1 December 2017
Redundant Medical report: Last Friday I got a flu shot. I told the nurse I was feeling a bit ‘off’ but we went ahead with it anyway. ‘Off’ in this case was a shakey, anxious feeling that I often get in the morning – from anxiety, from my PVCs, from low blood sugar, who knows!
Friday I didn’t do much. My arm was sore and I felt a bit tired. All normal reactions. That night my feet and hands were crampy – again, seemed normal for the situation. Saturday I relaxed and let it wash over me. Sunday morning I was supposed to meet Caroiine for a flower market and museum visit but she cancelled because she was ill. I was disappointed but by just after lunch I too was feeling ill.
I doubt it was the flu shot. I think I was already sickening for something and I remember now that crampy or cold feelings in my feet can often be a signal for me – no idea why. Monday and Tuesday I just stayed on the couch, Netflixing! And I made a doll for Esmeralda, who had requested one like her – olive skin, almond eyes and colourful, but smaller than my usual dolls. She actually wanted a few different ones with different moods but I was unprepared for how much longer the smaller ones take so she’s getting one!
Wednesday Krish asked if I wanted to come to buy some samosas at Ambala in Whitechapel and I decided to go for it. I was feeling a bit better and, as long as we could go there and back without dawdling, I was willing to go for it. I bundled up and off we went.
Rediscovering London is taking time – settling back in, clearing things away, reestablishing with my friends, getting sick – each has a toll. Slowly does it but I’m impatient sometimes.
Ambala is a treasure trove of deep fried spicy snacks and row upon row of milky, colourful Indian sweets. Today we bought five samosas, two chilies, and a few different sweets. I ate one warm samosa right away and Krish ate his usual two. How he stays slim astounds me.
Then off to the Cash and Carry on Hanbury Street. Because I didn’t feel well, we didn’t walk along Brick Lane so I’ll save this for another day.
While Krish went ahead to buy two big bags of lentils for dhal, I went to photograph a couple of new street art pieces I’d spotted on Instagram. There are probably so many new ones now but this will do for now.
There is no doubt I missed this when I was in Torino. I feel excited and ready to discover more another time.
We stuck to our guns and walked directly to the bus. In the back streets of Whitechapel, it’s easy to feel at home again. It’s grungy and familiar and under the railway bridges I go back in time when I walked with my dad along Grove Road. Every time.
We made it home – a real triumph for not quite recovered me! And that evening I felt awful again and went to bed early to watch some more Girls on my tablet.
Thursday I woke feeling better again. A real relief since it’s the day I’ve booked to meet Caroline for Dennis Severs House Silent Night event. I was hoping that the site was right and it was ready for Christmas. Time Out had said otherwise. Folgate Street, where the house is, is a time capsule. The first time I tried to to go, the visit was aborted when my friend Juliet decided the queue was too long. This time I’d paid the princely sum of £17.50 (!) for a silent visit at 5:30.
A man met us at the door and checked my name. We were read The Rules. No talking, no touching, no photos (oh no!), walk through the house from the basement up. The house would reveal itself, take it in – the sights, the smells, the sounds. It sounded like visualisation but in real life and I was excited.
Sad to not take photos but I’ll ‘steal’ a few from online. It’s hard to know what to say but I felt transported. The house is dark, lit by candlelight. Each room depicts a period in the Silkweavers family’s life – the rooms are either stuffed with treasures or showing a sparser, more dismal time. The periods are from 1129 to the later years of Queen Victoria’s reign. I loved every corner. There were even fireplaces with smoking wood that gave the rooms a genuine feel of the times. I could close my eyes and be back at Lessada Street, a little Eastend girl who didn’t know she didn’t have much.
The rooms aren’t roped off as in other historic homes. You can walk in them around the furniture and take in the feeling, the way it looks, smell herbs, perfumes, food, wood or coal fires, look at the portraits and keepsakes and clothing, listen to the sounds of trams, of horses, of hushed voices, of singing, of church bells…
The lunch time, first come first served, tours are pretty cheap. Silent Night and guided tours are more. I would recommend this to anyone. Some reviews had talked about how artificial the set up was – staged too much – but I found it charming, evocative and stirring. I felt I was there.
Caroline and I left, excited and chatting about how we’d felt. I showed her La Chapelle, doing the best sales job I could so she’d say yes to dinner or lunch there some time. Success! Most people are charmed inside this gorgeous space. Then we went for Pho!
It was decent. And it was spicy. I added a lot of chili and shrimp paste, which really helped. We were both recovering from colds and spice was definitely what we needed.
From here, I showed her Gun Street and Ottolenghi. Then we walked along Artillery Passage to the station.
At the beginning of Artillery Passage, one young woman was also showing someone around. I heard the words ‘Diagon Alley.’ Why, yes. Walking along Bishopsgate to the station I also notice I can’t see The Gherkin any more – so many taller buildings have sprung up and there are more to come. Such a contrast to Folgate Street – how long will it survive?
I’m starting to feel my London chops, and the need to walk here again with someone who can see it the way I do, or tell me what they see and feel.