftop walk in bright sunshine, especially when the sun is warm but not hot. I guess some people are put off by imagining that they have walk 20 miles or more and dress head-to-toe in serious walking attire. But I have fairly limited mobility, and find that as long as I have sturdy shoes and sensible street clothes, I do just fine. I contrast my high spirits, my serotonin and adrenaline hit, with the bored, gloomy or puzzled faces of those that venture only a few yards from the car park. Ruth, who is walking round the entire coast of the UK, has remarked on how few people venture more than a hundred yards from the car park and I would agree; as a GP I'm sure she has a greater insight - and frustration  - than I do about the benefits these people are missing out on!

Lizard to Predannack Head - from Ruth's Coastal Walk

Kynance Cove to Lizard Point and An apology, and a beautiful Lizard Point sunset- from What's Wild in Cornwall

Cornwall - Lizard point from Discombob's Blog

Cornwall: walking the Lizard peninsula - from the Telegraph Travel (not overtly stated but appears to be a 'paid-for' trip)

It's changed since we were there.

Most southerly cove in Britain reopens to public at Lizard Point from West Briton

I suspect most of the coast of South and South Western England has changed since I visited (I was in Bournemouth in early February; there was rockfall just two weeks later  (watch video)

Sydenham Hill Woods

We went here almost, perhaps entirely, by accident. One of those days when you drive around a little aimlessly, so unsure where you're going that you end up having to pay the toll on College Road Dulwich. 

On Crescent Wood Road, we saw several cars parked, and various people heading to an open gate outside which was a sign for the Green Chain. Seemed silly not to explore!

Immediately we descended a long staircase which brought us into the woods and almost immediately onto the path of an old railway line. This was the Crystal Palace and South London Junction Railway which opened in 1865. The last service was in 1954 and the track was lifted in 1956. Along with neighbouring Dulwich Wood, this is the largest part of the ancient Great North Wood. It is managed by the London Wildlife Trust. The disused tunnel is now a roost for bats.

We visited in mid-April last year. The previous months had been exceptionally wet. A key feature of many of our Spring walks - and ensuing blogposts - was the considerable amount of mud and standing water. Not so much standing water here, but certainly lots of mud. I was glad I was wearing my walking boots; they needed a good scrub down later. I would guess it will be equally - if not more - muddy for the foreseeable future

I'm not sure how far we walked because although I set 'My Tracks' app on my phone, I forgot to turn it off when we got back in the car, so the stats told me we covered 8 miles. Google suggests that it's 4 miles from home, but because of traffic congestion we didn't drive the most direct route. So the walk wasn't notable for its length although really quite strenuous. We completely lost our bearings and wandered around aimlessly and in circles. It turned out we had crossed to the far side of Dulwich Wood, and ended up having to ask directions from a dog walker. Dogs are not allowed in Sydenham Hill Wood during Spring, so I should have sussed out we were in a different wood!

We have been meaning to go back several times but haven't yet. It was a strange and eerie place to visit, like a sunken wood in a secret valley. It is clearly teeming with wildlife, all sorts of trees and woodland plants, and nesting boxes. According to Wikipedia: 

it is home to over 200 species of trees and flowering plants. A multitude of fungi, rare insects, birds and elusive woodland mammals including the Wood mouse] are also present.

I increasingly find it frustrating that not only do I rarely know one species of tree or bird from another but I also rarely even see birds that are supposed to be in places. I now have apps on my phone to identify birds and trees, but, as with flowers, you need a broad idea of what they might be, or resemble, in order to narrow them down. Besides, when out walking, who wants to spend the entire time consulting phone apps. Surely the point is exercise and fresh air - the 'walk' bit - and an open almost passive awareness of the surroundings, seeing it and absorbing it, rather than actively pursuing sights of specific objects!

A couple of weeks after we visited the BBC published this narrated Slide Show, just over four minutes

 

View Larger Map

Wikipedia Page

LB Southwark page

Wildlife Trusts

Sydenham Hill Woods from Transpontine blog

Sydenham Hill Wood and Folly from thelondonphile blog

Thames Tributary Effra -Sydenham Hill from Edith's Streets

The mysteries of the night wood remain from Daniel Greenwood