Day 5: Down the bunker with Winston Churchill

 Our neighbourhood buzzard/vulture began his pre-dawn squarking at 4am today and so we were up and about early, as usual.  I hope he finds love soon and will piss off somewhere else to build a nest.

This morning we visited Winston's Churchill's war offices under Whitehall. It was only coincidence that it happened to be Anzac Day, which is known here as the Battle of Gallipoli and has much less significance than in Australia. That was actually a relief after all the over-egged sentiment and faux patriotism in the Australian build-up to the centenary commemoration, or 'celebration' as some commentators of little brain would have it.  No crass merchandise for sale here either - last week at home I saw "Camp Gallipoli" sweat shirts in Target.  Nothing like making a buck out of a tragic and monumental bloodbath. 

We caught the train to Green Park where, with my slightly                                 

gammy leg and occasional geriatric vertigo, I was much daunted by these escalators up to street level. I felt I was ascending the Matterhorn without a safety harness. Ditto coming down the escalator some hours later.  I watched with envy and fascination as sprightly young things (with people to see and places to be) took the steps three at a time while I gripped the handrails, gritted my teeth and hoped it would all soon be over. What a wimp.










But moving on, Churchill's War Rooms were fascinating -
a huge but claustrophobic labyrinth of underground rooms that housed a large number of both military and civilian staff who worked incredibly long hours for the duration of the war.  They often stayed overnight for months on end, not seeing daylight for the duration. I suspect the female clerical staff were the most put-upon. They worked as long and as hard as anyone else but were paid poorly and shared a dungeon-like dormitory down yet another level at night. Churchill and the military and civilian big wheels had their own rooms but only Churchill had a proper flushing dunny.  And he at least was about and about - his support staff were mostly not so lucky.

When we came out from the War Rooms,
we encountered this London bobby and his automatic         

rifle. Not sure if the monument behind him is
clear, but it commemorates (or celebrates as the Murdoch press might have it) the 2002 Bali bombings.  We think he was there because a march was underway up the road for the centenary of the Battle of Gallipoli.  Also, the Queen was out and about.

We then tried to go another 100 metres along the walkway so we could get a pic of Downing Street but a couple of other bobbies, fortunately not waving machine guns, said nup, it was not going to happen.  So no pic of 10 Downing St.  Ah well. We've all seen it on the telly.




   

                                                                              But we did see a bit of pomp and pageantry, such as these chaps on the left. And the reception person at the War Rooms told us as we were leaving that we had "just missed the Queen outside". 

So it goes without saying that we did not see her passing by.  






The next highlight of the day was a Mr Whippy soft serve ice cream cone with half a Cadbury Flake in it. (2 pounds.) Delicious!  And now over to the Air Commodore (Rtd). 

Yes, it was indeed a day for pomp and ceremony.  Quite unexpected for us in the sense that our destination (the Churchill war rooms) just happens to be in the epicentre of pageantry London-style. Here's a view down the mall towards Buckingham Place.

 

 

No, we didn't do the palace tour, unlike the hordes of tourists from Zagreb, Lodz and Nantes, who are shown here in all their glory (sort of).  By the way, the other reason for all the excitement in this part of London today is that the London marathon is tomorrow and the finish is here (I think).  Anyway, every OB van in Britain is already parked there, so something important must be happening soon.

 

From here on, the day turned decidedly down market, in that we headed for the Oxford Street shoppers' mecca, in search of a satnav, so as not to get lost in the wilds of Shropshire like last time.  You wouldn't think it would be that difficult, but let's just say it took about an hour of tramping Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road (again mingling with half the population of mainland Europe, almost all of whom were seemingly born with a Gauloise in their mouths).  Anyway, persistence eventually paid off, and we now have a satnav, although I can't tell you if it works, because you have to go online to register in order to receive your free instructions.  Talk about progress - you used to buy a product and get instructions inside the box, now you have to get them from the net.  But it's OK, because it's free.  Once you've paid your 69.99 pounds that is. 

 

Tomorrow I might even brace myself and try to download the instructions. Wish me luck.

Day 4 and a half: An evening with Jack the Rip-Off

Geoff reckons that title is a bit harsh and he's quite right but even so, it's not a bad play on words I reckon, so it's staying.  Overall we gave our Jack the Ripper tour a 6 out of 10 rating - slightly disappointing but occasionally informative.

We caught the train to Aldgate in the East End, and met up with the tour guide there. It was just a spit around the corner to Geoff's rabbi 6th great-grandfather's synagogue, Bevis Marks, built in 1701,where we paid homage on our last visit. (Geoff has never felt the calling himself).


Still on matters ecclesiastic, this church, at the veritable

epicentre of Aldgate, is perplexingly called "St Boltoph without Aldgate" - the sign may be more legible if enlarged - and is yet another example of the delightful quirky pomminess I love (she said, just a tad condescendingly).










               

We we're alarmed when the numbers awaiting walking tours swelled to what seemed like a couple of hundred, but there were several different tours by different operators leaving at much the same time.  Unfortunately ours was by far the biggest, with around 60 people all straggling along
behind the guy in the bowler hat in the centre lower half of this pic on the right. It was far too many people for a consummate Jack the Ripper experience and the competing noise of passing traffic and Friday night pub revellers made it difficult for him to be heard with so many people in the group. 

The point of this pic of Christchurch Spitalfield is that it's a 'white chapel' and that is why the whole area is known as Whitechapel. I never knew that! 




Another disappointing aspect is that, because there were so many of us tramping around the back streets of Whitechapel, we were unable for safety reasons to stop at many actual sites that were part of the Jack the Ripper story.  Mostly we were told to look back 100 metres, to the spot where, for example, Catherine Eddowes was last seen talking with a man in a dark suit and hat a few hours before she was found dead in some other spot that we never actually saw.  Also, very little of Whitechapel looks now like it did then. It still seems very down at heel but is mostly warehouses and Bangladeshi small businesses so it was hard to imagine the atmosphere of terror that pervaded the area over the period of Jack's rampage.

Our tour guide was very good, when we could hear him. But we did feel afterwards that we should have opted for a more comprehensive East End walking tour, which would have had smaller numbers and would have visited a range of interesting historical sites in the area. Instead we chose cheap thrills - not dissimilar to choosing to read a Murdoch publication instead of The Guardian. We were a tad ashamed of ourselves. 

Off to buy a Sat Nav shortly for our tour of the provinces next week.  The lack of a Sat Nav caused some discord in our usually harmonious relationship last time we were in visited.  We will have that covered this time.

More later today!  A xx

Day 4: Elephants, Castles, Turnips and Staffies....

Another early morning wake-up call (4.45am) from our neighbourhood songbird, who we have downgraded from nightingale/lark to starling/Indian myna. 

This morning we caught the train to Elephant and Castle, then walked to the Imperial War Museum. It's quite a stately building so this... um...monument in pride of place out the front was a tad puzzling:

It's a chunk of the Berlin Wall (from near the Brandenburg Gate) that an acclaimed graffiti artiste (known as "Indiano") was commissioned to daub with his spray can and perhaps a paintbrush.(Jeez. Why? Was my first thought.) It even has a bronze plaque applauding Indiano for his artistic genius. "Change your life"?? About as profound as "Change your underpants". Pffft.

But otherwise the War Museum was most impressive and often very moving. A whole floor was devoted to the Holocaust.  It was very heavy going and we were glad to get out of that particular gallery. Another one featured the lives of one particular London family during WW2 and how they coped with regular bombing raids, rationing, sons who were soldiers etc.





There were also Exocet missiles and
other big destructive bomby things as well
as a gallery of assorted planes.  There was also a gallery devoted entirely to Victoria Cross and George Cross medal awardees, which included their actual medals. 





After the IWM, we wandered up the road and round the corner to Borough Market hoping for a leisurely lunch in this acclaimed foody paradise. But every man and his dog was there, including the entire populations of Paris, Berlin and Krakow.  It was Sardine City and while the food looked great, who wants to stand in a queue for 20 mins and then eat standing up? Well quite a lot of people obviously, as that is what most were doing.

We gave up and decided to look elsewhere for a                            

sanger but on the way out were startled to see that the humble turnip is so revered in this neck of the woods that it has its very own aisle at the Borough Markets. I have never been excited by turnips. They are my least favourite vegetable - I am certain a turnip has not passed my lips since about 1964.  

We found a pub in Borough High St, the unimaginatively
named Bunch of Grapes, and climbed their ancient,
ricketty staircase to repose in their bistro for lunch.  I had a chicken sambo while Geoff had grilled haloumi and blood orange salad.  Even so, they still brought us a bottle of HP sauce.  Bless!

Directly out the window behind Geoff in this pic is the stupendously hideous Shard - London's ugliest high-rise building, and so unsympathetic to its landscape.  And they have the nerve to charge people 25 quid if they want to go to the top and admire the view.  Well the view would be good, of course. It doesn't have the vommy Shard in it.

After the Bunch of Grapes, Geoffy insisted we seek out a pub called The George, a 17th century carriage house.  It was lovely.

I met a delightful Staffy there called Bruno.  You

may need your binoculars to see him (and me) in this pic on the right. The George is the white building, built in 1677 but a pub of the same name has been there since the 1500s. The signage says both Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare were regulars. But not at the same time presumably.


Tonight we're off on a Jack the Ripper walking tour. Geoff loves pubs and gory stuff.  It's now his turn to say a few words.  Over to you, handsome.

A couple of notes about the libations and ambience.  The George is quite magnificent and I'd be quite happy to drink most of anything there.  But amazingly, I had an IPA called Goose Island, which mine host told me was from Chicago!  They did advertise 'beers of the world', which included the inevitable Fosters and Stella.  My impression is that the George fully exploits its rightful status as a London institution of great historic provenance, and well worth a visit.  But London being the mecca that it is for drinking experiences, it certainly doesn't have a monopoly.  By the way, my drink of choice at the other pub was a Pale Ale from the Greenwich Meantime brewery. 

The Borough Market is obviously part of old London, but has been very much gentrified.  As an example, look no further than the specialty meats stall that included Zebra burger.  Stupendously crowded, but part of what makes London great.  As Anne says, the Borough High Street is congestion city.  In fact at this time of year most of London is.  I still marvel at the way public transport gets huge numbers of people around so efficiently.  It's not meant for luxury or even comfort, but by god it works.  Australia, take note and hang your head in shame.

Bid-ee, bid-ee, bid-ee that's all folks!  Till next time, A & G xx

Day 3: Hangin with the homeys in Bloomsbury

What a glorious spring day! Last night we decontaminated ourselves and slept the sleep of the dead for oh, a good three or four hours until woken by the cheerful but never-ending trillings of a nearby nightingale or lark at 4.45am. Geoff reached for his sawn-off shotty but then realised he hadn't packed it. So we were up and about bright and early.

I promise this is my last story about the flight over (did I mention we came business class?).  Yesterday morning shortly after departure from Guangzhou and following our inedible breakfast, I decided to turn my seat into a bed and have a nap.  Geoff said that he would stay upright for the time being.  But our very attentive steward had other ideas and suddenly started reclining Geoff's seat while Geoff protested (in vain) that no, he wasn't ready for bed yet. The steward ignored him and almost held him down as the seat became a bed, then removed a doona from its wrapping and tucked Geoff in.  Fortunately he stopped short of kissing him goodnight.  We're not sure why Geoff received this special treatment. Other passengers looked on with bemused fascination. I was chortling so long and hard that there was no danger of me nodding off, so I reconfigured my bed to a seat while Geoff wondered what might be a polite period of time to pass before he too could resume sitting, rather than lying horizontal and feigning sleep.

We have solved our Wi Fi problem. It transpires that Geoff's laptop recalls the password from the last time we were here and it needed to be deleted from some obscure 'properties' file before the new one could be keyed. We feel much better now, if slightly sheepish and bewildered by technology.

Our first port of call after our chores with laptops, phone shops and supermarkets this morning was a visit to the Wellcome Collection around the corner in Euston Rd. Wellcome was a wealthy pharmacist and entrepreneur who died in the 1930s. Although housed in quite a modern building, the collection was a strange sort of experience - it had artifacts like 16th century obstetric forceps and shrunken heads, as well as exhibitions relating to forensic medicine and sexology.  It was a bit bewildering - we couldn't figure out how it all hung together. Perhaps I should have read the introductory pamphlet.  But the toilets were very clean and that is always a plus in my book.  

Next stop, the British Library, also in Bloomsbury. And look. There I am!

The building itself is ugly as sin but oh, the Treasures Room was simply magnificent.  You could spend days in there, utterly captivated. We saw the handwritten lyrics of "A Hard Day's Night" that John Lennon wrote on the back of his son Julian's 1st birthday card (the inconsiderate bastard!). Music scores written by Handl, Gluck and Brahms.  An original Gutenberg bible. A 15th century copy of Aesop's Fables. A letter written by Sir Thomas More to his daughter when imprisoned and awaiting execution for refusing to recognise Henry VIII's marriage to Anne Boleyn. Heaps of other fabulous stuff. But my favourite document was the deathbed Will of Prince Aethelstan the Atheling, eldest son (and therefore prospective king) of the fabulously named Ethelred the Unready.  Aethelstan died in 1016, predeceasing his father and so never became king. But he was a generous soul and bequeathed much of his property to Ethelweard the Stammerer and Godwine the Driveller.  One of the items up for grabs in his estate was a  sword that once belonged to Offa, King of Mercia in the AD 600s.. Those who read our previous blog might recall our acquaintance with Offa, whose legendary dyke along the Welsh border proved elusive despite our efforts to find it.

The man of the house here ... To show  off today's balmy weather, here is half the population of the Bloomsbury district enjoying the sunshine in Russell Square, with the gothic-style Hotel Russell in the background.

The last time they can remember spring weather like this was before most of them were born. 

 

From the British Library we made a return visit to the British Museum, on the way encountering the St Pancras Hotel, which for the architecturally minded of you (surely there must be somebody) will hopefully prove pretty damned impressive.

 

 

 

The question I have about the British Museum (in fact pretty much all their cultural institutions) is: how come they've got the best of everything?  One answer might lie in the explanation about an ancient artefact to the effect that it was 'found' in Rome in the 16th century, and subsequently 'acquired' by Sir Reginald Bartley Crump of Worthington on Fotheringale and then found its way into the British Museum.  Nice work if you can get it, and reminiscent of the manner of their acquisition of the Parthenon (otherwise Elgin) Marbles, one of their biggest attractions.  Anyway, here are a couple of views of the Museum's splendour:

 

 



... which show a very small number of the teeming multitudes of today's patrons (none of whom seemed to be British:

 

 



And to remind us of the birthplace of our current beloved leader, here's the accompanying explanation for an exhibit devoted just to him: it references a 15th century gold ring that evokes St Anthony Abbott as a protection against the plague. Conservatives eh? Always so easily duped. 

 

Till tomorrow, grasshoppers!

Day 2 and a half: We're here! Thank Dog!

The past 24 hours have seemed like an eternity. But we are finally here in our digs at Endsleigh Court, London, WC1. Halle-effin-lujah! 

A few observations about our 'China Southern airline experience'. We would definitely fly with them again because for business class fares they are cheap as chips compared with more mainstream airlines. And that means flat beds!  Priority boarding! Priority customs and immigration processing!  Just like Qantas and the other big players offer!  Also their cabin crews on both legs of our journey were exceptionally polite and eager to please.  To a western palate though their food is mostly terrible.  And after yesterday's five course pig-out at 11pm (which seems like a contradiction, I know) today we were served an inedible breakfast optimistically called 'Spanish scrambled eggs' at 11am just after leaving Guangzhou, and were then starved until 7pm (Guangzhou time) when we were bombarded with five courses of varying edibility.  This was just an hour before we touched down at Heathrow.

But yep, I'd fly with 'em again. Those fabulous flat beds. And you can have your feet up for the whole flight. Their movie and TV options are really shite for an English speaking audience that is not into rootin', tootin' and shootin', so a good book or some other sort of entertainment is a must.  But apart from that and the food, they are fabulous. We were s-o-o-o comfy, whether full or famished.  And as Geoffy and I agreed, we'd rather be hungry and comfortable than full and trussed up in Economy for the 20 + hours it takes to get to the friggin UK that we love so much. Doonas, pillows, proper crockery and cutlery, lovely crew - creditable work, China Southern. Perhaps a little more effort with meals, meal times and your English language entertainment.

I would normally hand over to Geoffy at this point but he is so enraged, so incandescent with rage about the effin failings of this dump of a bumhole of an apartment complex that he is incapable of communicating in any meaningful way. He promises to do so tomorrow.  (I do agree with him though - the promised wifi doesn't work and Idiot Boy in reception was no help at all. We ended up spending 35 pounds on a dongle.  In the kitchen we have 7 slotted spoons but no saucepan lids or even a modest baking dish for my quick and easy veg biryani, and the dunny needs two quick jabs and then a muscular thump before it will flush properly.)  Aside from that, the phone sim that came with our travel insurance cover doesn't work and now the camera is being a complete and utter bastard and won't take pics. Hence, no pictures in this post.  Also, neither of us has slept or showered since early Tuesday morning Sydney time and we have only brushed our teeth once in that time. I am sure we will both feel better when these health and hygiene shortcomings are remedied and that will be imminently. Signing off at 9.55pm Wednesday, London time.  xxx



   

Day 2 Busted flat in Guangzhou, waitin' for a plane...

I'm actually drafting this in the (boast brag) Business Class lounge in Guangzhou where we have several hours to kill.  Not quite as charming as its Sydney counterpart and the alleged free WiFi only extends to email, not internet. So I’m drafting now for later publication.  Our flight to Guangzhou left Sydney around 10.30 pm and we assumed that we’d be offered a cup of tea and a biscuit before settling down in our completely flat beds (ahhhh…) for a few hours kip. This is why we stuffed our faces in the Skylounge in Sydney.  Big mistake! We were served a five course meal on boarding which was mostly quite edible so of course, we ate it. Although we did baulk at the ice cream and crème brulee. “No more!” we pleaded.  I embarrassed myself by tucking my tray tablecloth into my shirt as a napkin.  The very attentive steward snatched it away and put it on the tray table and then handed me an actual damask napkin (you know, to prevent spills on me flanno shirt) with only the barest hint of condescension.

It was bliss to stretch my long willowy frame* out on a flat bed when I have only ever experienced the discomfort of cattle class.  I didn’t sleep but it was still a huge improvement.  Well worth the expense, plus priority boarding and customs clearance!  And now a word from Mr Geoffy:
 

Me, I’m just back from "the exit of flight cancellations". 

 

I’m sworn to secrecy about what goes on down there, this being the Peoples’ Republic of China & all, but if you think about platform 9&3/4 in Harry Potter you’re on the right track.  So to speak. I can but agree that it feels like we’ve done nothing but eat and drink for about 12 hours solid, although I did draw the line at the dim sum and congee breakfast.  Most of it anyway.  And I’m off the demon drink for the next several hours, although the tosspots sitting behind us are downing beer and wine with gay abandon (it being 7.30am in Guangzhou) and the more I see of them the more my resolve evaporates.  Might just wander back to the exit of flight cancellations in the interests of my health.

Next stop London!

*author is occasionally prone to flights of fancy

Stardate 2015-04-21 Sydney Airport: The Skylounge

Well, what a l-o-n-g flight from Canberra to Sydney - a flight that normally takes 40 mins or less actually took an hour.  I am sure we detoured via Dubbo and Cootamundra before finally getting the all-clear to land.  I did think Geoff might be summoned to the cockpit to lend a hand, being ex-Airforce, but he said he doubted there was much call for a lawyer at the controls. Anyway we got here eventually and are now ensconced in the Sky Lounge at Gate 24.

 
 



I'm not sure why this text is suddenly blue and underlined.  Maybe the published version will be different. Not a lot I can do about after a double gin and tonic, which I poured myself. (It's okay, I went easy on the tonic.) Geoff has had a red and a white wine.  He's going in for another round any second.

It's quite a novelty for me to travel business class. Geoff is an old hand, so I do feel for him when he has had to slum it in Economy with me in the past,  We're travelling with China Southern.   Their  Business class fares are about $3000 cheaper than the more popular airlines.  I did worry that our Sky Lounge meal choices would be Stir Fried Duck Beaks or Boiled Pig Pancreas with Ginger and Shallots but was pleasantly surprised to find a smorgasbord of western culinary delights. Right now I'm hoing into the cheese platter.  Meanwhile, here's Geoff having some cheese and another wine: 

 The rain is teeming is teeming down outside. It's been relentless since we arrived, as all Sydney-siders and those up and down the coast would know.  In Canberra it's been cold, windy and a bit showery but nothing like this.  Chin up, coastal dwellers!

Time for Geoffy to say a few (very few) words:  And finally, just to show that the authoress is also enjoying the hospitality:

                                              

 Until London, cheers ...!