Day eleven: 10 May: London and thence home

St Pancras station looks like this from the air.
Showering in my 'hotel' (I do not use the word advisedly) was entertaining, as I had no towel, and in all the excitement of seeing Anna and Kieran I had forgotten to buy one. Okay, and I'm too mean to spend the money. Katy has since pointed out that I slunk through Richmond without visiting her, so now I am in trouble with all John's daughters. I will make it up on my next visit, by which time there will be more grandchildren to admire. But I digress. I was about to have a shower. The shower cubicle I selected was in a room with a toilet, rather than in a room with another shower, because I was keen to shower alone. I placed my toileteries on the toilet seat, there not being anywhere else suitable to put them, and ventured inside the shower, carefully stepping over some old soap left by someone else. I remained calm in the face of adversity, telling myself that a shower was a clean place, so it didn't matter if someone dirty had been in before me. It was slightly reassuring to think that at least no-one would have peed (shouldn't there be another 'e'?) in the shower, as the toilet was so alarmingly handy. I had to hold the shower head in my hand, as when it sat in its holster the water aimed directly at the wall in such a way I couldn't seem to get between the wall and the water. So I held it with one hand and with the other attempted to reach the soaps and shampoos on the toilet seat and generally make myself squeaky clean. And when it was all over I dried myself on my sarong. I have had better cleansing experiences than this.

I can almost hear Hong Kong Kate giggling as she reads this....

After the showering fiasco I packed up my bag and started to skid it down the several flights of stairs. Not surprisingly, a young man appeared from nowhere and offered to carry it down. I could tell by the state of the carpet other people had called him this way. Where was he when I checked in I wondered. Then he charged me a quid to leave my bag there for a few hours while I inspected London. I locked both my bags and tried to look menacing rather than ripped off, but I don't know if I managed it.

Last time I visited London Anna gave me a nice Oyster card to use, so the day before I had bought one of my own, as part of my new independent adult identity. The way I read the instructions it had a daily cap of about seven quid, so I paid ten quid for it, but then had to top it up with another ten. Turns out if you don't swipe it properly it charges you the maximum journey cost. I have never had a cheap card that cost me so much before. Finally I realised I could top it up with my credit card (as I was running out of cash), and stopped worrying and started living. So I stuck twenty quid on it, and there I was, all over London with my Oyster card, swiping in and out of St Pancras, in and out of Kensington and in and out of everywhere else for that matter. It was marvellous. I love Oyster cards and I visited all the undergrounds stations I could, riding up and down the escalators and generally having a good subterranean time.

The funny thing about London is that there is no agreement about which side of the road to walk on, because although the cars drive on the left, on the tube (I am au fait with the local slang now) they stand on the right. I couldn't work out why I should stand on the right, but did as I was told, but when I got above ground I was quite flummoxed because there were no instructions, and people were walking all over the place. I decided to walk down the middle.

I visited a church in St Pancras in case my ancestors' names were in the cemetery. One of these days I will get a surprise and actually find an ancestral name in a churchyard. My mother was a Browne, and so was her father and his father before him, who was born in Stepney, which is in Hackney (i.e. not St Pancras). But it was fascinating looking around the Eurostar station and seeing people arrive from France with their bagettes and cans of snails. It made me hungry, so I bought some wonderfully hot and strong coffee and some porridge at a Pret a Manger, which was one of the few places I could find a decent gluten-free breakfast.

Then I inspected Hammersmith where I used to live in Biscay Road, and where I heard Jethro Tull and Joan Armatrading play at the Odeon (not on the same day though) in the seventies. Let me just say now that the seventies were great, and if you are old you will agree, and if you are young you are probably listening to the seventies music, and still agree. Then I took the tube to St James Park and took the Birdcage walk to inspect Buckingham Palace, just after the morning guards had gone for an early lunch. There were all kinds of film crews and police around, so I guess they knew I was coming. Feeling a bit resentful, I swept my red cape around my shoulders, put my head down so they wouldn't recognise me, and wandered into the midst of it all. I avoided the horses by staying close to the fence. Turns out (as I discovered later) that Mr Brown (not my relative) had popped in to see the Queen and tell her he was leaving Downing Street because no-one had voted for him (sour grapes I guess), and Mr Cameron, just 40 minutes later, was on her doorstep offering to take over the reins of the country. Pshaw. If the British used MMP instead of FPP they might have had a government that had actually represented what the people wanted. As it is, they now have a well hung parliament, which on reflection is not such a bad thing for the British, and I'm sure it hasn't happened before.

All the excitement was making me tired, so I walked to Hyde Park corner to see Apsley House, which didn't really grab me (luckily), and then wandered around Park Lane and up towards the National Art Gallery near Trafalgar Square. Actually I can't remember exactly where I went, but I was getting pretty knackered, and my pedometer was showing about 30,000 steps, but I do recall going past where I had my first ever coffee and cake after a movie, somewhere near Park Lane, and noted that it was now a Starbucks. Eventually I staggered into the art gallery and up to Seurat's Bathers, but there were too many people with the same idea for me to enjoy myself. I took in a couple of old time favourites such as Picasso's Child with a Dove but I was just too tired. All that rice risotto at Horsley Park had left me in a protein deficit state and now I couldn't even walk around London. So I took a tube back to the hostel, got my bags, and went to Heathrow to unwind. I had a plane to catch and movies to watch.

After several hours of writing postcards, drinking tea, and recharging everything that could be recharged, I headed to the Emirates departure lounge to wait for my flight.

Here is how I knew I was nearly home: there was a guy strumming his guitar in the departure lounge of the flight to Sydney, women without make-up, and and ordinary looking people with faces like relatives heading home. I was very happy to be going with them.

Day ten: 9 May: Horsley Park to London

I had spent at least three hours on the internet looking for a nice cheap B&B in London and eventually decided it was a waste of my precious time, so put a deposit on a place with wifi in Bayswater. The wifi was quite an issue, as heaps of places didn’t have it, and some had it for a ridiculous add on price, while others had never even heard of it. Anyway, I consoled myself, Bayswater is a nice area, so it would be worth paying $100 for. Ha bloody ha.

Francoise directed me to what seemed like a very nice habitation, but on arrival I was told my room had been sold, and I would have to go to their sister place along the road. It seems the three hours on the internet was not well spent after all. Fair enough I said, but how was it that I could book a room with a deposit and not get one? Then I remembered my days as a hotel manager, and knowing the answer, decided not to push it. The sister place was such a close relative that I was asked to pay straight away, but in cash. That really irritated me, as I had fifty quid left for my last day and was planning to spend it wisely on visits to castles and lots of wine. Alas, I was forced to spend it on a lousy hostel, which is what my nice habitation turned out to be. Françoise and I walked to the sister hostel, then up three steep flights of stairs to my room, which turned out to be so far away from reception that wifi couldn’t get to it. In fact it was so high up I got vertigo just looking out the window. However, it had a bed and a basin, a mouldy patch in the corner of the room, and no soap or towel. Here's a review I found of it - it's pretty accurate. I found other reviews that were far worse but I don't want to depress you.

The West Two offers basic accommodation and the furnishings are old and tired. It is poorly maintained, facilities are poor and the atmosphere is depressing.

I sat down and wondered why I hadn’t gone to stay with my lovely cousins in Richmond and then remembered that I had decided to be an independent adult now, this being my third visit to London in three years, and it was probably time I tackled the place in an unsheltered way, on my own, paying for meals and beds and stuff and learning how to get around without advice (except from Francoise). But when I thought about it, I realised none of these features was offered as a virtue by either Socrates or Plato, so perhaps I could lean on rellies after all - just a little.

So I sent them a message to say I was in town, and if they had nothing better to do, I would visit them and return Kieran’s book, The Spiritual Tourist, a wonderful dissertation on various spiritual persons and their astounding feats and personal habits. Then I went and looked for the shoe shop in Kensington High Street where I bought some lovely black boots when I was 22 and lived here, but which finally fell apart at the Hamilton field days a few years back (the boots that is, though I was somewhat under the weather as well). Amazingly it was still there, but selling Mr Clark’s shoes. I also found a marvellous good food shop of several storeys, and was caught photographing the cheese room – apparently the market is so good the owners don’t want anyone to find out about it, and don’t let us take photos. So I can't show it to you. I promised not to. While strolling around Kensington I suddenly remembered my text to Anna, opened my phone, and lo there was a response from her saying to hurry around and say hello. So I scampered back to the B&B to get the book and asked Francoise to take me to Richmond, which she did. I think she likes Richmond.

It was wonderful to see them again, though I only saw two year old Bella very briefly, it being her bed time. However, I did get a chance to catch up with Jeanette, the mother of my cousin’s daughter, and we had a bit of a chat on Skype. It did seem odd that I had to travel to London to talk to her, as we both live in Auckland. She doesn’t see Anna and Kieran and Bella as much as she would like to, and even asked Anna to show her the new bump, which will in due course hatch as another grandchild. Anna and Kieran are very entertaining and welcoming. Kieran cooked up lashings of protein for me, which was a huge relief, as the chefs at Horsley Park thought rice risotto was an adequate evening meal, which I disagreed with, but couldn’t seem to do much about.

By the time I had quaffed a few glasses of wine (Kieran had to go for more supplies), talked to Jeanette, gossiped, mused and attempted to interpret various aspects of life with Anna and Kieran, I realised it was my bedtime, and I had to go 'home'. Kieran wanted to send me in a taxi, but I was brave and took the bus and underground, and in due course Francoise and I found ourselves back at the B&B. I had been clever of course, and asked Francoise to make a note of the location, so we had no trouble finding it again. I have my moments.

I quite like London. I lived there for 18 months in my youth, and was looking forward to seeing other places I would recognise, such as Hammersmith station, St Martin in the Fields (I was in the choir), Charing Cross Station, a number of pubs, and the National Gallery. So even though my ‘hotel’ was cheap and nasty, I was a happy camper and fell once again into a deep and meaningful sleep.

Tomorrow: St Pancras, Park Lane and the gallery, all on ten quid

16 May London

Katy and Sam visited in the morning. Katy (by her own admission) is definitely obsessed with Bella, and whipped her off upstairs to change her clothes. The problem was that Bella was attired completely in the clothes she wore last Saturday, and Katy, having an eye for detail and a memory for Important Matters, immediately recognised the potential fashion gaffe and rescued Bella in the nick of time. That is, before the press were admitted to the gallery. We languished and chatted and I learned how to chill out, which I am still not very good at. Sam was preoccupied with his B&Q purchasing responsibilities, and Kieran was preparing to watch some kind of game involving a ball.

Bella took Anna and me for a walk around Barnes Bridge, and eventually it was time to leave, so they drove me to Heathrow. Unfortunately, Bella had a little tummy upset and threw her lunch back all over the car seat and her clothes, which Katy had so thoughtfully chosen for her. I kept well away, not wanting to be contaminated with the smell for the next 12 hours or so. I was being passed from Saunders to Saunders – leaving Anna and Katy in London and going to John in Hong Kong.

I photographed them all, but the one of Anna was too dark, sdo I had to nick one from Bella's blog. I hope you like the shot of Katy and Sam pretending they live in Barnes Bridge.

The flight to Hong Kong was excellent, because I had a personal entertainment system. Anna and I had checked the day before, but I thought she was looking up ‘insect screen’ (instead of ‘in seat screen’), and couldn’t understand why I would need a mosquito net on a plane. I was becoming seriously worried about Lufthansa and even wished I had booked with Ryan Air. At least I would be able to save 49 cents on the tea with Ryan Air.

The plane was full but I was comfortable in my window seat. We stopped at Munich and once again I had the opportunity to see the brown cloud that hung over Europe and South East Asia. I was looking forward to going home, where the skies are blue and the air is fresh.

15 May Eastbourne to London

The conference finished around midday. I had given my two papers and done all the things that people do at conferences, including drinking too much coffee. Although I was offered a ride to the station with some friends, I decided to walk and enjoy the fresh Eastbourne air, in preparation for breathing London air later. I travelled with Erwin, who pointed out his old school as the train went past. We said goodbye at Clapham Junction, and I recited my favourite Clapham Junction poem for him. “If all the trains at Clapham Junction were suddenly to cease to function, all the people at the station would fail to reach their destination”. Perfectly true, if somewhat self-evident. I changed trains and got myself to Barnes Bridge, but when I got there I found the phone reception was just like in Stroud, so I couldn’t text Anna to meet me at the station. Nor could I pick up my email to her explaining the route I was going to take. In fact all I could get was GPS, so I used this to circumnavigate Barnes Bridge twice before I managed to run into her not far from where I originally started from. Perhaps my GPS thought I needed to walk off the desserts I had been eating at Eastbourne.

Anna had Bella Lonsdale Hayes with her, who is one of the cutest kids I have ever seen (nearly as cute as mine were at that age), so we chatted happily as we walked back to their house. I had seen it in its earlier incarnation as a building site, so it was great to see how it had emerged as a fully fledged house. Bella and I had quite a bit of catching up to do, as I hadn’t seen her since I was in Otaki, so we chatted for a while, and I told her about my trip, as she was too young to read my blog. Either that, or Anna and Kieran wouldn’t let her. It started raining towards end of the day time, and poor Kieran arrived home soaking wet, but he scooped up Bella and flung her into a bath and somehow disposed of her for the evening. Kieran is my absolutely favourite tall cousin-in-law living in London.

Anna had cooked up something delicious (I love visiting them – they will never get rid of me now) and Kieran poured me something delicious and somehow the evening disappeared into a pleasant miasma of wine and good food. I slept on the sofa bed and sunk into the kind of feather delight that I dreamed of when I checked into the London hotel in Stroud. I actually wondered if I would need scuba gear, the descent was so pleasant.

I hope you like the photo of Kieran showing us his guns.

3rd May, London to Bristol

Having rested up from my journey, I set off for Bristol, my father’s birthplace. I was surprised to be so tired after travelling, which was conducted in a sedentary position except for a few short journeys through the paperwork places at the airports. I find it odd that one can travel so far sitting down, yet still feel tired on arrival.

Anna and Kieran dropped me at Richmond station. I went through the turnpike and promptly lost my ticket, which put me in a mild panic. I practised my slightly confused senior person look in case I needed it on the train, but it turns out that I had so many tickets with seemingly similar information on, that one of my other ones was okay. I still don’t understand what happened – maybe I lost my seat reservation or something.

Bristol station (Templemead) is a beautiful stone job sort of arching out to the town. I looked for my map of Bristol and directions to my cousin Stella’s place, but couldn’t find it. I bought a map of Bristol for a pound, but Stella’s street wasn’t on it – I didn’t know that before I bought the map, as it was in a slot machine. I phoned Stella and asked her which bus to get to her place, and she gave me directions to a place where she would meet me, and take me there herself. Stella is an elderly cousin of my father, and she normally gets about on a mobility scooter, so I was a bit dubious about this. Furthermore, her directions were rather perplexing. “Go outside the station and walk away from it as if you are leaving the station (um - could I be doing anything else??). Turn right and keep going until you see the Evening Post building, which is black. It’s at a roundabout. Look for some shops near the roundabout – there aren’t many shops around there, so they will be easy to find – and keep going right until you see some black gates. I’ll be waiting in there for you.”

I went outside the station and walked as if I was walking away from it. That part was quite easy. Then I turned right, and kept walking away from it, looking for the Evening Post building. Couldn’t see it, so I went back the other way. I asked a few people but none knew where it was. Then a beggar asked me for a few pence, so I said of course I would give him some money, if he would tell me where the Evening Post building is. I’m not very smart. He told me to keep walking back the way I came for at least ten minutes, and I would find it. As it turned out he was correct, but I walked away wondering if he had lied for the money. After about ten minutes I still couldn’t see the Evening Post, but found a bus with the door open, so asked the driver where it was. He was very nice and took me there for nothing. Of course there were no shops anywhere near, and it started to rain. I walked around the district for an hour or so, up and down various side streets admiring all the black gates. Eventually I took shelter in an archway not far from the roundabout and phoned Stella again. She appeared quite quickly from some gates across the road and took me to her little flat in Red Cross Mews, across the road from the old Red Cross School dad went to when he was a little boy (check out the two pictures). It was wonderful to see her. She introduced me to her grey squirrel and gave me a blue piece of glass with S.S. Great Britain on it. We took photos of each other outside her flat, and I recorded her as she talked about her child-hood and about my grandmother, her aunt. She also called some other cousins, Pat and Francis Gillett, who duly arrived to take me to yet more cousins, Roger and Doreen Pitman (Doreen was a Gillett) and we all pored over our family trees and asked each other questions. It was fabulous. They kindly offered me sandwiches and wine, and I accepted both, as by now the after-effects of the poisoning episode had subsided and I was finally able to contemplate food again. Sadly, the sandwiches were stuffed with ham and beef, so I had to own up to being a vegetarian, and possibly therefore, someone to treat with great suspicion, in case I launched into a series of insults about meat eaters, or worse still, performed magic spells on them. Happily for both them and me I did neither, and one of my cousins was pleased with the extra beef. They were all very kind to me and it was a wonderful thing to meet so many members of my father’s family, and to be welcomed so thoroughly. Of course I use the word 'cousin' loosely - some of them were 2nd cousins. Maybe 3rd even. Pat even gave me a jar of marmalade, which I suspect I should have given to my mother.

After we had finished playing happy families they took me to yet anther cousin, Chrissie Bryant (nee Gillett again) who had volunteered to accommodate me in her home in Somerset, just south of Bristol. This particular cousin had stayed with my parents, and apparently been given a good time by them, as there is nothing she could have done to make me feel more welcome than she did. She even asked me from time to time, if there was anything else I either wanted or needed. In fact I was given the right royal treatment, which occasionally had me wondering if I had the wrong family, and if she had stayed with someone famous and interesting like the Queen, or Helen Clark. I checked a couple of times, but no, she had stayed with my parents, and found them kind. My parents can be quite beguiling at times. My room had not just the usual commodities such as bed and pillows, but also a tea tray in case I got thirsty in the night, melatonin pills to correct my jetlag, and biscuits for the night munchies. But best of all was the satin smooth Egyptian sheets. I am now saving up for some, and have contacted my bank manager to arrange a second mortgage.

Their house was a recently built stand alone house with a large garden – about half an acre at a guess. Chris said he hated gardening, and had a lot of trees and plants taken away, but it still looked beautiful. I was amused to find they had not just a conservatory (this is a new addition to English houses since I was last her in the 1970s), but also, a sitting out area. Clearly global warming has its advantages in England.

2nd May, London

I woke early, being still on New Zealand time, so walked around the local area before breakfast, checking out Sainsbury’s and taking photos of unusual sights, such as the sign that said ‘No Parking, by order of St John the Divine’. I was impressed that the local people had secured such an important saint’s favour. This little excursion later turned out to be a life-saver, as I was able to recognise the place to get off my bus. The trains weren’t coming to Kew today, it being a holiday and an opportunity for British Rail to dig up the tracks.

I wandered around London most of the day and wore myself and my poor feet out. I started at Covent Garden, walked all around the Fleet Street area, then headed East to the Tower. Most of the voices I heard were German or French, which presented problems when asking directions to places of relief, as I was not sure whether to ask for a toilet, a toilette, or des toiletten. I had a good look around the tower, checked out the family jewells and the torture equipment, then headed further East looking for an underground and a train home. By 6pm I was in a housing estate in Wapping, where I definitely felt out of place so I headed back to the Tower, where I felt much safer, and found a train home.

I was exhausted when I got back, and it was very late but still light. Luckily Anna and Kieran were tolerant hosts and offered me wine as soon as I arrived, with pita bread and hummus. Kieran cooked a very garlicky pasta dish which gave me a great deal of pleasure and memories the following day. However, he also poisoned me by pouring me as much wine as I wanted, and lost my favour by not wearing the black and silver fern cap I bought him in Auckland for $2. I didn’t feel the best the next day but the garlic was a comfort.

1st May, London

The trip in the plane was fairly uneventful except that for some unknown reason I was not given a plane with individual entertainment possibilities between Thailand and England, so I became bored and contemplated making trouble by getting drunk or pretending to be claustrophobic. That certainly would have ensured they put me on the right plane next time but I remembered I was representing my employer and my country (can’t remember either of their names for the moment) so I behaved myself. I am sure my mother would have preferred this choice as well as the airline.

I was surprised to be able to walk directly out of the terminal. I had heard about terminal 5 and was wondering if my bag would be sent to Italy (apparently quite a few bags got sent to Italy to resolve where they should go, the English not being very good at those kind of conundrums ) or even if I would be mistaken for a bag (the system being computer operated, and not necessarily able to discriminate between old women and bags) and scooped up. However, none of this happened. I collected my bags, ticked the ‘no, I don’t have anything I shouldn’t have’ boxes, and walked straight out, pulling my 20kg suitcase and 10kg hand baggage behind me.

I mounted a train to Kew Gardens and after only three unnecessary changes, I was there. It is a little challenging negotiating around a system that involves constant changes of train and station, complicated of course by stairs up and down from the platforms, which resulted in a sort of alarming thumping sound as my bag banged down the stairs behind me. People offered to help me but as I had not been introduced, I politely declined. My mother advised me not to talk to strangers, not to let anyone touch my bags, and always to keep my handbag done up when in a strange city. It would have been easier if I had followed my cousin’s directions and changed at the correct stops, but I took a short-cut that turned out to be a long cut. However, it was a pleasant enough journey.

My cousin’s daughter, Anna, had a cuppa ready for me when I arrived after the 10 minute walk from Kew station. I had my trusty PDA with directions: walk out of the station and continue walking for 10 minutes until you reach number 43. Anna is a ballet dancer (Royal Ballet) turned clinical psychologist and is a PhD sort of doctor. I find it confusing that a psychologist is a doctor that can’t fix broken legs but she is quite relaxed about it. She is very good at analysing people and providing explanations for possible confusions in their thinking, so she is very entertaining and informative, in a speculative sort of way. I suspect she has me figured out but I tried to look like a social scientist with a sort of absent minded demeanour. It wasn’t difficult.

After several cups of tea and information exchanges, we went to Richmond village to meet up with her sister Katy, and therefore the other daughter of my cousin, and went out for a pub lunch and on to the Tate Gallery. Richmond and Kew had me thinking England was very nice thank-you, tidy and clean, plenty of trees, no graffiti, and pleasant shops. More on that later. There’s a new Tate since I was last in London but Anna and Katy must go there regularly as they knew their way around and were familiar with many of the paintings. I liked a Kandinsky best – it looked like dancing figures – very energetic. However, I recognise that anything Kandinsky does is a mere accident of the brush, and my view of what he did is in my imagination. But it was good. We had more cups of tea and some cake. We ate Thai that night, with the spouses Kieran and Sam, and a couple of friends, maybe a Lisa and another Sam. I mentioned to the waitress that I had been in Thailand that morning but she was unimpressed. I guess it happens all the time. I mused to Sam2 that as my plane came into London and I looked at the rows of terraced houses, the grey, and the dirty Thames, and I thought about the English food, the terrible weather, and the idiosyncracies of the language, that it was a marvel that England, a small island off the coast of Europe, had attracted so much interest and so many invaders over the years. He explained that English men were the main drawcard, thereby explaining the hordes of tourists visting London every day.

Katy and Sam talked about their forthcoming trip to Paris for the weekend. Must be good living so close to Paris and not having to take a boat to get there.