The Streets are Alive with the Sound of Laughter

Weekends in London will never be the same for me after this one, a weekend of laughter and joy encapsulated in a series of wonderful moments.One of those was the moment, I stepped on the train from glorious Devon on a crisp, clear, Friday morning and stepped into the quiet and restful environment that is First Class. I may not be a snob but I could become one having tasted the forbidden fruit of free tea and biscuits and enough space to spread out my entire collection of magazines and books. One should not underestimate the view as Devon disappears and Somerset and Wiltshire take over. It is a sorry sight that greets you as you arrive in Reading, close packed housing and people, so many people. The pleasant experience of the First Class carriage becomes a sanctuary from the chaos outside.

On arrival in London, I leave the delights of Paddington and join the inevitable London Taxi queue. Somehow the lack of understanding of the simple act of queuing is beyond me. Why is it that it has become a somewhat British art of standing in a line being told what to do but it also seems we delight in worrying about whether someone else is jumping the queue? Queue Jumping, the fine art of frustrating fellow human beings, a book by AJ de Montjoie who has managed to get through most situations by observing the eccentric behaviour of those who are intent on getting completely stressed out! I am not often lucky enough to be treated to cab rides around London but there are certain intrinsic advantages to being in the back of the infamous black vehicle. For example, whilst being whisked through the back streets of any city, you can see little tucked away restaurants that would otherwise be hidden from the subterranean underground passenger. Also there is that rare opportunity to be terrified as you are driven at high speed in a narrowing gap between two double decker buses. I would not have missed this for the world, as you can tell this is not a familiar method of travel for me! 

I arrive in Westminster, John Islip Street to be precise at the City Inn (http://www.cityinn.com/london/). Tucked away down near the Thames and away from the hustle and bustle of the Houses of Parliament, it seems an innocuous place to find a hotel and especially one like this. It has the air and ambiance of a design hotel and the usual trappings of quaint and thoughtful lighting and the odd sight of a series of chaise langues in the lobby. Despite our room not being ready, we are encouraged to take a drink in the bar, where we find ourselves being waited on like a king and queen, being offered the very best complimentary drinks in order to appease our confusion over the fact that guests are not required to check out until 4pm. We happily eat a fantastic burger each (one veggie and one carnivorous version!) and then retire to our suite. Yes, I said suite; it is an astonishing sight that something of such quality could exist in London and be at a reasonable price. Getting to the thirteenth floor was an interesting adventure in itself as after a fire alarm tests the main lift has taken leave of its senses and decided to stop, the only way forward it seems is to take a ride in the service lift.

So to the wondrous suite. There are few places I can imagine being more impressive than being stood on the 13th floor, looking out over the Tate Britain and the infamous art deco MI6 building glowing gently on the South Bank. Being able to lie in bed and take in the skyline is sheer indulgence. The suite is carefully laid out and some interesting and thoughtful touches takes it beyond the standard big chain hotel. There are the sofas, obligatory fridge and TVs in the lounge and bedroom area. The difference is in the detail: the TVs are flat screens and unobtrusive, there are DVD players too and the lighting has been carefully considered. Gentle energy saving halogen bulbs would appease even the most ardent eco warrior, as they cast their light across the room. The bed is huge and comfortable and somehow as I shut my eyes on the world outside, I am wondering how one can recreate this room at home.

We have taken the lazy way to breakfast in the morning and have opted for room service. We are lying in bed watching the aircraft make their final descent into Heathrow and perusing our Saturday paper when the prompt delivery is brought to the room. This is where our suite comes into its own. Normally I am not one for breakfast in bed, lying there trying to balance tray, plate, juice and paper whilst sitting on the bed hardly ever works for me. In my opinion being sat at a table is infinitely preferable. Here I have my little wish fulfilled. I am sat at a table that can accommodate not only a full English breakfast, a continental breakfast, toast, tea pot, mugs but also the weighty tome that is the weekend paper. Wrapped up in our pristine bath robes and relaxing over breakfast, it is hard to tear ourselves away.

Head for the streets we must however. We step out of the hotel to be greeted by a cold rush of air as the northerly wind is biting through our coats. I have left my beloved beanie in the room, I am in denial that I need it but I am regretting it now. We take in the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben on our way to the underground. It is eerily quiet on a Saturday morning. The sight of the ominous concrete blocks that have been placed in the road as an terrorist measures seem somewhat weak really, I am unconvinced that this show of strength is really anything other than tokenism but we are led to believe we live in dangerous times and here is the evidence.

 We have taken a trip to Oxford Street to test the shopping and I am indulging myself by going to admire the shop front at Selfridges. The bitter disappointment of having my childhood memories dashed by a substandard and poor show from Selfridges, does not dampen my spirits however. We decide to walk along Oxford Street and take in the madness of the silly season. There is a somewhat subdued feeling here however, the tacky lights and the lacklustre consumer suggests that perhaps we have at last been thwarted in our annual materialism. It is not busy here. We step onto the backstreets and walk towards Tottenham Court Road. These streets are the place to find the small and more unique shops for those truly interesting gifts. It is surprising that such places can continue to survive in a time of credit crises and sub-prime disasters but survive they do and they are worth a walk off the beaten track.

We rest our legs in Boarders in Charring Cross Road. This is a strange experience to say the least. The contrast between the loud piped music and the library quiet of the coffee shop is marked with people curled up in chairs reading their purchases. This rather eclectic mix of people is randomly shaken by the underground trains passing beneath building causing it to vibrate like some kind of demented jelly (not something one expects of the usually solid bricks and mortar). From here we stretch our legs towards Covent Garden and here we find those who have cast off the credit squeeze and are spending wildly. For any frequent traveller and lover of all things map-like there is one place you should stop on your way to the chaos at Covent Garden and that is Stanfords Maps (http://www.stanfords.co.uk/). I am at the same time delighted by the endless opportunities to peruse maps of all shapes and sizes and beside myself that I will be missing Michael Palin’s visit on the 5^th December. Oh to be the new Michael Palin and being allowed to traverse the earth with a khaki bag and meeting some of the world’s strangest peoples and places.