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Sep. 6th, 2004 07:00 pmAnd anither weekend passes all too quickly...
Saturday we already know about, and for the overtime pay will be thankful, though no-one could describe it as much fun...
Sunday I had originally intended to leave as quiet, but woke up with a definite feeling that being sociable might be a good idea, and the day's sociable event was just about doable, despite meaning getting not only to London, but round and out the other side, to the nether regions of Slade Green, which is in the curious position of being in Zone 6 but off the A-Z.
O)nce this was put in train, to coin a phrase, and we were streaking Londonwards, I planned to spend the early part of the day in Notting Hill Gate, buying stuff. However, and extremely unusually for me (as anyone who has seen my flat will attest) I changed my mind, and the sight of Alexandra Palace from my train window sent me on a mission to my last 9and main) London home, of Muswell Hill.
Ah sweet Muswell Hill - how does one describe the bl;end of a thousand cultures, the heady scents that waft tantalisingly from your alleyways and the rustle of Eastern mystery about the thronging pavements of the Broadway?
Actually, very little had changed, which was much as I had expected, especially as it is only 14 months since I bade my scruffy studio behind the giant pub goodbye. Muswell Hill is pretty unchanging by London standards - a solid middle-class residential area, not on the Tube, it is conservative by nature (viz the screaming row about Falconer's new Gaudi-esque shopfront), and a fairly forgotten backwater, which was exactly why I liked it.
There'sd also Alexandra palace, of course - a fine building, with one of the best views of London. Standing up there, at 11am on a warm Summer's morning, I could feel the edges of why I once liked living in the Metropolis. From Alexandra Palace, London coalesces into a slumbering giant. All the petty rows, the transport hassles and the filthy polluted air is airbrushed out, and you are left with an awe-inspiring expanse of houses, works, and (more than you would imagine from ground level) trees. It is a titanic achievement, the expression of will of seven million people to live and work in this self-created colossus, and it makes the city feel quite different.
To quote jeff Bernard again, it makes the "enchanted dung-heap" of London look almost inviting.
From the old homestead, I pottered over to one of the old haunts - Greenwich - mainly in search of a hat (which I failed to find). I have always liked Greenwich, even though it is cramped, lousy with tourists, and just a little too trendy for comfort. It's good to get close to the river, and in the company of so many fine buildings (the Naval College in particular is pretty awe-inspiring), and if you can get your head into a state to cope with it, the various markets are fun.
the actual point of asll this meandering was the aforemwentioned trip to Slade Green, and a handfasting (which I wussed out with, and described to my parents as an "engagament party, of sorts", because it would be too much hassle to explain and deal with the after-effects) by the mighty Thames. The most interesting piece of symbolism was having the Dartford Bridge (which is the Humber Bridge's little brother) in the background - the image of linking together with a permanent bond, in which ideas and experinces can flow both ways, is a potent one. Reaers are invited to draw their own conclusions from the existence of the dartfrod Tunnel...
After all this activity, and a Chinese meal of which I only got at the beginnings, due to having to get home, a smooth trip back to the Fens was required. All was going smoothly until Letchworth, when someone in the next carriage had a seizure, and the train groundto a halt from 20 minutes. The emergency services arrived smartly, but their speed and efficiency was nothing compared to the Rubberneckers Brigade, who were on the scene immediately - I was facing away from the action, and the various people facing toward it were like they were at bloody Wimbledon. We British do love a tragedy, after all...
The overall day out fromk the flat was 8:30am to 11pm, and after that I had barelty the enmergy to crawl into bed and gasp like a spent fish...
Saturday we already know about, and for the overtime pay will be thankful, though no-one could describe it as much fun...
Sunday I had originally intended to leave as quiet, but woke up with a definite feeling that being sociable might be a good idea, and the day's sociable event was just about doable, despite meaning getting not only to London, but round and out the other side, to the nether regions of Slade Green, which is in the curious position of being in Zone 6 but off the A-Z.
O)nce this was put in train, to coin a phrase, and we were streaking Londonwards, I planned to spend the early part of the day in Notting Hill Gate, buying stuff. However, and extremely unusually for me (as anyone who has seen my flat will attest) I changed my mind, and the sight of Alexandra Palace from my train window sent me on a mission to my last 9and main) London home, of Muswell Hill.
Ah sweet Muswell Hill - how does one describe the bl;end of a thousand cultures, the heady scents that waft tantalisingly from your alleyways and the rustle of Eastern mystery about the thronging pavements of the Broadway?
Actually, very little had changed, which was much as I had expected, especially as it is only 14 months since I bade my scruffy studio behind the giant pub goodbye. Muswell Hill is pretty unchanging by London standards - a solid middle-class residential area, not on the Tube, it is conservative by nature (viz the screaming row about Falconer's new Gaudi-esque shopfront), and a fairly forgotten backwater, which was exactly why I liked it.
There'sd also Alexandra palace, of course - a fine building, with one of the best views of London. Standing up there, at 11am on a warm Summer's morning, I could feel the edges of why I once liked living in the Metropolis. From Alexandra Palace, London coalesces into a slumbering giant. All the petty rows, the transport hassles and the filthy polluted air is airbrushed out, and you are left with an awe-inspiring expanse of houses, works, and (more than you would imagine from ground level) trees. It is a titanic achievement, the expression of will of seven million people to live and work in this self-created colossus, and it makes the city feel quite different.
To quote jeff Bernard again, it makes the "enchanted dung-heap" of London look almost inviting.
From the old homestead, I pottered over to one of the old haunts - Greenwich - mainly in search of a hat (which I failed to find). I have always liked Greenwich, even though it is cramped, lousy with tourists, and just a little too trendy for comfort. It's good to get close to the river, and in the company of so many fine buildings (the Naval College in particular is pretty awe-inspiring), and if you can get your head into a state to cope with it, the various markets are fun.
the actual point of asll this meandering was the aforemwentioned trip to Slade Green, and a handfasting (which I wussed out with, and described to my parents as an "engagament party, of sorts", because it would be too much hassle to explain and deal with the after-effects) by the mighty Thames. The most interesting piece of symbolism was having the Dartford Bridge (which is the Humber Bridge's little brother) in the background - the image of linking together with a permanent bond, in which ideas and experinces can flow both ways, is a potent one. Reaers are invited to draw their own conclusions from the existence of the dartfrod Tunnel...
After all this activity, and a Chinese meal of which I only got at the beginnings, due to having to get home, a smooth trip back to the Fens was required. All was going smoothly until Letchworth, when someone in the next carriage had a seizure, and the train groundto a halt from 20 minutes. The emergency services arrived smartly, but their speed and efficiency was nothing compared to the Rubberneckers Brigade, who were on the scene immediately - I was facing away from the action, and the various people facing toward it were like they were at bloody Wimbledon. We British do love a tragedy, after all...
The overall day out fromk the flat was 8:30am to 11pm, and after that I had barelty the enmergy to crawl into bed and gasp like a spent fish...
