Style – slightly weird

25th January 202327th January 2023

Things I needed to do – Liberty and the Elizabeth Line

Monday, 24 October, 2023

It was almost crazy to think about doing anything during the last week in London. We were absolutely snowed under and stressed out with everything we needed to do, but we had promised each other that we would try to get away from all the work once or twice a week, even if just for an hour or two.

When Krish asked me what things I needed to do before leaving, I thought first about Liberty. And then I thought about the new Elizabeth underground line which had just opened. I didn’t want to leave without seeing it.

It’s just two stops from Liverpool Street to Tottenham Court Road, the closest station to Liberty. The Bond Street station would have worked, but it hadn’t opened yet. With more time I’d have travelled to Paddington.

The Elizabeth line opened for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee. I was excited to see it and hadn’t wanted to go in the first week or so when everyone else would be flocking to it. Liverpool Street had a separate entrance for the line on Old Broad Street and we’d walked past and photographed it many times when it was being built so it was easy enough to find.

Leaving Liverpool Street by the Broadgate exit and heading towards the Elizabeth Line entrance

The corridors are long once you’ve gone through the turnstiles. I was wishing for a moving walkway

The platform was like the Jubilee Line and we thought of Torino, which has a similar system with gates lining the platform instead of an open track

The carriage seats are large and clean and felt more comfortable than on other lines. The colours are grey and purple

Once out of the station we made our way through Soho towards Carnaby Street. We were feeling nostalgic and happy to be out. The sky was a beautiful blue that day and lifted our spirits as we walked along.

Soho has been weird in the last several years. Somehow, despite the money that must have poured into the area, it’s become a little sadder and more rundown for a while. There’s a bunch of construction – the roads, some buildings – and I wonder if I will ever see it finished. The rundownness is part of its charm of course, and it’s filled with history and memories, and so I still love it and its ability to get me a bit lost no matter how many times I’ve been there. That day we were just weaving our way through past street art, chaotic popculture shopfronts and Berwick Street Market with little time to spare on our way to Liberty.

Liberty, a London luxury, is a sharp contrast to the often shabby back streets of Soho. But it also backs onto Carnaby Street and, along with the rest of the world, in 1960s London I loved any excuse to at least window shop there. Carnaby Street isn’t the untidy jumble of independent shops it used to be. Now it’s full of midrange franchises with only a touch of the bohemian and bizarre. It is a passage that feels transitional, merging beatnik Soho gently into Regent Street splendour.

The back door of Liberty on Carnaby Street

Liberty is a department store in central London off Regent Street, the West End. It’s iconic and beautiful – a faux Tudor style building. When I was a teenager and able to travel into town on my own, Liberty was top of my list at Christmas time. I’d head for the basement. Down there you could find magical, gorgeous stationery and cards and wrapping paper. On the ground floor, which is overlooked by mahogany balconies each one leading to small rooms of goods, I’d buy small things but never any of the richly coloured and patterned silks. I could never afford those. Once I bought two pairs of small silver scissors and some peg dolls. Lovely things. When a friend of mine visited London and brought back a small silk Liberty print scarf for me, I gasped. I still treasure it. When my brother’s mother in law was downsizing and parting with many of her scarves, he asked me if I wanted any. ‘Anything Liberty,’ I said, without hesitation.

From the front of Liberty you can already guess you are in for something a little different. When I was younger I was fooled by its Tudor look, thinking it very old and historic. In fact, it’s about 100 years old, built in 1922. You can read about how it came to be built on the store page. Just a teaser so you can understand the abundance of wood and why it has a much older air: “. In 1922, the builders Messrs Higgs & Hill were given a lump sum of £198,000 to construct it, which they did from the timbers of two ancient ‘three-decker’ battle ships.”

Every time I go through the lobby, which reminds me of a fine hotel and often has a florist in place, it just about takes my breath away. The polished mahogany trim, balconies, and staircases throw off an air of luxury and indulgence.

There are lifts (or just one?) leading upstairs but I like walking up the stairs. It feels like I am inside a country manor but, now I know the history, a large ship or ocean liner. The upper floors have rooms leading off from the balcony, each small and housing small but lavish collections of things. That day I covered just one small section so that I could peek inside, check out the freestanding racks of designer clothing – I only once looked at the price tags and…never again – and take a photo or two looking down to the main floor.

We set off again, through the arch and over to Regent Street, down to Piccadilly Circus, bus to Tottenham Court Road and back to Liverpool Street on the Elizabeth line.

And home. When we arrived at Hackney Downs from Liverpool Street (eight minutes away) I thought, this could be the last time I’m on this platform, so I stood a minute. And it was…for this time.

I’m grateful now that I chose Liberty for ‘my last look.’ While the west end used to delight me, a special treat, it hasn’t factored into my list of things to do in London for years. Yet Liberty lingers, and I will never tire of it.

(Afterthought – I’m on catch-up here. I’ve skipped editing duties. The photos are sometimes overexposed, sometimes in too much shadow, and some are my usual slanted view (I lean). My habit is to ‘point, click, and pray.’ It suits my lopsided stance and limited ability to stand, balance, or wait around generally. The important thing is to capture the moment as it is, no excuses. Could you tell? If there are duplicates, let me know.)

27th August 20219th September 2021

House of Annetta – missed tricks

Friday, 27 August, 2021

A journey to Brick Lane is always welcome. I can find so many things to do there, although these days I avoid the weekend. The Sunday markets were always a lot of fun. all the more so if I were taking someone around. On my best days we’d start in Columbia Road Flower Market then make our way over to Spitalfields Market, walk over to Brick Lane and check out all the market stalls and halls, with some lunch along the way. Then up Brick Lane to see the shops there and home again. There were always crowds.

Columbia Road got increasingly busy as more tourists found it and then one day, when I could barely move through it – shoulder to shoulder and wondering how I’d exit, like on a packed train – I stopped going. Spitalfields Market expanded into a new area where the stalls had more expensive goods, gradually the shops changed to pricier ones, and the food became less casual. Expensive restaurants popped up. The crowds weren’t too bad but worse than before. Eventually the old market where the stalls were the type you’d rummage through and be able to pick up several things without spending very much, began to change too. The eating area was moved and was now a group of tidy counters, the stalls were changed so they were fixed and neat. One area was devoted to other food kiosks with the new market uniform look. The food area began to spread and take over, with all the nicer seating. The people started to change too. No longer rough and ready, noisy and enthusiastic, they were now tidy, quiet or giggly, more money in their pockets. These days I hardly ever go. I can find nothing to buy, the food is overpriced, the atmosphere of the old market is gone. The Brick Lane markets got much busier too. The market stalls spread along the street itself, more and more of them, and mostly food. Now it was all weekend and the crowds grew, they too changing from chaotic and rebellious to more monied and trendy.

I pride myself on being a champion of change. I’ve always loved to see things moving with the times, reinventing, shapeshifting, and becoming something new but interesting. I’m fascinated with innovation and how people find different ways to design and use things. But there’s a curious and frustrating trend to uniformity. While some places stride to be unique, there can be a sameness that leaves me wondering why opportunities and tricks were missed.

Not that Brick Lane ever disappoints. When you come here on a weekday, the crowds are gone, unless you come when the mosque lets out its throngs of people. Then they fill the streets, heading home or back to work. I’m curious about them – why are they all male? what are their lives like? how long were they praying? where are the children? I love the clothing, the general quietness even in a crowd, the way they’ve imparted their calm culture in this area.

But Brick Lane is changing too. The pandemic has brought the tables out onto the pavement and some shops are closed, shuttered, or keeping shorter hours. One by one newer places have opened among the old Bangladeshi shops, more and more not Bangladeshi or Bengali. They’re more likely to be vintage clothing, small artisanal designers, cafes that sell matcha not chai, vegan brownies not samosas, burritos not tikka masala rolls.

The pub has existed since at least the middle of the 19th century, if not always under that name. It’s associated with one of the Ripper suspects, and is one of the rare old sights left. Heneage Street

Continue reading “House of Annetta – missed tricks”

8th January 20208th January 2020

A new decade – what’s in store?

Tuesday, 7 January, 2020

It feels very strange to type 2020. I hadn’t thought of that before. Am I supposed to make resolutions for the whole decade? I really should. So far my only resolution for the year is to eat at one restaurant on my list every week. In fact, that wouldn’t take too many weeks so definitely doable.

I’d like to be less lazy, waste less time, do more – more of all sorts of things. So far so bad, though. There’s still time, right? Ten years less seven days, anyway.

On the third, I had tickets to go see a children’s version of The Nutcracker at Sadler’s Wells’ Lillian Baylis theatre. I love these shorter version of classic ballets. They’re perfect for my short attention span. First I took the bus to Islington Green at Angel to have a bit of lunch.

I went to Kanada-Ya and had an OK tonkotsu ramen

After lunch I walked along Camden Passage before getting my next bus

Japanese tea room - and the air smelled amazing from the Penhaligon shop — Japanese tea room – and the air smelled amazing from the Penhaligon shop

It's a short bus ride from Angel to Sadler's Wells — It’s a short bus ride from Angel to Sadler’s Wells

Juliet was going to bring her grandson but there was a last minute switch and instead we were taking her granddaughter, Dessi. Dessi was very excited and told me that she’d seen the ballet before, the CBeebies version. With Juliet on the aisle seat, me in the next, and Dessi closest to the centre, we sat and waited.

Even the short ballet version felt long at times. Dessi kept me entertained. After only a couple of minutes she announced I want to be a ballerina just like they are. I thought how lovely it was to be so inspired. When one of the dancers appeared onstage, she announced loudly – the lone voice above the iconic music – It’s the Sugar Plum Fairy, and after a few rapt minutes I love the Sugar Plum Fairy. She then loudly whispered to us, When I go back to your house, grandma, I’m going to dance all the way there. There were six ballerinas sharing roles on stage. Four were slender, two were sturdy. I noticed, just like last year, how lightly they landed with each leap and step. At the end of the show, all children are invited to come down to the stage to take photos with the dancers.

Dessi and I raced down to get there, only to find out that we had come down the wrong way. Up we went again and all the way to the back of the queue.

Anticipation - Dessi told me she wanted to dance on the stage — Anticipation while we waited – Dessi told me she wanted to dance on the stage

Everybody was moving slowly, parents were hogging the spotlight for their children – none of this surprising – and then suddenly with only half the children having moved down to the stage, we seemed to moving extra quickly.

Dessi had told me that she wanted to dance with them on stage so when she stood there, I reminded her and she held her arms above her head, all the dancers following her lead.

Finally, it was Dessi's turn — Finally, it was Dessi’s turn – I was too blind to notice the green light on her face

I reminded Dessi to pose and the dancers all copied her

Dessi glanced around to see that they were all posing with her

Continue reading “A new decade – what’s in store?”

29th December 201921st January 2020

I love to make things – messy or not, here I come!

Sunday, 29 December, 2019

Quite honestly, I’m not very good at making things. This would make my friends and everyone who sees my ‘things’ laugh really. They’d tell me I’m creative and talented. I can see how that happens.

I would say, though, that I have five thumbs on each hand, or that somehow the messages from my brain don’t get all the way down to my fingers when I create. In my head is a beautiful image, which by the time it gets down to my hands becomes a muddled mess. But then I’m messy – let’s get that out in the open right now.

What I can do is make use of my mistakes. Take my dolls – the end result is good, sometimes great, because I cover up the mistakes with lace, ribbon, bits of fabric… and I smile a lot and don’t let a mistake interrupt or stop me.

And so messy becomes ‘me,’ ‘my style.’ I think or hope that people see that the end result reflects me. And yet…

I was recently interviewed by a woman who is writing a book. As far as I can tell, she is taking photos of older people and writing about them. We talked for about an hour, I told her all manner of things about me, holding very little back and at the end, it was the dolls – something I mentioned only briefly at first – that caught her attention, even though I suggested she photograph me in front of some Hackney Stik art. And so in January I’ll be taking all of my dolls to a studio where she’ll artfully display them and take my photo with the whole lot. I hate having my photo taken so we’ll see what comes of it. At any rate, her eyes lit up when she saw the colours and personalities I’d created – forget the travels, forget the search for street art and local culture, forget the foodie obsessions – this, apparently, was it!

In November I took a course on how to make rye bread. Somewhere in Dalston, down a less-travelled alley, is the Dusty Knuckle Bakery. I went one evening to their classroom, which is across the yard from the bakery/cafe, in a container. The instructor was Tomek, a somewhat serious man, who knew a lot about bread.

There were only three of us! A woman, her daughter, and me. This was perfect. We could each do our own thing, and the mood was unhurried and personal. Rye bread, it seems, is the simplest bread to make. We were learning the slow method, which uses a sour dough starter instead of commercial yeast. The starter at the Dusty Knuckle is called Marta. She sits in a large plastic container with a cracked lid, growing and being used to start hundreds of rye loaves. Bits of her have been shared around the students and bakers, and now a bit of her is in my fridge, waiting to be woken up when I need another loaf.

Yeast, Tomek, explained is natural and it’s everywhere. If we had special ‘yeast glasses,’ we would see yeast covering everything and it might be horrifying. So Marta picks up that natural yeast and. when fed, grows. My Marta is different than anyone else’s because it’s picked up the yeast in my environment, including from my body. If I gave some to you, it would change again. Yeast is pretty special.

We created one loaf of sour dough rye bread, one loaf of quick (soda) bread, and some thin rye crackers that use buttermilk and honey. All in three hours. I am not used to weighing on a scale or with grams, British-style, and that may be the reason that, after the sour dough loaves had risen (proved) to be ready for baking, mine was smaller than the others. I was a bit devastated. Why mine? Of course mine! Messy me strikes again. Out of the hot oven, mine was still the smallest. At home? Tasted delicious! Job done.

How do you make rye bread, you ask? Well, you take some starter, add rye flour, salt, and water, mix just till the flour disappears, plop the whole lot into an oiled loaf tin and you’re done! Seriously, good bread is made with flour, water and salt – that’s it. (Even the starter is made with just flour and water and allowed to ferment.)

In December I went to a Christmas wreath making workshop. I’d done the same workshop the year before and, despite how many hours it took I loved it. So I was back. It was at the Geffrye Museum – recently controversially renamed to the Museum of the Home! While the museum is being renovated and enlarged, workshops, front garden events, and almshouse visits are continuing.

Walking up to the workshop at the Museum of the Home – see all the greenery waiting outside?

This year there was less greenery than before so my idea to make a wreath with some bare twigs, trailing eucalyptus and flowering branches and such, evaporated. However, I had lovely tablemates this year, Heather was her usual helpful, competent, and friendly self, there were chocolate bicuits, tea, and mince pies, and I happily – and more calmly than last year – got to it.

To create the trailing effect that I’d seen on Instagram, I chose some lighter pine in with the sturdy spruce. The messy result ensued and people must love mess based on the number who came by the table and remarked on how they were soooo going to copy my ideas. Another job done.

To create a wreath, you start with a wire frame and pack it tightly with live moss, which you firmly wire to create the round shape. Then you staple a plastic backing to protect your door. You take your greenery and push it firmly into the moss to create the wreath, and then add finishing touches – ornaments, ribbons, spices… Mine this year was made with spruce, pine, pine cones, artificial red berries and a subtle white and gold bow. It’s bigger than I’d planned – second time that’s been the case – but it looks good on the living room door. Continue reading “I love to make things – messy or not, here I come!”

19th June 201924th July 2019

Sharon and Mohan’s wedding – Mendhi Night

Wednesday, 19 June 2019

A Hindu wedding isn’t just a one-day affair. In fact, Moh and Sharon’s wedding went on for five. Now, not the actual wedding but the events surrounding the wedding and each with its own significance. I’d been to Avi’s wedding back in February and that was an Indian Muslim wedding so I wasn’t sure how much similarity there would be. The answer is – a bit. They use a lot of the same words, anyway, but they do them a bit differently.

The M&S Wedding was spread over the five days as: Mendhi night, Maticoor night, the wedding, the reception, and the Kangan. So each blog post will be about one of these and then I’ll link one to the other.

We went to Moh’s house on Tuesday, the 18th June. Moh lives in the home that he grew up in, since he bought the house when his parents moved further out of Toronto. So the house is familiar. He’s done a bunch of work to smarten it up and it shows. Moh put us both to work immediately, Krish applying film to the basement windows and me steaming some huge table cloths for the reception. And he said ‘Naomi’ was on her way. Naomi is Krish’s cousin and very close to Moh. I liked her right away. She turned up with her husband, Rana, and Krish’s dad. A full house already and we were planted in Krish’s old bedroom. That’s a strange feeling, since I knew it from before. It’s a lot tidier now!

Everything was nice. We had some food, we chatted, and it felt like we’d all known each other for years and years. I love when that happens!

The next day more work but that evening Naomi and I got dressed for the Mendhi night at Sharon’s family home. I’d arrived in Toronto with five outfits for the five wedding days. My wardrobe has never looked so fancy.

My outfits scattered around Moh's spare closet in our room — **My outfits scattered around Moh’s spare closet in our room**

**I chose my green lace Lindy Bop dress and the green sparkly bag Jenn bought for me**

A fancy version of me! — **A rare and fancy version of me!**

Sharon’s family lives in Woodbridge, which is just north west of Toronto. When we arrived, there were giant ceramic elephants in the driveway and family members were sitting in deckchairs on the drive and in the open garage. Someone told me to go to the tent in the back garden to get my mendhi done but when I arrived, there was quite a queue, so instead I went to get food from the large containers on tables in the garage. Continue reading “Sharon and Mohan’s wedding – Mendhi Night”