Sojourn to the Big Smoke

Had a nice time this weekend - it was all jolly exciting.

I managed to forget to tell work that I wouldn't be in on Friday, remembering only just before leaving on Thursday afternoon. Whoopsydaisy. Oh well, leaving next week anyway.

Adam and I had agreed to get the 0854 train from Exmouth (Adam would get on at Lympstone) on Friday morning. Someone on the train before me had dropped a pound onto their seat, so the weekend had started well. However, when the train pulled in at Lympstone, I couldn't see Adam through the window. Maybe he had got a lift to Exeter?

No, here he was, red-faced, running up the hill and getting onto the train just before the doors closed. Shortly after, I received a text message from Jen, asking when we were heading off to London, at which point Adam suddenly remembered that he was supposed to have called her and told her what our plans were. So far, so Adam.

We both felt quite bad that we hadn't told her we would be there on Friday, until later she told us she had her politics department xmas party to go to. Someone we could meet when we got there, however, was Althea (hooray!), who decided on Thanksgiving Day (whatever that is) that she would come all the way over from Chicago to be there.

But first, we had a two and a half hour train ride, in which we exhausted all possibilities for Adam's film-themed fancy dress party this coming weekend. I don't know whether he's made up his mind yet, but RainMan was our favourite at the time.

When we finally arrived, we went and met Althea at the Tate Modern, as she was staying near there, in Blackfriars. I must say, they've done a lot of work since I was there before (just after it had opened), and the cafes look even nicer than I remember.

It was a very joyful reunion, and it really showed: we had made it some way across the city before either of us started bashing each others' countries. Quite an achievement. On this occasion, it was London's eccentric, rabbit-warren-like street layout, versus America's regimented, characterless grid system. Needless to say, I would have won the argument eventually, but we just didn't have time.

With stomachs grumbling, we headed off to Covent Garden, and had a lovely cheap (-ish, by London standards) lunch from some Italian cafe place, before watching a great performance by a pair of circus performers. They had a whiff of failure about them, which only added to the allure, and they were very very funny.

This is endanger of turning into a blow-by-blow account of every step we took on that hallowed ground, so I'll cut straight to the pub. A very nice place near Leicester Square called Chandos, in fact, which looked like a proper pub, without being full of beards, guts and smoke, and which served non-branded beer and cola. And a round of bitter, stout and diet cola cost only £4.92. In the middle of London. If I lived in London, Chandos would be my local.

Moving swiftly, if slightly tipsily, on, Adam and I then proceeded by train to our lodgings for the night, at Margery's house. I'm not sure how to spell Margery on this occasion (I hate names with flexible spellings), but suffice to say she might refer to herself as "Adam's Spare Granny". That is, his mum's partner's mum. She was absolutely lovely, feeding us and letting us try to fix her smoke alarm, and even offering me an open invitation to stay if I ever needed a bed in the vicinity. I also learnt that she went to Dar Es Salaam when in the Merchant Navy, so it was quite jolly talking to her about such things.

Despite being very sleepy, and not feeling like another drink, Adam and I thought it rude were we not to pop up to the local for a flaggon of ale. This is a posh part of London. So posh, it's actually called Kent. The houses there are mostly generously proportioned, and fancy streetlamps are not just for the main streets there. Then we went into the pub, and everyone was talking like they were from Eastenders. Hmmm. Something doesn't quite fit.

On Saturday morning we shared the joy of Saturday Kitchen, with Anthony Worral-Thompson, before I went off to London, leaving Adam to be a lazy git. Adam was meeting up with a friend later, and I quite fancied going to the shops to try and find a birthday present for my dad and a secret santa present for Jill at work. By the time I got to Oxford Street, it was Saturday lunchtime, two weeks before Christmas. What a good idea this was.

Within fifteen minutes, I was giving up, and decided to meet Stuart and his mate (and, as it turned out, Althea too), who were watching the Liverpool derby somewhere near Picadilly. After about forty minutes of Stuart not answering his phone, I finally caught up with them in the Sports Cafe on Haymarket. The same Sports Cafe on Haymarket that I had looked in thirty minutes before, and seen no one I knew, in fact.

Everton 1-0 Liverpool (Hooray!)

Had a lovely afternoon in there, during which we were joined by Elin, who had just arrived from Sweden (hurrah!).

Well, the length of this account, as usual, is just getting silly, so I'll move on to Saturday night right after lunch...mmm, what shall I have to eat?