It’s not that I haven’t been anywhere or done anything, but I’ve been lazy about putting it all together.
We planned a two-night trip to Norwich, somewhere I’ve wanted to go for some time. I didn’t know much about it and tried to research a bit before I went, but these days I’m just as happy to be away as to actually go out and discover new things. In fact, I didn’t spend that much time just relaxing but walked every day until I couldn’t manage another step.
The journey there was uneventful. We got the train to Stratford and from there another train all the way to Norwich, about an hour forty minutes for the longer ride. Luckily, the train was fairly empty and fast.
Norwich station was quite old fashioned and small. I was happy that we came straight in without any stairs to climb before we could leave. My friend, Julie met us there and we started our walk to have lunch together.
Norwich looked small-townish, but there were some interesting old stone and brick structures. I was itching to take photos already. However, we headed for a restaurant. The food wasn’t good and I think I made the best choices of the three of us – just some squid, and a papaya salad.
The Old Post Office – I was surprised to see three Nathan Bowen art pieces, and others throughout the city
From there we walked to where we were staying on St Faith’s Lane. It wasn’t far from the station – a small curved back street with a view to the cathedral. We were staying in a studio apartment which I’d found online. I forgot to take photos but it was decent – we had a full kitchen along one side, an armchair, a bed, a little table with two chairs, and a bathroom with a big walk in shower. It would do nicely for our two half and one full days.
We rested for a while and decided that we’d like to have fish and chips that night. One place, Grosvenor Fish and Chips in The Lanes area came highly recommended so we decided to head to The Lanes, which we could see the beginning of from where we had eaten. It seemed that if we plunged into the first sight of it and followed through, it shouldn’t be hard to find Grosvenor.
Walking through the back streets from St Faiths Lane. The cathedral is to our right. The houses here were very old and probably FlemishNorwich has some pink buses
This building was such a surprise. We were walking down The Lanes and it loomed ahead of us, reminding me so much of walking in Italy where huge churches dominate small squares
The Lanes are some winding, narrow laneways, often hilly and mostly cobbled. It’s a mix of tacky and interesting, the medieval and the modernised. The entire city is littered with churches and blue and other historic plaques, too many to read. And finally we found the Grosvenor.
I loved the fact that we not only found it in the maze of lanes but it was on a street called Pottergate, which I decided to call Harry Potter Gate. Its name comes of course from being where the pottery industry once flourished. I’ve now read that there are many haunted spots in Norwich, but I hadn’t taken the time to learn about the many ghosts the city has.
Writing things down is happening in my head again on an intangible surface, rarely making it into anyone else’s head. Sometimes there’s a narrative of what I’m seeing and how I feel about it, but it stays in there. It’s not that that isn’t valuable and even contributes to my sense of self and, therefore, my outward self. But inside it stays for the time being. If I post photos, most of those thoughts and feelings are just for the time I’m sharing them and just with myself. In December, two people close to me died. I suppose that such words come to me more often at times like this, when I ponder the fragility of life and all the questions that are unasked and unanswered.
So it was a bittersweet Christmas time and a bit hard to pull myself out of that heavy mood and get out there. By twelfth night I’d put away almost every Christmas item – a bit ahead of my usual schedule. The Museum of the Home had closed over Christmas for longer than expected and there would be no twelfth night burning of the holly and ivy, something I’d loved in the past. This year many public buildings and restaurants opted for a long break while Omicron kept people at home and staff numbers dwindled due to illness. It was a cold and grey day but it wasn’t raining and we decided to go out.
We took a bus to Fenchurch Street. The original plan was to go to Bow Lane and I confess to being motivated by an advertised cake at Konditor. From there we could walk over to 120 Fenchurch Street where they have a rooftop viewing garden. It didn’t go according to plan but it went well, anyway.
We got off the bus and decided that, since it was still light, we’d go to 120 first. I’d been there before without Krish but he’d never been so we wandered along the strangely quiet street. There was quite a queue to get into Skygarden, though, and I was glad that wasn’t our choice for the day.
The Garden at 120 isn’t very far from Skygarden. It’s also not as high, at 15 floors, but I’d liked it when I went. It’s the City of London’s largest roof top public space, is fully open air, quiet and the view is more intimate when you’re closer to everything. We were the only people heading for it. Even going through Security was quiet and fun. The person scanning our bags had a good chat with Krish comparing beard experiences. It felt friendly and personal.
I’ve not been in the warmer months but I’ve read it has wisteria trees, fruit trees and a 200ft-long water feature. None were apparent on this cold January day.
You can walk around the perimeter – the full 360 degrees of view. There are many seats to relax on and just enjoy the air and the surrounding buildings. There’s no space to stick a camera through for clear photos so all of them are taken through the thick safety glass. I’ve decided not to caption them. There are some iconic landmarks, but I’m not sure it matters. You can ask me in the comments if you need to know more. You may notice, however — St Paul’s, Hays Galleria, the Tower of London, and the Shard.
And up here you’re close to the cranes and construction. It fills the entire South side.
While we were there, two other people came up – only two. Note to ourselves to come back when it’s warm, to see the flowers and plants in bloom and the water feature flowing. I have a feeling it might still be quiet and peaceful.
We left the building and started to walk westward, through Star Alley, when we found this church – St Olave’s, which I’d heard of.
St Olave Hart Street is one of the few mediaeval churches to survive the Great Fire of London. Samuel Pepys and his wife are buried there.
Charles Dickens who lived close by, called St Olave’s ‘St Ghastly Grim’, referring to the gargoyles on the churchyard gate – if they’re still there, I didn’t notice them. St Olave’s has been a place of Christian worship and sanctuary for almost 1000 years, the first church dating from 1050, a simple timber structure. It was rebuilt in stone in the 13th century, and rebuilt again in 1450. The crypt dates from this period.
357 victims of the 1665 Plague were buried in the churchyard. Their names were marked with a ‘p’ in the church register. The church was heavily damaged during the Blitz of 1941, leaving just the arches and the tower and was restored in 1954. After looking around outside this surprisingly small building, we realised there was a lot to see if we stayed right where we were.
Along London Street we found Fenchurch Street Station, which had looked very small and interesting through the modern building maze below. I wanted to go inside as I’d never been. Immediately inside the station you’re faced with an up and a down escalator and one flight of stairs. So up we went.
At the top of the escalator I expected to see a station hall, but instead we saw gates right in front of us leading to only four platforms – quite the smallest train terminal I’d ever seen in London, every train heading through East London, and South Essex.
We headed back to Fenchurch Street and at the corner we came across a lovely old pub, the East India Arms. It’s been serving beer since 1829. The British East India Trading Company’s old premises are right next door. It traded until 1834 and in 1873 Lloyds took over the building.
Just beyond the pub was a gate and we could see a very modern building through it. The building had a look similar to the Lloyds so-called Inside Out building on Lime Street. Looking more closely, there was a good reason for that. It’s also designed by Richard Rogers. It was quite a lovely courtyard with a light-wrapped tree and some lovely benches where I could take a break.
Lloyds owned the land on which it had buildings and in the early 1990s, two unlisted ones were demolished to create a space to build something new. Work began in 1996 and was finished in 2000. Richard Rogers stamp is very clear.
On Fenchurch Street itself (71) is the original Lloyds Register building, called the Collcutt building. It is described as a classical stone palazzo in the 16th century Italian manner.
I hadn’t known a lot about Lloyds and its holdings and businesses before and I don’t know much know either. My wanderings are usually just that and I don’t do much research before I set out. I really can’t when I don’t have a specific target. When researching later, the details can feel overwhelming and make me want to go straight back to fill in the gaps. In this case I found out that the Richard Rogers Register building excavations uncovered Roman remains and reminders of other centuries. It’s a toss-up whether I’d like to reinvent myself as an archaeologist or a London guide!
Briefly, though, Lloyds Register was the world’s first marine classification society, created more than 260 years ago to improve the safety of ships. It began in 1760 in Edward Lloyd’s Coffee House in Lombard Street. While looking at the buildings and perhaps while you’ve been looking at them, there’s an assumption that this is part of Lloyds Bank. The fact that Richard Rogers designed both new buildings cements this assumption. In fact, Lloyd’s Register has no affiliation with Lloyd’s of London. And so I learned something new…again. And again, a half-promise to come back and see the Colcutt building and St Olave’s church gate some other time.
Talking of time, it was marching on and my knees told me to head home. We wanted to come home by Whitechapel and fix Krish’s samosa craving, so we continued along Fenchurch Street to find a bus. That’s when I discovered that Fenchurch Street becomes Aldgate and we were right at a familiar bus stop to take us the rest of the way. Before that though, and perhaps to compensate for missing Dickens’ ghastly gargoyle gate, I found the gate to St Botolph without Aldgate. I love a bit of gild. Of course, I’ve now discovered that the church has its own set of grisly and fascinating histories. Another time then… On the other hand, there are 48 churches in the square mile of the City of London and each one has a story. This is usually a multi-levelled story passing through centuries, often from Roman times, and it really would be a full-time job. For now, it’s samosas, kebabs, dhal with aubergine, naan, and Indian sweets to see us through more than a few post-Christmas meals.
I wanted to go to Leicester to see the Diwali lights and to meet up with our friends, Avi and Farrah. It’s about halfway between London and Sheffield and on the same route so that was handy. The lights were being turned on for 24th October and the crazy Diwali day was 4th November, so we were nicely in the middle.
When we arrived in Leicester, I was immediately struck with how much more genteel it felt than Sheffield. Sort of like Bristol but a bit grittier. A first it also seemed busier, at least at the station. I got on my cab app and a taxi arrived quickly to take us to the Holiday Inn. It was a nice big room with a car park view. The hotel in Sheffield had a view onto the next building. One day I’ll have a nice hotel view!
After a rest we opted to not have any dinner but to go straight to Belgrave Road, which is also known as the Royal Mile or Curry Mile. It’s a big Asian community. Belgrave Roa hadn’t changed since we were last there. There’s a big, illuminated Ferris wheel and there are Diwali lights strung along the road with some illuminated decorations on the lamp posts. It looks very festive. Last time we were there for Diwali night and there were big crowds and fireworks. It was manic! This time it was deserted apart from some busy restaurants.
I’d said that maybe we could find a simple bowl of dhal and skip anything fancy, but most of the places had bigger meals or were fast food outlets. Apart from Bobby’s. Bobby’s is the best-known Indian restaurant in the area. It’s a vegetarian hotspot. I didn’t really want to go there so we walked on. I tried to go into a shop or two that were selling Diwali trinkets but, despite their open doors, they were closed – or so I was told as soon as I put my foot in. We walked along to the end of the road.
Right down where it started to thin out was a Chaiwala and I thought we could at least have a cup of masala chai, but again I was ushered out – more kindly this time. They were apparently setting up for their grand opening the next day. And so back we went to Bobby’s and miraculously got a table immediately. Then we waited. We probably waited longer than we’d ever waited, since Krish is notoriously impatient, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go, and it was wet and chilly outside. Finally, they came for our order. I wanted dhal and a puri, and true to form Krish (who always over-orders) wanted dhokla and chaat and naan. And we waited again – a long time. We weren’t alone in our impatience. At every table people were looking around wondering where their food was.
The dhokla came first, then some naan, then some puri – I forget how long afterwards. We ate the dhokla, which is a spongey type of pancake. It was slightly spicy. Not bad but not as good as our friend, Rakhee’s. I had two pieces. Krish ordered a lassi to cool us down from the spice. I ate two more teaspoons of dhal. Krish ate everything else. The chaat never came, nor the lassi. Finally losing patience, Krish asked for the bill – the chaat was on there so he told them to take that off, and the lassi had never made it to our order. The verdict was – slowest and most unfriendly service ever, but the food had been very nicely made. We took a look around the street for something else (I’d barely eaten) but there was nothing and everything was dark – so we ordered another cab and went back to our room, settling for a cup of tea and sharing a pack of hotel biscuits.
Overnight my stomach was so sour, and by morning I felt truly ill. I could barely move from the pain in my abdomen and lower back. Krish lingered in the hotel with me, we fashioned a hot water bottle from my drinking bottle, and he went out for an hour or two at a time, while I stayed in bed hoping to recover by evening so I could see our friends later that day.
Krish found this plaque. Attenborough was educated at Wyggeston Grammar School for Boys!
Krish picked me up a sandwich – an omelet on white bread, I told him. Only they didn’t know how to make an omelet so gave him a fried egg one instead. I got brown sauce on it, said Krish, I know you like that. Oh well, I couldn’t eat anyway. I drank though, whatever I could stomach – some very weak tea, some ginger beer, some coconut water. It was clear I wasn’t going anywhere with our friends. I told Krish, please go anyway. I’ll feel less guilty. he said no, so I told him to call and explain and maybe during the chat he’d change his mind. He did. I was glad for that.[/caption]
He was out for three or four hours. They had fun. I’m so glad. In retrospect, I’m pleased I didn’t go. If my response to spice had been that bad from Thursday, how much worse would it have been if it had happened on Friday night with the journey ahead! Ah well, spice or not – DONE!
I took an extra dose of my meds in the evening, having actually managed to eat TWO CRACKERS! Yay.
It was rainy in Leicester. This was the view from the hotel room and you can see the water streaming down after collecting on the flat roof of the car park
The next morning, I planned to stay in bed and ignore the jibes from Krish about going to seek breakfast. Instead, I took another pill, ate some crackers – AND A COOKIE, yay. I didn’t feel quite right but at least able to move about and talk without sounding like someone had strangled me. Avi and Farrah had said if I was feeling well enough, let them know and they’d pick us up to go over. I messaged them that I was OK and to get back to us.
We then had a lazy morning with Krish packing and me just resting and praying. Just before we checked out, Avi phoned to say he would come by at 1pm. So, for one hour we explored around the old centre, and I was able to get some photos. Leicester has a small but interesting medieval quarter. There’s a big Richard III connection in Leicester.
(Is this Wygston’s House? I think so)Â Â 15th-century timber-framed merchant’s house thought to be the oldest dwelling in Leicester. Wygston’s House is a beautiful example of a medieval wool merchant’s residence.Wyggeston Hospital in Leicester was founded by William Wyggeston the Younger in 1513. This building went up in 1877 as a hospital boys grammar schoolFrom Applegate towards the Guildhall and the cathedral
Leicester Guildhall started life in 1390 when its Great Hall was built as a meeting place and banquet hall for the Guild of Corpus Christi. It’s believed that Shakespeare performed here
A mini graveyard behind the cathedral
King Richard III was killed in the battle of Bosworth Field (Leicestershire) and his body was crudely buried near the present day cathedral. In 2012 his skeleton was found and when it was confirmed to be him in 2013 it was reburied in the cathedral
We bought gifts for Avi and Farrah – a lovely scented candle (winter scent) and some halal chocolate (harder to find than I would have imagined, considering the Moslem population. and we went into the visitor centre and I bought two Diwali items – a bird with a bell, and a string of birds with a bell. They’re both very pretty and seeing the price now, I should have bought many more. Then we heard from Avi that he would leave in ten minutes so we headed back to the hotel to collect the case. That is, Krish headed back and I sat across the road where Avi would be pulling up. The following photos are of the fancier shopping area, Loseby Lane.
It was really nice to see him. He took us to his place by the scenic route (I now surmise) and picked up somewhere from ‘our favourite place’ which was grilled marinated chicken on a bun and some chips. He ordered mine plain. They live in a small community with suburban housing and their place is traditional and neat. it was my first meeting with Farrah, who was wearing a hijab (she wore it for dinner the day before so obviously that’s a normal thing, although I’ve seen Instagram photos of her with her hair showing) and was very chatty. She’s a Computer Sciences teacher and very articulate and interesting. So nice to meet her, two years after the marriage, and already chatting a little through our Instagram pages. I managed to eat half the burger which, despite being ‘plain,’ had been marinated and I tasted it for ages, I also managed a handful of chips.
Avi showed us around the house and then suddenly realised we had fifteen minutes to get our train. Panic! We raced along with us telling Avi, get us there but alive, we’d rather pay the fare again. in fact, our train was 3:32 and we arrived at the station at 3:31! (This is when I discovered getting to the station was probably a THIRD of the distance we’d travelled coming from the hotel to his house – so yeah, scenic route.) We raced through the barrier, up the stairs to the footbridge, all the way along, and saw that the train was on the platform. I tucked my cane under my arm, got down the stairs as quickly as I could, grateful for someone who was holding up the boarding process a bit, jumped in the closest door to me and we took off. This is the second time we have absolutely rushed to Leicester station and just made it. I hope it’s not a trend.
The train back was packed, mostly with football fans – definitely Arsenal at an away game, definitely drunk, and definitely super noisy and boring. Every five seconds or so someone – usually the same person – started an awful fan song which the others joined in or not. The second song seemed to need some clanging and banging of the train seats and overhead railings. Joy! Facing us across the table sat a man with his young daughter. She was watching a video on her tablet the whole time so wasn’t subjected to the swearing that was part of the whole thing. Anyway, no ticket inspectors, no hassle, straight through to London in an hour. And here’s the song:
F*ck em all!
F*ck em all!
United, West Ham, Liverpool
Cos we are the Arsenal!
We are the best!
We are the Arsenal!
F*ck all the rest!
At St Pancras, my taxi app was painfully slow and eventually it told me no drivers. I tried once more, and we settled for a bus and ended up taking two buses after seeing the best bus was 19 mins away (what???). We arrived home 90 mins after our actual arrival in London. A bowl of soup and a small slice of bread and off to bed with a hot water bottle. So, all in all, a bit of a blip here and there but a good trip.
I won’t lie. I have very little interest in countryside. This usually flabbergasts people. How can I not love it? I get the same reaction as when I say I’m not interested in pets. I must surely be subhuman, a monster!
It’s not that I can’t enjoy being ‘in nature.’ I love looking at mountains and hills, I love the ocean (not lying on the beach, though)…but I’m most comfortable in cities. Not the super noisy commercial parts, but where I can see buildings and people and all things urban (and hopefully not sub). I don’t even like parks or public gardens. I’m fine in the countryside for short visits, but I tire easily and don’t feel like myself. So I’ll stop being defensive and say that’s just who I am.
However, Lisa and I were meeting for lunch and she suggested we go to the Woodberry Wetlands and find something there. Coincidentally one of my favourite local places had been advertising a second location – at Woodberry Down. Perfect.
I took the bus to Lisa’s place. I love the buildings she lives in. They are set back from the road opposite Clapton Common in a row called Clapton Terrace. It’s not known exactly when the terraced houses were built but the oldest ones show in a map from 1774 and one house has a plaque dated 1760. They were probably lived in by wealthy family who would have had stables at the back. These are listed buildings and haven’t changed very much.
At the end of the terrace (at number 1) is St Thomas’ Church. The first church was built some time between 1773 and 1777 and was initially in a large fenced garden. It’s been extensively altered and  in 1873 the whole of the interior was remodelled. These days it’s a plain and solid looking Anglican church with a fairly active presence and congregation in the mostly Jewish neighbourhood.
I haven’t really become used to being driven in a car in London. It feels alien. There are differences other than the obvious oddities of being on the left. The cars are small and they seem to drive quickly. There are no stop signs and there are amber lights before green and red ones. Drivers seem more skilled, able to negotiate sharper turns, narrower roads, and dodging pedestrians who cross the road at random – not quite slowing down to do so but somehow managing it. And Lisa drives me confidently over to Woodberry Down. I was really surprised to see the usual North London architecture give way to a very modern area. And our target, 215 Hackney, was along a modern street.
The original 215 Hackney is – not surprisingly – at 215 Stoke Newington Road in Hackney. This location is their second and this was my third visit, but only the first to this new location. It’s much larger than the original, but mostly the same middle Eastern influenced menu. I had the Jerusalem breakfast, which I chose for the variety of things on the plate.
I have yet to exhaust the area around Cornhill. It would be easy to feel exhausted, to be fair. It’s like burrowing down in the earth, only to feel that you’ll never reach centre. Except that this burrowing is exciting, finding sparkly minerals as I go and part of me hoping there actually is no centre. I don’t have a clue how many days or hours I’d need since an inch away there’d be another countless layers of earth to burrow…I’ll just wish instead for a hundred more lifetimes, if that’s enough. Perhaps 100,000. So buckle up, this will be another long one.
My plan today was to see Pudding Lane and the Monument and then meet Krish. I went from Liverpool Street Station to Fenchurch Street on a grey day when I knew the photographs might not be as sparkly. In fact, London when it’s grey is just London, so best to capture it in its relaxed state.
From Fenchurch Street, I set my destination but I can’t resist an alley and I saw one that was quite wide, only loosely an alley, and thought it might be an interesting shortcut when I saw what looked like a pub at the bottom and a promise of another exit, so not a dead end.
Off of the bus and down an alley, with a glimmer of a pub at the end
But I was headed to Pudding Lane.
Pudding Lane is a small street in London, widely known as the location of Thomas Farriner’s bakery, where the Great Fire of London started in 1666.
This is where it’s said the Great Fire of London started (on 2 September 1666) at Thomas Farriner’s bakery, the King’s baker. It was on the eastern side of Pudding Lane, one of the first one-way roads in the world in 1617. Pudding wasn’t a sweet thing. It’s what the butchers called the offal that they took down to the river to the waste barges.
This sounds ‘romantic,’ but Pudding Lane today isn’t quaint or anything of the kind. Instead it’s a rather barren narrow street with some boring office building on either side. I was so unimpressed that I didn’t see the plaque to the bakery and fire that Google assures me is there. That teaches me to look more closely or do a little bit of research before I leave home.
Opposite where the bakery stood, is the Monument (The Monument to the Great Fire of London.) It’s 202 feet (52M) high and it was built that high to mark the bakery site, 202 feet west. It was designed by Christopher Wren and Robert Hooke – a Doric column topped with a gilded urn of fire. (The Golden Boy of Pye Corner marks the spot where the fire was stopped, near Smithfield. See my blog that mentions it.) It’s closed now but inside there are 311 steps leading up to a viewing platform. At one time it would have had a great view of the river and The City.
Standing at the west side of the Monument at the wonderfully named Fish Hill, to the north is Monument Tube station and to the south is the river and St Magnus The Martyr church on Lower Thames Street. I haven’t been there for years but inside there’s a four metre model of the old London Bridge, and outside some masonry thought to be from the bridge.
I hadn’t been this close to the Monument for over a decade and I was amused by stone benches, which were engraved with the rhyme of ‘London’s burning.’ When I was a child, we would sing this in rounds, but I’m quite sure I had no idea at the time that it referred to the Great Fire. It was just fun to sing. As well as the benches there was a drinking fountain nearby with the rhyme engraved on a metal plaque.
From there we walked to where we were staying on St Faith’s Lane. It wasn’t far from the station – a small curved back street with a view to the cathedral. We were staying in a studio apartment which I’d found online. I forgot to take photos but it was decent – we had a full kitchen along one side, an armchair, a bed, a little table with two chairs, and a bathroom with a big walk in shower. It would do nicely for our two half and one full days.
I was really surprised to see the usual North London architecture give way to a very modern area. And our target, 215 Hackney, was along a modern street.
