London tittle tattle observations

To be a female in winter in London, it would seem one has to wear a woolly, knitted pull-on hat with a pom-pom at its apex.  Not just any pom-pom, a large, very finely furry pom-pom. All colours acceptable. 

Men wear pull-on knitted hats with large turn-up also, but definitely no pom-pom.  Mostly in dull colours or stripes, worn well down over the ears.

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A couple of forays to popular chain restaurants around London has reminded me of a very useful piece of advice.   If you think you might need the 'facilities' whilst in the restaurant, best go whilst you are still relatively sober.  Most of the ground floor restaurants have the kitchen and the 'facilities' in the basement.  The kitchen may have a food lift.  But the customer will have to negotiate a steep, downward, often ill-lit,  flight of stairs with narrow treads.

Memories, memories - the most memorable such a venture (for me) was down to the basement facilities of the lamented 'Hellenic' restaurant in Thayer Street.  A light could be switched on by the descending customer.   The walls and ceiling appeared to be held together by many layers of anaglypta paper.  But the 'Ladies' was relatively capacious, had a good, secure lock, a good mirror and a heater.

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Two elegant London buses in a row

As any tourist soon finds out, the London buses are wonderful, not least in stylish design but also in flexibility and numbers.   There I 
was on a 38 bus going across London from Islington ( very north) through Bloomsbury and Soho ( very central) to Victoria (very nearly south).  Once in central London the route was contorted by roads of varying width,  cluttered by building works,  consequent traffic clog-ups and seemingly suicidal, possibly foreign pedestrians.
Somehow the bus driver managed to make his vehicle slimmer, shorter or more flexible according to need.  I felt compelled to congratulate him when I safely debarked.  He grinned, all in a day's work.

And another thing:   it seems that for bus drivers red lights are an optional stop sign, depending on judgement of opposing vehicles or pedestrians.  A sensible idea, it does speed up the journey.

And this is another way  London buses earn their keep 

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Despite a slight mishap last week I am still in love with the London over-ground.  It/someone had decided that the fact that two trains, on different platforms, by different routes, would reach Clapham junction, was too confusing for passengers.   After 20 freezing minutes at Canonbury station, with all trains on my side going only to West Croydon, none via Peckham, I felt compelled to enquire and got the above explanation.  I had to go to Dalston Junction (one stop) and change.  To go direct, I shall have to go backwards before finding my train.

London's importunate insects

Country Mouse has been in London for more than a month and is faced with a very long stay. So far all goes well. London seems to be very warm, very humid and occasionally sunny.

And the universal truth still holds: one can tell the natives from the tourists, the former wear more clothes. Londoners are muffled in padded jackets and woolly scarves, booted feet run for buses. Country Mouse stifles in pullover and pashmina over light weight trousers.

The great advantage of town over country is, of course, being able to go shopping on foot and that until very late at night. This is just as well for London dwelling places are rather short on storage place.

But not short on desirable accommodation for insects, so far mostly spiders. Our first morning in London we woke to find a spider, a biggish black one, had snuggled down under my pillow, into a crease in the sheet.

Of course I took the sheet outside and shook it. Vigorously. Wrapping the sheet round my arm I returned inside to make the bed. The spider was still clinging to the sheet. Indignantly I swept him off onto the floor. Two hours later, s/he or a cousin, was squatting the bath.

Do not pass, spider busy

Another spider cousin, perhaps a second cousin twice removed because it was tortoiseshell patterned, disputed our rights to the path up to the road. I met it busily slinging the beginnings of its web from right to left, across the York paving, starting from one micro box bush to another. Carefully I lifted the two right hand strands and returned them to the left. I went shopping. When I had returned, so had the spider strands. This time I did left to right – in spider terms – because I was going down the steps.

This exercise continues intermittently. But at least s/he stays outside.